I quickly tuck my work into the top drawer of my desk and then straighten the desk up. I’d been putting the finishing touches on my card for Aaron Davis. Not like Dean would know that’s what I was doing, but he would tease me endlessly if he saw how much effort I put into it.
I stand up and calmly approach the door, careful not to interrupt my little readers. A quick glance at the clock tells me we still have thirty minutes before the team is due to arrive, and I’m not quite ready for the mayhem that will ensue once that happens, so I’d rather not create a false alarm now.
I slip out the door. “What’s up?” I ask, giving him a quick hug.
“I got here early, wanted to see if you needed any help setting up,” he uses the same whisper soft tone to address me as I did him.
“Nah, thanks, though. Everything is ready to go; I’m just trying to keep the kiddos calm until everyone gets here.”
“Well, the bus was filling up as we were pulling out, so the rest of the guys should be here soon.”
We? “Who’s we?” I look down the hall and don’t see anyone else.
“Davis,” he answers, and I swear my heart jumps a beat or two. “I wanted you to meet him before the party. We went to BU together.” My face must look funny or something because Dean raises a concerned eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Fine…I’m fine. So where is he?” My eyes dart around the empty hallway, and Dean tilts his head.
“Dude, those urinals are practically on the floor. It’s hard to believe I was that short once.”
That voice. That deep, sexy, husky voice followed by an equally sexy chuckle. They could only belong to one Aaron Davis. It would be criminal for those sounds to belong to anyone else. Heck, it was criminal for them to belong to him. He already had everything going for him in the looks department, did he have to have the panty disintegrating voice, too?
I slowly turn to my right and clench my jaw tightly so it doesn’t drop to the floor.
Wow.
His pictures online don’t do him justice. Not even close. And he’s tall—so tall! I know he’s six foot six from his player bio, I just hadn’t expected it to be so…impressive. I mean, my brother is six-four, and I’ve spent a lot of time around his hockey player friends, so his height shouldn’t be such a surprise. But it is. And his tall frame wears his muscles so well. And, oh my god…that smile? He has a gorgeous, straight smile that doesn’t even look artificial, as some hockey players’ smiles are—Dean’s included. Hazard of the job, I guess.
“Sorry,” he smirks, not looking sorry at all. I’m not even sure why he’s saying sorry, I’m still staring at his mouth…his lips…imagining where I’d like to feel them.
“Brenna, this is Davis. Davis, this is my sister, Brenna.” Dean makes the obligatory introductions, and Aaron Davis puts his hand out.
The moment my hand touches his, sparks fly. I know how cliché that sounds, but it happens. I feel a zap move up my arm, into my shoulder, down through my ribs, and straight to my core.
Zap.
“Nice to meet you, Brenna,” Aaron Davis says with a smile. This smile is genuine, too. Not the cocky “I know I’m hot” smirk from before.
“Likewise, Aaron Davis,” I say, pulling my hand back.
“That’s my name,” he says as he winks at me—actually winks!—and Dean looks between the two of us with a strange expression on his face.
“So, I invited Davis to spend Christmas with us.”
Okay, so you know those moments in movies where someone says something and everyone stops what they’re doing and you hear that record scratching sound in the background? Yeah, that just happened.
Aaron Davis is spending Christmas with us? How the heck did this happen? Just when I’d started to entertain the idea of flirting with the guy—a somewhat random, hot guy—my brother has to throw ice water on me. First by telling me they went to college together, then by inviting him to our family’s Christmas? My R-rated fantasy just dropped down to G. Not even PG, just G.
Realizing my brother was waiting for a response from me, I mutter, “That’s great. I’m sure Mom and Dad will be happy to have company for Christmas.”
Dean smiles. “Mom already drilled me on all his favorite dishes.”
“Not surprised.” I hear light chatter from my classroom and excuse myself. “I have to get back in there. When the rest of the team arrives, bring ’em on in. The office will issue the visitor passes, but they’ve already got the roster, so it should be over pretty quick.”
“Will do. Thanks, sis.” Dean kisses my temple, and Aaron Davis gives me a little wave as they walk away.
Holy crap. I need to talk to Bailey. I am way out of my depths here.
5
The kids quiet down when I enter the room and take a seat at my desk. I look at the clock, we’ve got about twenty minutes now before the rest of the team will be here. Twenty-five minutes if they get held up in the office, which is more than likely to happen. But it’s more than enough time to text Bailey. With the time difference, she’s probably on her way to school or just arriving. I pull my cell phone out of my desk drawer and send a quick text to Bailey.
Me: Mayday! Mayday!
Her response comes through a couple minutes later.
B: It’s too early for this crap.
Me: Aaron Davis is here!
B: Yeah? Wasn’t that the idea? The whole team is supposed to show up, Bren. Are you going to text me every time there’s a spotting?
Sometimes I really hate my best friend.
Me: Bay! He came early with D. They’re friends from college. D invited him to Christmas at my folks’ house!!!!
B: Oooh, so the plot thickens.
