Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
She arches an eyebrow, dubious. “Is that what you were after when you came to Mae’s yesterday? And were Buck and Calder looking for tater tots, too? Buck was at the house, and I saw Calder’s truck outside several times.”
“We’re … being around.”
“Being around,” she repeats. “Like how Buck texted me three times yesterday, and I seem to be living on a truck parade route?”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is,” she says, “and it’s probably the only reason I was able to sleep this weekend.”
“Good.” An impossibly tiny boy walks by and waves up at me, and I wave back as I lean toward Elena and keep my voice low. “We’re going to keep you safe, Elena. We owe you that.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing. She turns fully toward me, and the look on her face confirms my fumble.
Her voice is several degrees colder when she says, “I don’t want you doing anything out of some sense of duty or obligation. You don’t owe me anything.”
CHAPTER 10
WESTON
“That isn’t what I meant,” I say. “It came out wrong. But either way, you’re not alone in this.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but doesn’t have the energy.
A young girl approaches, raising her hand as if she’s in a classroom. “Mrs. Ramirez, can I go to the liberry after lunch?”
Elena kneels, so she’s at the child’s level, and gently corrects the pronunciation. She encourages the student to repeat it back, and the girl says it twice, smiling when she hears herself get it right.
I’ve seen adults show impatience when correcting kids, and some even laugh at them. I haven’t known Elena long, but I can tell she’d never do that.
When the little girl moves along, Elena rises to her full height with grace. A sad expression flickers through her eyes before she says, “T.J. asked if we’re going to have to move again.”
I work to keep the anger off my face. “What did you tell him?”
“That I don’t know. That we’ll have to take it one day at a time.”
She stares out toward T.J.’s table, where he and his friend are talking and sharing fruit snacks. “I can’t keep uprooting him. He’s made a few good friends, he likes his teacher, he likes this town.”
“I get it.”
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe anyone can, and I don’t take it personally. I’m not a parent yet, much less a single parent who never intended to shoulder the burden alone, but I understand what fear does to a person.
She continues to watch the room, much like I am, though she’s monitoring the students while I’m scanning for potential danger and identifying escape routes.
When a table nearby gets noisy, she steps over and stops the conflict before it becomes a fight, using nothing but her voice and her presence. The kids don’t seem to fear her so much as respect her.
The way she handles these children should not do a damn thing for me, but it does. I’m drawn to her, no matter how often I remind myself she’s off limits.
She turns back toward me, and for a second, her mask slips just enough for me to see the exhaustion underneath it. It’s not weakness or panic, but stress and the fatigue that comes with it.
Then, just as quickly, her expression resets, and she’s calm, confident, capable Principal Ramirez again.
I fight an unwelcome urge to lay two fingers against the jump of her pulse and find out how fast I can make it climb.
Forcing my attention to the dwindling lunch line, I try to focus on the unappealing smell that pervades the room instead of the incredibly appealing woman standing next to me.
Elena clears her throat. “I have a meeting I need to prepare for.”
Before thinking better of it, I say, “I’ll walk you to your office.”
Her eyes narrow, and she lets out a short breath. “To talk, or to escort me?”
“I don’t see why it can’t be both.” I keep my tone casual.
After hesitating for a moment, she tilts her head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
In the hallway, the hum of students’ voices is muffled, and our footsteps suddenly sound loud as we pass bulletin boards full of crayon-colored artwork and graded papers decorated with stickers for good work.
“For the record, I’m not here to make your life smaller,” I say. “I’m here so you can keep living it.”
She keeps walking, into the large main office, then to the right, to her private office, where she stops inside the door and turns to face me. Up close, in the light coming from the window, I see hints of redness around her eyes and faint dark circles under her makeup.
And a blush of pink on her cheeks that wasn’t there earlier.
“You’re off duty,” she says. “All of you are. You don’t have to—”