by Olivia Dade
Still, she wanted to know. She wanted it more than she wanted the truffle risotto at Milano, and that was saying a lot.
Without warning, Martin straightened, about-faced, shielded his eyes from the sun, and looked directly at her window. With a small, secret smile creasing his face, he gave his head a disapproving shake. Naughty, naughty, naughty.
She offered him a taunting, wiggling wave of her fingers in return.
With exaggerated gestures, he wrapped his arms around his torso and shivered. Shuddered, actually, his expression so pitiful she actually laughed out loud in the copy room. In response, she plucked at the sleeves of her fitted sateen jacket and slid her arms free, removing it in a slow, deliberate glide to show just how warm she was. Warm enough to lounge in just a thin, silky blouse.
Below her, he went absolutely still on the frozen grass.
Which was weird, because why would removing her jacket—
Hold on. Had she just stripped for him? In the copy room?
It was just a jacket, but still. What about stripping said friendly distance?
Then, to her horror, their principal wandered into view. Tess said something to Martin, but he didn’t appear to hear. Instead, he was still staring up at the copy room window. Tess swiveled to follow his stare.
Somehow, before Rose gathered enough wits to leap away from the damned window, he’d maneuvered himself and Tess so he stood between her and the sight of a teacher who’d ignored a mandatory fire drill.
Rose snapped the blinds shut, exhaling with a whoosh.
Get your head straight, Owens.
She would. She would. Just as soon as she figured out how.
At the staff meeting, she waved at Martin when he entered the cafeteria, and he settled in the seat next to hers. While she skimmed the handout on the table, he dug through his briefcase for something.
At the bottom of the paper, she noticed a thumbnail picture of the presenter. Ed Barnes.
Shit. Should’ve gulped down more coffee before coming.
“It’s the same consultant we saw before the start of the school year,” she whispered. “The superintendent’s latest overpaid pet. We’re in for a loooooong afternoon.”
From the depths of his briefcase, Martin produced a metallic thermal bottle. The generous lid popped right off, and he flipped it over. A cup.
Clearly, he’d planned better for this meeting than she had.
He hefted the bottle and carefully poured his steaming coffee into the cup, and she almost wept in envy.
Then he nudged the cup directly in front of her.
Oh, she wanted it. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t.
“It’s yours. You should have it.” With sorrow in her soul, she slid it back in front of him. “If I fall asleep, please elbow me. And if I die of boredom, please scatter my ashes directly in front of the presenter, so he accidentally breathes me into his sinuses and gets an infection.”
He grinned and moved the cup beneath her nose. She tried not to moan in need.
“I had plenty of coffee after the fire drill. Because some of us needed to warm up more than others.” His lips quirked. “This is dark roast, by the way. Black and bitter.”
“Like my heart.” She snorted, still amused at the running joke. “Anyway, I’m only warm due to my superior metabolism. I went outside, of course, just like you.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
It was his coffee, and she really shouldn’t rely on him for anything. But it smelled like the sort of coffee a god might offer when he swooped down from Mt. Olympus and impregnated some mortals. Caffeinated ambrosia. Seduction in liquid form.
Martin leaned close and whispered, “Rose, stop eye-fucking the coffee and just drink it.”
His breath, a waft of warm air. His mouth, so close to her ear…
She shivered as a tingle of arousal eased down her spine.
At the first tap of the microphone on the impromptu dais, she pulled herself together. “Language, Mr. Krause.”
But she drank his coffee, and as she did, she could see him watching her mouth.
Once she’d gulped down the heavenly contents of his cup—and then the second cup he poured for her—her thoughts cleared enough to remember the special treat she’d prepared for the meeting. Although she hadn’t known the name of the presenter beforehand, anytime their superintendent hired a consultant, certain things were a given.
As Principal Dunn reminded everyone of the presenter’s qualifications with the polite but unenthusiastic tone of a woman who’d been ordered to waste an hour of a staff meeting for no good reason, Rose produced two small squares of paper from her own briefcase. Then folded them in half so no one else at their table could read the print on the grid.
Discreetly, she tapped Martin’s knee under the table.
He jumped, turning to her in a startled rush, and she rolled her eyes and removed her hand.
Real smooth, Krause.
When their curious colleagues had turned back to the presenter, she tapped his knee again—this time, he managed to remain composed—and tipped her head downward, indicating that he should look beneath the table. Once he did, he eased a hand down below, and she pressed the folded paper in his palm.
At the ridiculously brief contact of skin to bare skin, she almost jumped herself.
Hunched, protecting the sight of the paper with his arms and hands, he unfolded her little project. It took him a moment, but then Handsome Cologne Man reappeared with a slow, pleased smile. His hand disappeared beneath the table, and he wiggled his fingers, gesturing for her own paper. She passed it over, and he read that too, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening with his amusement.
“Bingo?” he mouthed. “Really?”
She scrawled in her notebook and turned it so he could see. Loser buys coffee next time.
After a moment, he wrote a response on his legal pad. His gaze steady, he watched her read his message. What does the winner get?
