The crisp February air does little to alleviate my internal flutter as I pull up to the local elementary school. I'm from the city where there are several. But, this town seems to have only the one. The sign out front claims that it's Rockport Ridge Elementary and serves grades K through five. A wave of nervous energy washes over me as I make my way to the front entrance. Columns painted to resemble oversized pencils greet me as I press the button on the speaker to be let inside the building.
I clutch the box containing a few flower arrangements. The one that Jason made for Grayson sits next to the carefully constructed bouquet, a riot of crimson roses among thewildflowers and delicate pink carnations, destined for Jason's classroom from me.
"Those are stunning," the older woman sitting behind the counter tells me as I sign the visitor log.
"They're for…um, Jason." It just dawned on me that I don't know his last name. "And this one," I take out the plant for Grayson, "Is for Grayson Michaelson."
The woman, Beth, whose name tag reads, takes it from me.
"Would you like me to deliver those as well?" she asks, pointing to the arrangement for Jason.
"Is it okay if I drop them off personally?"
"I think he would rather get them from you than me." She winks and gives me directions to the lower-grade wing of the school.
I hear the laughter and giggles coming from an open door, and when I look up, I see that it is room 103. Mr. Caldwell. Jason Caldwell. A grin spreads over my face as I make my way to the doorway and freeze at the scene before me.
A war zone is less messy.
Jason's classroom is a cheerful space bursting with crayon-drawn hearts and construction paper creations. Leaning against the door frame, I watch for a moment as Jason has his back toward me. He's expertly guiding small hands through the delicate art of cupcake frosting, and my heart warms at the sight. He's so gentle and patient. The perfect daddy…err, teacher.
The children, their faces smeared with sugar and delight, clamor around him, their laughter a joyful chorus. Jason's patience is more evident when he kneels, offering gentle encouragement and a steady hand; his demeanor is soft, a reflection of his genuine affection for his young students.
My chest has a pang of something akin to envy, a longing for that easy connection.
The sight of Jason so at ease, so naturally engaging, makes me wonder if I should be here. Maybe Beth can deliver these to him later when he's not busy.
I stand up straighter, ready to move back down the hallway, but my feet won't move. I just keet watching Jason in his element. A little girl with one long blonde braid notices me and walks away from the group.
"Hi." She says with a small, shy voice.
"Hi there. Looks like you all are having fun." I squat down to her level.
"The mostest. Those are pretty flowers. Are they for Mr. Caldwell?" She giggles.
"They are. But I don't want to interrupt your party." I whisper.
This little girl doesn't give me a chance to escape before she calls out, "Mr. Caldwell. You got flowers!"
The whole class turns in my direction and starts cheering as if I just announced Jason won a free pony ride. I feel the blush crawl up my neck.
"Ben?" Jason stands with a huge grin. "What a surprise. Class. This is my good friend Ben. Can you all say hi?"
In a big group chorus, the whole class says 'hi' to me. But it's the comment from one little boy that grabs my attention when he asks out loud if I am the person Jason made his card for.
"I was making a delivery for a couple of the other teachers, and Beth in the office said that I could bring these to you personally. I hope that's okay." I tell him while looking at my shoes.
He lifts my chin with his finger and thumb. I thought he was going to kiss me right here in front of his students, but he pulls back a little. "It's more than okay. Do you want to join us? We are frosting cupcakes."
Yes. More than anything, yes. However, I have to decline, even though I can see the sadness on some of the students' faces.
"I'm sorry, I have more flowers to deliver. It's a hectic day for us." Disappointment flashes across Jason's face for a moment. But he understands.
"Are you…Are you still coming over tonight?" Jason hesitates, a hopeful smile playing on his lips. "You know, for our 'playdate'?"
The carefully planned "playdate" is our agreed-upon compromise for a first Valentine's Day, a gentle step into something new.
"Yeah, Jason, I'll be there," I tell him, stepping forward and handing him the flowers. "Just wanted to drop these off. You were great with them, by the way." I gesture toward the kids with a fond smile. When he turns back to me to say goodbye, I can't help but widen my smile at the frosting on Jason's face. This minor, endearing imperfection makes me feel even more at ease.
