I push off her desk and immediately feel the space between us feel taut and empty. “I’ll think about it.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Sienna.” Then I stride out of her classroom, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with her already being in my kid’s life.
3
SIENNA
My dining roomtable is full of activities planned for my class next week. I have three different-colored Post-It notes surrounding my laptop and my can of Coke. When I hear the hard knock on my door, an immediate groan leaves my lips.
God, c’mon on.
I don’t have time for interruptions, and I have a never-ending one with my neighbor, Miss Morrison, who constantly loses her dog. The miniature poodle slides his butt through her gate, and I’m not sure why it’s super confusing, but she doesn’t find a solution to it.
And then she comes over here, frantic with worry, and causes hours of my trying to help her find the little jerk.
With a plethora of excuses flooding my brain to tell her that I can’t assist with her dog’s rescue mission today, they all fall down to the pit of my stomach when I open the door and find Micah standing on my front porch.
All dark, dangerous stubble lining his sharp jaw. Those sky blues seizing my every mindless move and function.
It’s even worse now when we’re not in a public place.
When we’re alone again.
His full-tatted forearm is leaning up against the door, donned in a blue flannel shirt that’s folded up half his elbow with black jeans. And, God…he was one of thoseyolomoments for me that I can’t erase or regret.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes off a bit clipped, but it’s his fault. He’s at my damn house, and I can’t say that our parent-teacher conference hit off with a bang.
If anything, I insulted him more than helped, and I feel awful about that. But Heath needs some sort of outside support that isn’t him or me.
Then came the tidbit Micah divulged about the mother not being around, and I felt like a class-A asshole and a half.
“I’m here to pick you up,” he replies in that low, delicious dip of his voice that makes butterflies knock stupidly into each other like they forgot how to fly. “Did you forget about our date? You said you had a little red number waiting for me.”
I feel that exact color flush hot across my entire body as I stand stupidly in front of my door.
Honestly, after our last meeting, I thought he was going to throw that date right out the window. I hadn’t heard from him since then, and I figured that subtly spoke for itself that he didn’t want to see me.
I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed, but I understood.
Maybe I did, and he didn’t.
“I didn’t know that was still a thing,” I mutter, having a hard time holding his gaze. “We haven’t?—”
“Why would you think that?” I swear to everything holy that this man literally has no idea what kind of hold he has on me with that voice. The way his swagger sucks me in and holds me in his grasp. I’ve never been this sexually attracted to anyone in my entire life. And Micah does it so effortlessly that it scares the living crap out of me.
I puff out my cheeks with held air before saying, “I haven’t heard from you since…”
“I told you I don’t ghost, sweetheart. I show up.”
He did say that and as much as I appreciate that from him, it doesn’t hide the, now, complicated reality.
“But I’m your kid’s teacher.”
He quirks a brow. “I noticed that.”
Okay, he’s really not getting it.