Whatever he or she wants, her fingers wrote, entirely without direction from her brain.
Like he had at the sight of her copy room striptease, he went very still for a moment.
His lips parted, and his handwriting became a bit choppy. High stakes indeed.
They were. Higher than any she’d allowed for a long, long time.
Resolutely, she turned back to the presenter and attempted to pay attention. For the sake of professionalism, naturally, but also so she wouldn’t miss any of the educational buzzwords on her bingo sheet.
Some of the concepts Barnes espoused were helpful, but they weren’t anything she or Martin hadn’t heard a million times before. In some cases, decades before, only couched in different terminology. So a little frivolousness at this meeting wouldn’t hurt either of them. And as everyone knew, teachers made absolutely terrible students, so she and Martin weren’t doing anything worse than, say, Mildred over there, with her crossword puzzle in her lap. Or Becky and Rasheed, who were whispering to each other. Or Jia, whose discreet game of cell phone solitaire seemed to be progressing nicely.
“Let’s discuss the most important parameters for student success,” Barnes began.
The game was afoot.
She’d chosen growth mindset as the center square for both boards, so it was essentially a free space. Within a minute after the presentation began, she and Martin had marked it off.
Differentiation. Stakeholders. Entrepreneurial.
Dammit. Those were words she’d given Martin, and he made a low, pleased hum as he crossed through each of them.
Fifteen minutes later, Martin was silently exulting in his imminent triumph. Either of two separate phrases would give him bingo: high-impact or research-driven. And since Barnes was about to start discussing assignments, she was probably fucked.
So thoroughly fucked.
She shifted in her seat as her imagination ran with that image, ran until it was flushed and breathless and sweaty.
With effort, she dragged
herself back to the tasks at hand. Professional development. Bingo. And then, to her pleased shock, Barnes took it old-school.
“As you’re aware,” he intoned, “we need to ensure through our choice of grading rubrics and our communications with students that we encourage grit and resilience. Along with making certain our assignments require a certain amount of rigor, problem-based learning—”
Grit and resilience? Just for kicks, she’d included those passé buzzwords in her bingo board, but she’d never expected them to come up. It wasn’t 2014, after all.
Martin glanced over at her paper, his brow creasing in newfound worry.
Well, he should be worried. Because all that stood between her and bingo now was—
“—digital literacy,” Barnes said.
Bingo.
Martin’s entire face sagged, and she gave his arm a quick pat of consolation.
I’m getting a trough of coffee next time, just so you know. No, a vat, she wrote.
He gazed at his notepad for a minute before writing back. It’s on me. Congratulations. After another long pause, he added, Is that your prize? Or do you want something else?
His handwriting stayed within the lines. Marched across the page, precise and orderly.
She stared at it for a minute as she held onto good sense by the tips of her ebony-polished fingernails.
I think, she wrote slowly, maybe I—
Perfunctory applause punctured her confusion, and she quickly flipped her notebook shut. The other teachers at their table gathered belongings and stared expectantly at the temporary dais.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes,” Tess said. “I think everything else we need to address can be covered via e-mail, so go forth and enjoy the rest of this chilly afternoon, everyone.”
More applause, this time enthusiastic, and the exodus from the cafeteria began.
Once the rest of the table had emptied, Martin watched himself slowly cap his pen. “So? What’s your prize?”
His voice had turned low. A bit tentative.
Just then, Keisha appeared at their table. “Ms. Owens, I’d like to speak with you for a minute, if possible.”
Shit. Had she seen the bingo game? Or realized two of her teachers were writing notes to each other during the presentation? But if so, why hadn’t she requested a meeting with both of them?
“Of course.” Rose deposited her papers and notebook into her briefcase, making sure the bingo board got buried in a pile of memos. “Would you like to meet in my classroom?”
Keisha shook her head. “I have a doctor’s appointment. Let’s talk on the way to the parking lot, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure,” Rose said.
As she and Keisha turned for the cafeteria door, Martin was watching them both, his pen still clutched in his hand. She offered a little wave, which he returned, and then she left.
Once they’d exited the school, Keisha repositioned her briefcase on her shoulder and glanced at Rose. “Ms. Owens, I’m aware that this has been a difficult year for you, and I want to reiterate my thanks for your professionalism in dealing with the challenges you’ve faced. Especially given the source of those challenges.”
Her voice was low. Too low for the handful of other teachers in the parking lot to hear.
“If there’s anything I can do to help you bolster next year’s AP U.S. History enrollment, please tell me. And you should know that I’m advocating for you at every level of administration. Including at Central Office. You might not always be aware of those efforts, but they’re happening.”
Dale. Keisha was trying to shield Rose from Dale. Had been trying for years, most likely. Which wasn’t a surprise, really, but…
Dammit, sometimes keeping a safe emotional distance from her colleagues sucked.
They’d reached Keisha’s shiny red compact, and Rose paused for a moment to collect herself before speaking.
Still, her voice was a bit too thick. Too husky. “Thank you. I’m very grateful for your support.”
Shit. Keisha deserved more than that.
