Page 35 of XOXO, Yours

Mrs. Ball, or Luna as I call her, is the fifth grade social studies teacher. She just got put on emergency bed rest in the middle of her second trimester. She says she’s doing fine, but is still following her doctor’s wishes, which means she’ll be out at least until after the new year. We've spent the last week hearing increasingly desperate updates about the district's substitute shortage.

"Great. I’m glad they finally found someone because I was getting tired of having Assistant Principal Gomez poking her head into my room every five minutes to ask me a question about something.”

Melissa grins.

I stop sorting brushes.

"What?"

Her grin widens. "He's really cute."

I roll my eyes. “Aren’t you married?”

She giggles. “Yes. But you aren’t.”

“I am single by choice.”

“But he’s really cute. Has this aw-shucks-ma’am kind of cowboy thing going for him.”

My hand stills.

There are thousands of young cowboys in Texas. Millions, probably. I’m pretty sure Texas manufactures them in a secret facility somewhere outside Fort Worth.

"You should come meet him.”

"I have a class."

"They're lining up."

Sure enough, the room behind me has erupted into the particular chaos that means seven-year-olds have sensed an impending transition.

"Miss Long!” someone yells. "Noah put his octopus in your coffee cup!"

"It's swimming!" Noah yells back. "Octopuses live in the ocean!"

I glance into my coffee cup, and sure enough, there is an orange octopus “swimming” in the remnants of this morning’s coffee. “That is not the ocean, Noah."

I get everything cleaned up, and manage to line up my class with only two arguments and one missing glue stick.

By the time I walk them down the hall, I've forgotten all about Melissa's hot substitute.

Mostly.

I deposit my students with their homeroom teacher and head back toward the art room.

There's a man standing in the doorway of the classroom next to mine.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair curling slightly at the collar of a pale blue button-down.

Khakis.

I'm so used to seeing him in jeans, or considerably less, that it takes my brain an extra second to process what I'm looking at. But I know that body. Know the perfect ass encased in those khaki pants.

Then he turns. Blue eyes find mine. And his entire face lights up.