by M. S. Force
I take my pillow and stuff it into her face, hoping to shut her up.
She pushes it aside and throws it back at me. “You have to go.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes! You do!”
“No! I don’t.”
She moans as if she’s in severe pain. “If you don’t go, can I?”
“Shut up, Leah! Go away and let me sleep, will you?”
“When are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“You let him get away without making plans for another date? What am I going to do with you?”
“Go away and let me sleep?”
“Fine, but we’re going to continue this conversation tomorrow, and you are going to LA if I have to take you there myself.”
“Good to know. Nighty night.”
She makes a big dramatic production of getting up and out of my bed. At the doorway, she pauses and then turns to me, her face serious. “I’d hate to see you have regrets, Nat. Something like this… It’s right out of a fairy tale. I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it was… You have a right to be happy just like everyone else.”
“Thanks for caring, Leah.” I mean that sincerely. She’s been an incredible friend to me in the short time I’ve known her. And she makes me laugh even though she can be a pain in the ass.
“I do care. I really do.”
“Likewise. Now go to bed.”
I hear her in the kitchen, fixing a late-night snack that she takes to her room, closing the door.
In the quiet that follows, I have to admit that Leah is probably right. I’m crazy not to jump at the chance to have my very own Cinderella moment with an amazing, handsome, sexy man who makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. But in the back of my mind, always, are the memories of another man who took everything from me long before I should’ve had to face such a horror. I’ve spent a long time—years—putting the pieces back together without ever letting another man get close to me.
Until tonight. Until Flynn Godfrey.
And now he’s offering me things right out of a fairy tale while making me laugh and feel for the first time in what seems like forever. I just wish I had Leah’s daring and her courage. What I wouldn’t give for even a small bit of her ballsy approach to life and men and dating and sex.
Hoping I’ll fall back to sleep, I turn on my side, snuggle up to Fluff, who’s already snoring like a buzz saw. I let my mind wander again through the memories of my hours with Flynn, smiling as I drift peacefully before dropping off into sleep.
By Tuesday, I’m convinced the date with Flynn was a figment of my overactive imagination, not the magical fairy tale I turned it into with more than a little help from Leah. She blabbed the whole thing in the teachers’ room at our school, making me the center of attention all day Monday. She has no way to know how much I hate that kind of attention, so I kept a smile on my face, nodded in all the right places and answered all their foolish questions about what he is really like. It occurred to me late Monday afternoon that they all think I slept with him. Of course I did.
The school buzzes with my Flynn Godfrey news until noon on Tuesday when Mrs. Heffernan’s husband is caught driving drunk in New Jersey with a woman who isn’t his wife in the passenger seat. That news takes precedence over my brief flirtation with Hollywood, which is over now as far as I’m concerned.
Two days without a word from him sends a rather straightforward message.
A few minutes before dismissal on Tuesday, one of my favorite students, Logan Gifford, comes up to my desk.
“Miss Bryant?” He’s always so polite and solemn, and I adore him. His mother is fighting an awful battle with breast cancer, and the whole school has rallied around their family with fundraisers and meal deliveries and anything else we can do for them. I make sure to hug Logan at least once a day to let him know I care.
“What’s up, Logan?”
He glances over his shoulder to make sure none of his friends are listening to our conversation, but they are taking full advantage of the ten minutes I give them at the end of every day to talk freely to each other. “I was wondering…” His dark hair falls over his forehead, and he has a slight lisp thanks to his missing front teeth. He’s utterly adorable.
“What were you wondering about, honey?”
“When we went to art class, I heard Mrs. Drake say that you met that movie star, Flynn Goffy.”
“Flynn Godfrey. Yes, I did.”
After another glance over his shoulder, Logan says, “He’s my mom’s favorite. She loves him and all his movies. I was just wondering if he could come over to my house to see her.”
I feel as if all the air has been sucked from my lungs—for two reasons. First, what Logan is asking would require me to reach out to Flynn, and I have no plans to do that—ever. And second, how sweet is he to think of his mom this way? It nearly brings me to tears. Then the bell rings, and all hell breaks loose as the kids bound for the door.
“I’ll try,” I say to Logan, drawing a small smile from him.
“Thanks, Miss Bryant.” He gives me an impulsive little hug before he too bolts from the room.
I grab my coat and follow behind my class, making sure each of them gets to where they’re supposed to be before heading back to my classroom to straighten up. I clean the surfaces with disinfectant wipes, prepare my lesson plans for tomorrow and correct the stack of papers the children completed that day.
As I work, Logan’s request weighs heavily on my mind. The cute little guy has been so stoic and brave as his mother wages war with cancer. Single mom Aileen Gifford is an incredible person, so upbeat and positive despite a rather grim prognosis. I like her as much as I like her son, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them. I’ve even given Aileen my number and offered to stay with Logan and his younger sister if she ever needs me. I haven’t told Leah or any of my other colleagues how involved I’ve gotten with their family, but you’d have to be awfully coldhearted not to be drawn in by their plight.
