It says: I’ve got your back.
It says: We’re in this together.
It says: I’m thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking about in a room full of people, and from the look on your face, so are you.
Translation: Game over. I’m toast. The final heart on my health bar just disappeared. He’s the big monster at the end of a hard level, and he got me.
I force my attention back to my notes, trying to ignore the tingling sensation still spreading through my body. “Thank you for your support on this,” I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
Bettany recovers with visible effort, straightening in her chair and smoothing her bob again. “Moving on,” she says, reclaiming control of the meeting I should be leading. “The next item on the agenda is the overnight field trip to Roaring River State Park. It’s scheduled for the first week of May, and we’re still missing a parent chaperone volunteer.
“As room parent”—four shots—“I’d be the obvious choice and I would have volunteered, but unfortunately, my eldest daughter has her dance competition finals the following weekend.” Bettany sighs dramatically. “It’s going to be a stressful time for our family, and Britney needs me to show my support.”
I wonder if her helicopter parenting is what’s making it nerve-racking for her daughter in the first place.
“So, regrettably,” Bettany concludes, looking around expectantly, “someone else will need to volunteer for?—”
She hasn’t even finished the sentence when Ryder speaks up. “I’ll go.”
My head snaps up so fast I might have given myself whiplash.
I gape at him, my mouth falling open in a way that’s not attractive or professional.
No. Not happening.
Having Ryder Evans as my co-chaperone is the last thing I need. I’m barely surviving these brief encounters. How am I supposed to handle an overnight field trip? Two days and one night, sleeping in adjacent cabins. Supervising kids around a campfire. I’m going to die. Actually perish—with no “Press Start to Continue” option like in video games. They’ll find my body in the woods, cause of death: prolonged exposure to an attractive single dad in his natural habitat.
But Bettany is ecstatic. She vibrates with excitement. “Oh, that’s wonderful! It’ll be so much better to know a man will be on the trip.”
I let the casual cheer to patriarchy slide. I have bigger problems right now.
Like the fact that Ryder is staring at me with a challenge written in his eyes. As if he’s aware of how much his presence will affect me, and he’s doing it anyway, daring me to object.
I let myself look at him fully for the first time since he walked into my classroom. Our eyes lock and hold.
“Are you sure you can handle twenty-two seven-year-olds?” I keep my voice light, professional. But underneath, I’m genuinely asking. This isn’t a joke. This is a serious responsibility, and I need to know he’s up for it.
“They can’t be worse than cows. And I’ve handled plenty of those.” Ryder chuckles, and the low rumble slides under my skin. “And if they misbehave, I’ll lasso them back in line.”
The moms laugh. Delighted, charmed by this impossible man who just compared their children to livestock and made it sound adorable.
I’m not laughing. I can’t when my brain is caught up imagining Ryder Evans on horseback, wearing chaps and a weathered cowboy hat tipped low over his eyes as he swings a rope over his head in expert circles before he releases it with perfect aim.
The mental image sears itself into my brain with the permanence of a brand.
I’m entering my cowboy era. Full-on, no-going-back, ride-off-into-the-sunset frontier. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
Yee-fucking-haw.
12
RYDER
As the meeting wraps up, Bettany claps her hands together like she’s calling kindergarteners to circle time. “Oh! One more thing.”
The moms, already intent on plotting their escapes, stop halfway through putting away their planners, ready to align like dutiful little soldiers to the tyranny of the room parent.
“Before we adjourn,” she announces, “I’d like to suggest that our chaperone and Miss Rose exchange contact information.” She purses her lips for max dramatic effect. “Miss Rose’s private number isn’t given to just anyone. I, as the room parent, am the only one entrusted with it.” Bettany can’t resist squeezing in an extra reminder of her title.
