This is the Miss Rose my son talks about nonstop—the teacher who makes everything a discovery, who he swears is warm and gentle and amazing. Fucking stardust, according to him. The opposite of the woman I’ve met, the one who clipped my arrogance cleanly at the root.
The hug goes on forever. My son has been attached to his teacher for a solid minute, and she doesn’t seem the least bit impatient. Doesn’t check her watch or glance at her dropped bag or make any motion to untangle herself. Faye is just… there, with him, present in a way that makes my chest tight with a pull I don’t recognize. The stretch is steady and disarming, as if my ribs were wired wrong for these feelings. Rhys is chattering, his mouth moving a mile a minute, and she’s nodding, listening, smiling down at him like he’s the most important person in the world.
Rebecca moves past me, heading toward them, and when Rhys finally releases Miss Rose and she stands, my sister steps in for a side hug.
“Faye, hey.”
“Becky.” Her smile doesn’t dim. If anything, it widens. “I thought I’d have to wait until later to see you. Did you see the plot twist coming at the end?”
“No.” My sister chuckles, completely at ease. “Almost fell off the bed with the shock.”
“Don’t say more, I want to keep the juice for tonight.”
They laugh.
I have no choice but to drift closer, my feet moving with the enthusiasm of a man approaching the gallows. Every instinct screams at me to retreat.
I hang back a few paces, close enough to be part of the group but far enough to avoid an immediate interaction. Maybe I can fade into the background?—
Too late.
Faye’s gaze lands on me, and that brighter-than-the-sun smile dies on her face. Snuffed out like water thrown on a fire. Her entire demeanor shifts, shoulders straightening, chin lifting, mouth pressing into a rigid line.
“Mr. Evans.” She acknowledges me with a curt nod. The formality feels spiteful despite being perfectly polite.
Rebecca’s eyes ping-pong between us, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
“Miss Rose,” I reply, subdued as embarrassment sets my ears on fire once more.
An awkward silence follows, broken only by Rhys tugging on her hand, asking if she’ll come to the farm sometime to see his room and meet his cat, Tractor.
“Perhaps someday.” Faye looks down at him, and the warmth returns instantly.
She straightens the collar of his jacket with gentle hands. “Don’t forget your revisions. We have subtractions tomorrow. We’re going to conquer those tricky take-away problems.”
“I won’t forget!” Rhys hugs her waist again. “I love math.”
Numbers never were my favorites. But even I might’ve come around to liking equations with a teacher like her.
Faye’s eyes never return to me. She talks to Rebecca instead. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Rebecca grins.
“Later, then. Bye, champion.”
Faye ruffles Rhys’s hair and picks up her bag from the ground. With a quick dust off, she slings the messenger over her shoulder, walking away without a spare glance in my direction.
I watch her go because I’m a masochist. The pencil skirt hugs her hips, and each sway is a bittersweet punishment. Not that I’m paying attention to how she walks—that, or how those boots make her legs a mile long, or how the afternoon sun catches the gold threads in her dark blonde hair.
“Stop staring at her ass,” Rebecca mutters.
“I wasn’t?—”
“So were, perv.”
“Fuck off, Beck.”
“Dad!” Rhys gasps, his hand shooting out palm-up. “That’s a dollar for the swear jar.”
