Page 6 of Working for the Teacher

“Don't listen to that man. He's been an ass since before you were born, and he'll be an ass as long as he lives.” She hands me my bag and leans on the counter. “You've done good work for Dave. Everybody in this town who matters knows it. The ones who don't know it aren't worth the energy you're spending on them.”

She waves a hand toward the door like she's shooing off a fly. “Now get out of my store before you start making me feel all sappy. I've got a delivery to unpack.”

I laugh and head out.

I think about Charlotte the whole damn drive. Windows down. Radio up. Doesn’t help. One look at her has me wound tighter than I’ve been in a long time.

I tell myself it’s because I haven’t seen her since high school. Because she showed up out of nowhere looking even better than I remembered, and I wasn’t ready for it.

Bullshit. I remember Charlotte just fine.

I remember watching her walk down those halls. The way she’d catch me looking and pretend she hadn’t. The little smile she’d fight.

I remember wanting her when I had no business wanting anything that good. And apparently all these years haven't done a damn thing to change that.

I don't drink, haven't in three years, but The Foundry is still the closest thing I've got to a living room that isn't actually my apartment. I like the noise and watching a game at the bar with people around me.

Kayla's behind the bar when I walk in.

“Coke, no ice,” she says before I've even sat down, sliding it across the bar.

“You're too good at this job.”

“You're not that complicated,” she teases, studying my face. “You look like hell.”

“Nice to see you too, Kayla.”

“I mean emotionally. Physically, annoyingly, you’re fine.”

“Doris was giving me shit about the same thing earlier.”

“Maybe she’s onto something.” She waits, and when I don't fill the silence, she shrugs. “Fine. Keep your secrets. Holler if you want a refill.”

She moves down the bar to a guy I don't recognize, which around here usually means tourist. Some influencer posted a few months back about a day trip through Forge Creek, and we've been getting a slow trickle of strangers ever since, mostly harmless.

This one's not harmless. I catch it in the way he talks to Kayla, leaning into her space when she clearly wants her space back.

“He bothering you?” I ask when she comes back my way.

“He's fine. Nothing I haven't dealt with before.”

I turn back to the TV and try to focus on the game. Then the door swings open, and every other thought in my head goes quiet.

Charlotte.

The second her eyes land on me she does a smooth pivot toward a table at the far end of the room. She sits in the heavy wood chair with her back half to the bar and picks up a menu, covering her face.

I turn back to the game and tell myself to leave it alone, but I watch her in the mirror behind the bar. Kayla catches me doing it and raises an eyebrow.

Unfortunately, I'm not the only one watching Charlotte. The asshole at the end of the bar has his eyes on her too.

My jaw locks. Charlotte isn’t mine. I know that.

Doesn’t stop every fucked-up, possessive part of me from wanting to walk over there and make damn sure he knows she’s off-limits.

He slides off his stool and starts toward her table. My grip tightens around my glass hard enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.

It’s not long before I’m on my feet too, heading for the hallway by the restrooms. Close enough to hear what he says, far enough away that I can pretend I’m not hovering.