Me: There is no plot, Bay!
B: Uh-huh. So is he as sexy in person as he is online?
Truth time.
Me: Sexier.
B: Whoa.
Me: My sentiments exactly. I’m way out of my league here, Bay. I don’t know what to do. I practically drooled when D introduced us.
B: Did he seem interested?
I think about it. The way he looked at me and held onto my hand. I’m a little out of practice with the whole dating and showing interest thing, but that could have been something.
Me: Maybe?
B: Either he’s into you or not, Bren.
Me: I know, I know. I just can’t really tell. I mean D was right there the whole time.
B: See what happens during the party, when you two are alone.
Me: We’ll be in a room full of kids. We won’t be alone.
B: You know what I mean, butthead.
Me: Yeah, yeah.
B: Call me later. Love you. Relax.
Me: Love you, too. I’ll try.
Just as I stick my phone back in the drawer, there’s a knock on my classroom door. The kids all jump up and make a mad dash for the door, practically trampling over one another. I don’t even try to get in the middle of the stampede, I just let them do their thing. It’s the last day before winter break, and we’re having a party, how much order can I expect?
The players all file in, and the kids start pairing off with their guys. When I’d assigned each child their player earlier in the week, I gave them their headshots so they could identify them when they saw them. A couple kids don’t recognize theirs, so I help them along. Pretty soon it’s just me and Aaron Davis awkwardly standing in the front of the room as the rest of the kids and players have taken their seats around the desks. First thing this morning, we’d rearranged the classroom, spreading the desks out to allow each to have an extra chair for their partner to sit in. It’s kind of funny to see gigantic hockey players sitting on chairs built for kids. I hope they don’t break.
“My kid home sick?” Aaron Davis asks with a laugh.
Awkward…
“No…actually, I don’t have a student for you. See, I paired the kids up before you joined the team.”
His face falls,
and he almost looks disappointed. No, not almost. He does look disappointed. Gotta fix that!
“That’s all right,” he says, smiling once again. “I can just hang out up here with you.”
“Funny you should say that,” I say with a small smile and motion for him to follow me over to my desk. I pull out my guest chair—which, fortunately for Aaron Davis is adult-sized—and we both take a seat. Then I open my lower desk drawer and pull out my card, snowflake, and the makings for the gingerbread house.
He smiles when he realizes what’s going on. “Does this make me the teacher’s pet?” he jokes.
“Ha-ha. No. I improvised. When Dean and I came up with the plan, we had it all worked out. Twenty-two players, twenty-two kids. When Wendy—Ms. Bartlett—mentioned the new addition, I decided I’d just take you on as my own to keep things even.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry about this turn of events,” he winks at me as he very delicately picks up the card I made and takes in the detail on the front. I’d made a Christmas tree out of construction paper and glued on different embellishments as the ornaments…buttons, sequins, and the like. On the inside, I printed my favorite Christmas song, Jingle Bell Rock. “This is great. Do you teach art, too?” He picks up the snowflake and starts reading the various holiday themed words printed all around it.
“Ha. I wish. Holly Falls doesn’t have an art teacher. But I did minor in art in college, so thanks.”
“Is that something you’d like to do?” he asks.
It’s an innocent enough question, but it takes me aback. In college, being an art teacher was my dream. That was back when Stephen breathed rainbows and crapped sprinkles. Back when we had a plan…
“It used to be, but I love it here in Holly Falls. I’m lucky to be able to work here in the school I attended, in the town I grew up in.” I wasn’t lying, either. I was lucky. “There’s something to be said about small towns.”
He nods. “I can relate to that. The town where I grew up, in Alaska, was small, too. One of those ‘everybody knows your name’ kinds of places. I’ve been so far away from home for so long, I’ve kind of forgotten what it’s like.”
I smile, glad we’ve found a common ground; and I don’t let on that I already knew where he was from thanks to Google. That would be embarrassing. “That’s exactly what Holly Falls is like. No matter what you do, most of the town knows about it within five minutes.”
“That small town grapevine.” I laugh with him. He totally gets it.
As he starts assembling the walls for our gingerbread house, I get up and do my rounds of the room. The kids are all behaving really well, and it seems like the guys are enjoying themselves. I say hello to a few of them I’ve met before and linger an extra minute near my brother before making my way back to Aaron Davis.
6
“That’s not how you do it!” I laugh, as I fix the gum drops on the roof of the house.
“Sorry, Ms. Art Teacher. Please, please show me the correct way to adhere the gum drops to the roof.”
“I’ll do just that, Aaron Davis.” I pick up a fresh gum drop and dab a tiny bit of the glue icing on the bottom, then press it to the roof.
“And how is that any different from what I did?”
“This is a case of ‘less is more.’ Look at your gum drop compared to mine,” I tell him, pointing out the icing oozing out from beneath the gum drops he placed.
“I bet that will drip down the side and create a pretty badass icicle.”
“Aaron Davis! You can’t say ‘badass’ in a first grade classroom,” I whisper-scold.
