I watch him go.
I should stay awake. I should wait for him. Maybe he’d want to stay. Maybe we could—cuddle.
…Cuddle?Oh my god, get a grip.Cuddling? Now?
He did what he came here to do. What I wanted him to do. I should let him go in peace. He gave me orgasms. He gave me trust. Gabriel will make some woman very happy someday. He’ll get his second chance with the right person just like I will. We agreed that all tonight was about was sex.
And somewhere in the waiting for him to return, I drift off.
And when I wake in the early hours of the morning…I’m warm.
I blink sleepily, turning my head toward the side of the bed to see what’s the source of that warmth. A sleek, stainless steel space heater hums quietly a few feet away, aimed right at me, blowing a steady stream of air over my body.
My toes have never been warmer. And that’s saying something, considering I’m wearing no socks. I smile, curling deeper into the blankets and smell the scent of Gabriel still on my skin.
Then I fall back asleep, dreaming of better days ahead.
Chapter 16: Alessia
“Okay, kiddos! Remember, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, so don’t forget to take all the crafts and Valentine’s you made home with you and shower your parents with love!”??
The response is immediate and total chaos. Twenty-two kindergarteners erupt into giggles and stomping feet, a small herd of them surging toward the door in a wave of backpacks and paper hearts, splitting off toward the pickup line and the bus stop while I stand at the front of the room and feel something I forgot I was allowed to feel.
Happy.
Not performing happy. Not the careful, functional version of it I'd been running on for the last few years. Actually happy, in the quiet way that sneaks up on you when you're not watching for it.
I flip the last folding table onto its side, snap the clasps shut, and roll it toward the closet, stepping over a trail of pink construction paper scraps and what appears to be an entire container of red glitter that someone distributed across the floor like they were seasoning a roast.
The Valentine's Day party was worth every bit of it.
It took three volunteer moms, a bulk order of googly eyes, and more glitter glue than should be legally available to elementary school children but watching their faces this afternoon made all of it completely irrelevant. Everly Park had spent forty-five minutes constructing a card so elaborate it barely fit inside her backpack. Marcus had eaten most of his conversation hearts before we even started the craft portion. Lily cried briefly and beautifully over a paper doily and then recovered and ate two cupcakes.
Teaching is easier now for me. That's the honest truth of it. Not because the job got easier, kindergarteners are feral, and the paperwork is endless and there's always someone's parent sending a passive aggressive email about something. But because I got easier. I guess it isn’t difficult to show up and connect with children when you aren’t actively trying to get pregnant or battling a husband who is unfaithful to you.
I know it’s partially that, but also, something loosened in me over the past two weeks and the mornings where I drag myself out of bed don't cost what they used to.
I know exactly why.
Gabriel.
I smile as I wipe down desktops and throw away trash, thinking about this weekend and all the good things that have been happening since I moved to Brookhaven.
It’s been two weeks since that night with Gabriel—since he touched me in ways that still linger in my body like muscle memory and brought me to orgasm for the first time in well over a year. I haven’t seen him since. And that’s exactly how it was meant to be. A one-time thing to get me back in the game.
There’s been a new pep in my step ever since, a lightness I didn’t realize I was missing. Teaching feels easier. Seeing my students’ faces doesn’t twist something sharp in my chest theway it used to. My mood has improved drastically and the male teachers with their inappropriate comments, and waves no longer immediately send me into a spiral of anger towards the entire male population where I brand them all as completelyunredeemable.
It feels like finally being able to exhale after holding your breath for too long.
Yes, I haven’t seen him since. And that’s totally fine. That’s expected.
I brush more glitter into the dustpan and try not to think about his big hands and the scandalous things that we did in my shower together. And every morning, when I get ready for school, I try not to look at the shower wall and remember the way he pinned me there.
And I fail at that every day.
Am I dating again? No. Not yet. But last night, I finally downloaded some dating apps. Natasha and I sat on the new couch she splurged on, red velvet and completely over the top for the rundown home we’re living in, but it suits her eclectic style. We sipped wine and swiped through profiles, laughing until we couldn’t breathe, finally landing on a few good-looking guys without any noticeable red flags. At least any that you can find in a small summary and a profile picture.
And now I have my first real date. Tonight. A nice guy. A construction worker. Local. Grew up in town.Chris.
