Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
The afternoon slips away, and the noise in the school begins to quiet. Most of the teachers have gone, leaving the building silent and me alone with my thoughts. I sit among the boxes and remnants of my class, papers and books scattered around me like debris from a storm.
I have to go home eventually, and when I do, he’ll be there. How can I manage this? My heart is too tangled up, and the realization leaves me breathless and on edge. I pack up the last of the supplies and sit, catching my breath.
It feels like ages before I stand and gather my things, resigned to facing my inner hussy and his perfect, devastating body again.
I make one final trip to the office to say goodbye to the secretary. “See you in August, Ms. Betty.”
She peers over her rhinestone-studded glasses, the sparkle catching the soft fluorescent light, and offers me a warm smile. “I’m not sure I’ll be here in August. I’m still debating retiring.”
I doubt that will happen. One of the older teachers once confided in me that Ms. Betty has been mulling over retirement for the past twenty years, an ongoing saga that has become part of the school's lore.
“Oh. I’ll miss you.”
“Don’t worry, deary, I’ll keep in touch if I decide to retire,” she tells me as another late worker ambles in, his footsteps mingling with the quiet buzz of the office.
When I reach the parking lot, I find it mostly empty. I quickly stack the boxes in my trunk and prepare to head home.
The drive home seems to pass by way too freaking fast. When did I become such a wuss? Oh yeah, when I walked out and found a nearly naked Atlas Hot dancing around my kitchen.
I pause at the door, a moment of hesitation between what I think I know and everything I don’t. When the door swings open, I’m not prepared for what I see. The room is unrecognizable. Everything, all of it, is orderly and impossibly clean. Not at all how I left it this morning.
The room has been meticulously tidied, every surface gleaming and free of dust. The carpet bears the neat, parallel lines left by a vacuum. Shoot. I don’t remember the last time I vacuumed.
My collection of throw pillows, once scattered haphazardly, is now arranged perfectly on the couch, each one fluffed and positioned with care.
I close the door, careful, tentative, and catch the smell of something delicious. Everything is perfect, and I don’t know what to make of it. My heart thumps painfully as I feel my ability to keep my feelings for Atlas in check slipping away.
Atlas steps into the room, and my breath hitches. He’s wearing jeans and a concert t-shirt that clings to his muscular chest.
“Hope you’re hungry,” he says with a grin, gesturing to the table set for two with candles and a vase with flowers right in the middle.
I nod, dumbfounded, my mouth suddenly dry and uncooperative.
“I wanted to say thanks,” Atlas explains, closing the distance between us. “For letting me move in.”
“Oh.” My voice is a strangled sound, caught between surprise and disbelief. “You didn’t have to... I mean... this is...”
“Sit,” he insists, pulling out a chair and making it impossible for me to say no. I sink into it, watching him with wide eyes. “I made chicken parm,” he adds, sitting across from me.
He spoons pasta onto my plate, and my stomach growls loudly. I really should’ve taken the time to grab lunch today.
He keeps smiling, a genuine warmth that leaves me speechless. “How was your day?”
“Long,” I manage, fiddling with my fork, afraid I’ll melt into a puddle of confused happiness and tension. “I’ve been trying to wrap things up at school.”
Atlas nods, genuine interest in his eyes. “Sage mentioned you teach. What grade?”
“Fifth,” I say, meeting his gaze and finding it hard to look away. “What about you? Find everything you need?”
“No problems at all,” he says, and the way his eyes hold mine captive causes my heart to catch.
As we eat, I can’t stop staring at him. The food’s incredible, but it doesn’t compare to the way he looks at me. The way he pays attention. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he has feelings for me, too.
“Thanks,” I finally say, my voice more certain than it’s been all day. “This was amazing.”
Atlas smiles, the curve of it sending an unfamiliar thrill through me. “Glad you liked it.”
I nod, biting my lip, unsure how to hold everything in. “Let me help with the dishes.”
We stand, moving toward the kitchen together, and I wonder if he’s noticed how nervous I am. I take a deep breath, trying to get my zigzagging emotions under control.
Our hands brush, and an electric current shoots up my arm, igniting a wildfire inside me. We both pause, and the moment hangs between us, taut and trembling.