I glance at Faye.
Her left eye twitches. A tiny spasm at the corner, barely noticeable unless you’re watching her the way I’ve been doing for the past forty minutes. It’s the same tic I caught each time Bettany repeated she’s the room parent as if the title came with a sash and a crown.
“But Ryder should have it, too,” Bettany concludes. “In case of emergencies, before or during the trip.”
Oh, bless her power-hungry heart.
“That’s a wonderful idea, Betty,” I agree, keeping my voice casual, even though my pulse kicks up like a spooked horse as I search Faye’s face for a reaction. “Better to be prepared.”
She lifts her head and catches me staring.
I flash her a little troublemaker smile. “I promise I’ll use Miss Rose’s number responsibly.”
Faye’s eyes narrow. Her lips press together in a thin line of displeasure that makes something hot and reckless coil in my gut.
That expression—prim disapproval mixed with barely contained irritation—makes me want to kiss it right off her face. Makes me want to back her against one of these tiny desks and find out what other expressions I can put there instead.
The moms twitter with approval, oblivious to the current crackling between the teacher and me.
“Perfect,” Bettany beams. “I’ll send you both a confirmation email with the trip details by tomorrow.”
She stands up, sweeping her bag off the chair and gathering her notes. The other moms follow her lead, collecting their things. They file out, calling goodbyes over their shoulders.
“Don’t forget to exchange numbers!” Bettany reminds us from the doorway.
“We won’t,” Faye assures her, a professional smile firmly in place.
Bettany lingers for another beat, like she’s waiting for us to do it right now under her supervision. When neither of us moves, she finally leaves with a little wave.
And then it’s just us.
A hush falls over the room.
Faye busies herself with the papers scattered across her lap, pushing them into her notebook and studiously not looking at me.
She’ll have to, eventually. And it’s okay; I’m not in a hurry.
I’ve still got half an hour before I have to pick up Rhys.
I slide off the desk I’m still perched on and close the distance, the Tupperware once again in my hands. A cookie is left, sitting lonely at the bottom.
“Last cookie?” I hold out the container. “You look like you need it.”
Faye raises her chin. “Is that your polite way of saying I look exhausted? Because I am. Long week.”
“Not at all. But you’ve had a nervous tic going every time Betty mentioned she was the room parent,” I tease. “You’ve earned this cookie.”
She levels me with a prolonged stare. Does she think I’m a creep for noticing? But then her shoulders relax, and she reaches for the cookie with a resigned sigh.
“That obvious, uh?” Faye asks, breaking off a piece. “I’m too prickly. Bettany is an excellent room parent, just a little overbearing.”
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot overbearing.” She takes a bite and lets out a tiny sound of pleasure I’m not positive she’s conscious of making. An unguarded hum from her throat that I would give a year of my life to hear again, but for a very different reason.
Her eyes close as she chews. And I wish I were the one making her close her eyes in ecstasy.
So much that I have to look away, focusing on the poster behind her about kindness that features a cartoon sun with a smile.
