“My boyfriend and I broke up,” I said. “Last night, actually. Before—” I stopped. “We broke up.”
Delia’s face immediately turned mortified.
“Oh no,” she said. “Maggie. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know?—“
“It’s really okay,” I said. “We’d been long distance, it wasn’t—it was coming. I’m fine.”
She looked at me for a beat, reading my face, and whatever she saw there made her believe me because she nodded and let it go.
“Okay,” she said simply. “For what it’s worth, you do look good.” She held out the second coffee. “I grabbed this fromthe break room. Figured you looked like someone who needed reinforcements today.”
I took it. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” She stood, smoothed her dress, picked up the folder. Back to business, easy as that. “I’ll let you get set up. Doors open in twenty.”
She was almost to the hallway when she paused, hand on the doorframe, and looked back at me with something that might have been carefully casual.
“Hey,” she said. “If you ever want to go out, I’m available. No pressure. Just—new town’s a lot easier with someone who already knows where everything is.”
She was gone before I could answer.
I heard a car door slam maybe a minute later, heralding the arrival of the kids. This was…it was going to be fine. Apparently I was glowing and everyone could clearly see I’d had my world rocked last night, but it was fine. I was so good.
The first kids arrived.
Thankfully, I started to fall into it a little…the organization of it, the everyday rhythm. I knew how to be Miss Laine. Miss Laine had a lesson plan and a reading corner and a sticker chart and absolutely no complicated personal life. Miss Laine crouched down to say good morning to every single kid who came through the door and meant it.
Caleb arrived first, like always, dragging his backpack behind him because the straps were too long and he refused to let me adjust them. Then Priya and her twin brother Dev. Then a small parade of everyone else, backpacks and jackets and stories about what they’d had for breakfast and a very urgent report from Owen Tate about a frog he’d seen in his driveway.
“A big one?” I asked, crouching down.
“The biggest,” he confirmed, arms spread wide.
“We’ll draw it later,” I said. “Go hang up your jacket.”
I straightened up, turned to greet the next arrival, and Rosie Sullivan launched herself at my legs like a small missile.
“Miss Laine,” she announced into my kneecap. “I stayed up past nine.”
“Did you?” I said.
“We had a sleepover.” She tilted her head back to look at me. “Nellie cried.”
“Sometimes sleepovers have some crying,” I said carefully.
“And then I cried.” She seemed unbothered by this, already moving past it. “Is there glitter today?”
“Yep! Later. Go find your seat.”
Something smarted at that. Rosie, Nell’s cousin. Nell, Nash’s daughter. I felt weirdly responsible for her crying, like it was my fault she’d been at that sleepover in the first place.
Nash had higher priorities than me.
As if on cue, a tiny shape was suddenly racing toward me down the hall, flinging itself at my legs. Little arms wrapped around me and I reached down to pat her head, smiling.
“Good morning, Nellie!” I said, every insecurity erased when I got to be myself again—when I got to be Miss Laine, taking care of these kids.
Nell pulled back and looked up at me with very serious hazel eyes—Nash’s eyes, in miniature—and launched immediately into her report.