Rose forced herself to keep going. “I’m lucky to have you as my department chair, and I realize it.” The truth, although she generally avoided revealing such personal information to her colleagues. “I know Martin feels the same way.”
He wouldn’t mind her telling Keisha that. Rose had heard him say similar things to their supervisor before.
Keisha paused with her keys in her hand. “Thank you. I’ve always felt fortunate to have such dedicated, caring teachers in my department. You and Martin are exemplary educators.”
Okay. Enough of this.
Rose edged a few inches toward the school. “Thank you again. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
Another long pause. Then Keisha exhaled through her nose and set down her briefcase.
“Nothing from a supervisory perspective. But…” She pursed her lips. “This is awkward, and I apologize for intruding on your personal concerns.”
This…was not good.
Whatever Keisha intended to discuss now, Rose was pretty sure she’d have preferred a bingo-related reprimand.
“We’ve worked together for over a decade, so we both know I respect your privacy. But I need to say this. Not as your boss. As your—” The other woman sighed. “As a concerned spectator.”
Rose swallowed over a throat that had turned dry as the Gobi. “Okay.”
Keisha’s eyes caught hers. “Martin doesn’t have a hard shell. You know this. I know this. Adorable newborns in Malaysia probably know this.”
Oh, no. No, Rose didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now or ever.
Still, she remained silent, because she respected Keisha. Trusted her, if only in a limited way.
“I don’t know what’s happened in your past to make you what you are.” Keisha pointed a forefinger at Rose. “And let me be clear. I don’t want or need to know. It’s not my business. Beyond that, you’re an admirable person. You’re a fantastic teacher and a hardworking colleague, even if you keep yourself at a distance from your colleagues.” She crossed her eyes a bit in emphasis. “From all of them except Martin.”
With precise movements, Rose folded in her hands in front of her. “But?”
“But you do have a hard shell. And that man is so into you, he can barely form words when you’re occupying the same space.” The department chair let that sink in for a moment. “I get that you may have had a hard past, and I get that he turned you down once for a date. But if you don’t intend to let him inside that shell, be kind.” Keisha’s braids rustled as she leaned forward. “Be kind, Rose.”
Rose kept her breathing steady. In. Out.
Until her department chair drove off, she needed to appear tranquil. Unruffled.
“I hear you,” she said, each word a pristine pearl of calm enunciation.
“I know you do. And no matter what happens, I won’t mention it again. Like I said, I apologize for the intrusion.” Keisha unlocked her door and heaved her briefcase inside the car. “Now I need to convince my doctor to test my thyroid. Wish me luck.”
Rose forced a smile. “Good luck.”
Leave. Please leave. I need time to think before Martin appears at my door.
After folding herself into the driver’s seat, the department chair squinted up at Rose.
“I almost forgot. Two more supervisory matters.” Her finger pointed at Rose once more. “Cool it with the note-passing at staff meetings.”
Damn, that woman had sharp eyes, even if they spent some of their time crossed.
Keisha’s grin pressed dimples into her round cheeks. “And at our next consultant presentation, I get my own bingo board.”
Yup. Way too sharp.
With that, Keisha closed her car door and drove away.
As soon as the other woman left, Rose rushed back to her classroom, closed and locked the door behind her, and hustled back to her precisely-placed desk. She didn’t turn on her lamp. The blinds wer
e up, so the descending dusk would provide enough illumination for a few simple tasks, and her computer provided its own light.
She kept her jacket tightly cinched, her shoes firm against her soles.
From the outside, all anyone would see was an empty, darkening classroom.
Even Martin.
Especially Martin.
When he quietly tapped at the door minutes later, she didn’t answer. Same when he tapped again around dinnertime, when they both usually left for the night.
He didn’t depart until much later than usual, and she snapped her blinds shut as soon as his footsteps faded down the hall. When he reached the parking lot and spotted her car, at least he wouldn’t be able to see her through the window. He’d know she was still there, but there wasn’t much she could do about that.
What she could do, however: Protect him.
From her.
Her conversation with Keisha had served as a potent reminder: A relationship with him wouldn’t be truly private. Couldn’t be. Which meant it couldn’t happen.
Given that decision, the other woman was right. If Rose didn’t intend to lower her guard, she needed to impose some distance between her and Martin.
A man without his own armor could be hurt so easily.
And she had no intention of shedding hers. Not even for him.
Ten
Bea straightened Martin’s silk tie outside the restaurant. “Looking good, Dad.”
“You’re just saying that because you gave me the tie for Valentine’s Day.” At the sight of those blond curls at her crown, he couldn’t help pressing a kiss to them. “Such a daughterly cliché. Didn’t you have some socks you could have shoved into a gift bag? Or a razor?”
He’d just been delighted she’d thought of him, especially while spending the week at her mom’s house. But telling her that would only make her roll her eyes.
“That kiss was your allotted mush for the night.” Giving the tie one last yank, she stepped back and scanned him with a critical teenage glance. “Ties might be a cliché, but you ruined your best one in the dunk tank, for some reason. And the blue brings out your eyes. Suck it up and appreciate my generosity.”