He looks properly chastised, obviously having forgotten where we were. Heck, if it weren’t for the occasional giggles from my students, I probably would have forgotten where we were, too.
He tilts his head to the side. “Why do you always do that?”
I scrunch my eyebrows, not sure what he means. “Do what?”
“Call me ‘Aaron Davis.’”
“Uh, it’s your name?” I laugh. Ok…maybe no more sugar for Aaron Davis. I discretely move the candy to my side of the desk.
“No kidding,” he smirks as he places the gum drop in his hand onto the roof. He raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if his placement meets my approval.
“Well done,” I nod.
He laughs. “I meant that you call me by my first and last name. You can just call me Aaron. Or Davis. You don’t have to use both.”
Had I been doing that?
Oh, jeez.
It’s just that he’s so much larger than life. He’s the trifecta. He’s a nice guy, he’s hot, and he’s an athlete. I bet his endurance is stellar… Wait, what am I supposed to be thinking about? Oh, his name. Right. So guys like him…they just call for first and last names. I don’t know what it is exactly, but it’s an unwritten rule…or something. Like you don’t just call David Beckham, ‘David.’ You call him ‘David Beckham.’
Instead of embarrassing myself and telling him all that, I just shrug my shoulders. “I didn’t realize I was doing that.” I’m not about to explain my reasoning to him.
“Just ‘Aaron’ works fine,” he grins.
“Ok, Just Aaron. Let’s finish this house,” I look up at the clock on the wall. “Clean-up starts in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I ignore the “ma’am,” and we both continue working diligently on our gingerbread house. I get up one more time to give a five minute warning, and the kids—and some players—groan their disappointment. I remind them about our special lunch and desert, and they perk right back up. Being an elementary school teacher can be trying, but the kids are generally well-behaved and easy to please. At least, this year they are. Last year was another story. I pity the second grade teachers.
Everyone places their finished houses on a table set alongside the back wall of the room. Right on time, there’s a knock on my classroom door. It’s our pizza delivery. Aaron Da—, ahem, Aaron helps me dish out the slices and once everyone has been served their pizza and juice, we take a seat at my desk and dig in.
“I would have killed to have a teacher like you,” Aaron says in between bites. “I don’t remember ever doing anything remotely as fun as this.”
“Really? You never had class parties?”
“Nope. The teachers at my school were all pretty old and set in their ways. They weren’t really into fun and exciting things. We got to class, were taught, then we were dismissed. Our school was even smaller than this one, too. There were barely enough students to make a full class, and some grades were so small that they were combined.”
“That’s too bad. It makes for a long day if there’s no fun, so I try to incorporate at least one fun activity each day. Unless they do something completely obnoxious, in which case I don’t.”
Aaron looks around the room. “They look like little angels; they can’t possibly get obnoxious too often.”
“Ha! You’d be surprised. But generally they’re good kids. I got lucky. My class last year was a bunch of hellions.”
“What made you want to teach?” He asks after dishing himself another slice.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve just always wanted to. When I was little, I’d line up all my dolls and stuffed animals and teach them whatever new things I’d learned. I’d read them stories and give them assignments. I even had my own little chalkboard. Sometimes I’d make Dean be one of my students.”
Aaron laughs. “I bet he loved that.”
I smile and look lovingly at my brother who was currently making faces at Ellie, his partner for the day. She was laughing so hard at him, she had tears on her little cheeks. “He was always a good sport. Still is.”
“You two are close.” He didn’t phrase it as a question; it was an observation.
“As close as two siblings can be.”
“Must have been hard when he was on the east coast for school.”
“It’s hard when he’s in B
oulder,” I admit. “We get together every Saturday he’s available for breakfast. Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope, only child,” he says, wiping his mouth with napkin and making his full lips appear even fuller.
“What was that like?” I ask, needing to be distracted from his mouth, but also genuinely curious. It seems everyone I know has siblings. I can’t imagine not growing up with a partner in crime.
“It was nice because all my parents’ attention was on me, which also wasn’t good at times because I couldn’t get away with anything. It was also kind of lonely. Where I grew up, everything was pretty spread out, so hanging out with friends wasn’t as easy as walking next door, especially in the winter months.”
“Didn’t you play hockey?” Surely he made friends with his teammates. And if he’s playing professionally now, he must have spent a good bit of time playing as a kid, too.
“Yeah, but for the same reasons, my time with the team was limited to the ice. Most of the other kids lived closer to town, so they were near each other. I was sort of the outcast.”
I frown. That’s really sad. I realize things are different for him now, but I feel bad for adolescent Aaron. I make a mental note to keep an extra eye out on my kids during group activities and recess to make sure none of them are being left out.
“Aw, don’t look at me like that. It was a long time ago.”
I give him a small smile. “I know. I was just thinking about my kids and hoping no one is making any of them feel ostracized.”
“I’m sure if anyone was, you’d pick up on it. From what I can tell, you’re a good teacher, Brenna. They’re lucky to have you.”
Christmas in the City II Page 36