The thought of being able to brighten her world for a brief moment with one simple phone call or text is tempting, to say the least. I pick up my phone from the desktop, open the text screen and scroll back to the one text he sent me Saturday when he was still looking forward to seeing me again.
I stare at the screen for a long time. My insides are twisted up in knots. All day Sunday, I waited to hear from him. I was sure I would hear from him after the evening we spent together. Leah pestered me endlessly, asking if he’d called. After the twentieth time, I snapped at her, and she stopped asking. Then Sunday became Monday, and Monday became Tuesday. I might be new to dating and men, but I recognize a blow-off when I see one.
Still… I can’t get Logan’s little face out of my mind or the way he screwed up the courage to ask me to set this up for his mother. Finding my own courage, I blow out a deep breath and begin to type.
So I know the mother of the dog who bit you and made you bleed has no right to ask for a huge, enormous, massively inconvenient favor… However, there’s this adorable kid in my class whose mother has breast cancer. You won’t believe who her favorite movie star is…
I read the text at least a hundred times, debating, dithering and actively sweating before I close my eyes, take another deep breath, open my eyes and press send. Then I put down the phone and dive into the stack of correcting so I won’t be tempted to stare at the phone until he replies—or until he doesn’t.
Did I strike the right tone between friendly and witty and noncommittal? Did I give him an easy way out if he can’t do it? No! I didn’t. I groan and drop my head into my hands. I’m agonizing over what he must be thinking when my phone chimes with a text.
I nearly drop it on the floor in my haste to handle it with the aforementioned sweaty hands.
Three words: When and where?
“Holy crap,” I whisper. In that moment of uncertainty, I realize I hadn’t expected him to reply, which is w
hy I’m woefully unprepared to answer his question.
I write back with hands that are now trembling as well as sweaty. Possibly tomorrow after school if you are available then? Could I let you know?
I hold my breath until he writes back. Sure, no problem. I’m available any time tomorrow.
Thank you so much for this. I’ll get back to you.
Sounds good.
I’m left with more questions than I had before, if that’s possible. If he’s available all day tomorrow and has time to text with me today, why haven’t I heard from him since Saturday? Why didn’t he say anything about getting together again during our exchange of texts? I know I didn’t dream the crackle of attraction that simmered between us during both our encounters on Saturday.
“Face the facts,” I say out loud, “when you tell a guy there’s no chance of sex without a wedding ring, he’s hardly going to be planning the second date.”
The thought deflates and disappoints me. Leah is right—I’m my own worst enemy. Though my heart is heavy in regard to my near miss with Flynn, I pick up the phone again and dial Aileen’s cell number, hoping I’m not waking or otherwise disturbing her.
“Hello?” Her voice is strong, and I’m relieved.
“Hi there, Aileen. It’s Natalie.” We’ve been on a first-name basis since parent-teacher conferences when we chatted like long-lost girlfriends, rather than a parent and teacher. Perhaps I have a ways to go in mastering the professional distance most teachers put between themselves and the parents of their students, but I genuinely like Aileen.
“Hey, Natalie. How’s it going? Is everything okay with Logan?”
“He’s doing great. And he’s always so polite.”
“I love to hear that. He knows better than to misbehave.”
“I was wondering if you’ll be home tomorrow after school. I’d like to stop by for a quick visit if that’s convenient for you. I have some new books I thought you and the kids would enjoy, and I wanted to drop them off.”
“I’d love to see you. It’s very nice of you to think of us.”
“Great, I’ll see you then.”
“Look forward to it.”
I end the call and switch over to the text screen. Tomorrow works for her. Would you mind meeting me outside my school around 3:30? I include the address and set the time for more than half an hour after school ends in the hope that most of my colleagues will be long gone by then. I can only hope.
His reply arrives less than a minute later. No problem. I’ll be there.
Thanks. See you then.
Now if someone could tell me how I’m supposed to function between now and then, I’d really appreciate it.
The next twenty-four hours feel like a week rather than a single day. I’m out of sorts, nervous, anxious, eager… In short, I’m a hot mess, and my kids take their cues from me. It’s a long, trying day for all of us. I catch a moment with Logan and tell him the plan for later. His eyes light up with a kind of unfettered glee that I’ve never seen on him before. No matter what this might be costing me personally, I’d do it again—a thousand times over—to witness his joyful response.
“Thank you so much,” he whispers.
“You’re welcome.” I squeeze his shoulder and send him to the coatroom to get his lunchbox. His smile never dims all afternoon, and his joy is contagious. By the time the bell rings, I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust from both the excitement of surprising Aileen and from knowing I’m going to see Flynn again.
I wink and wave to Logan as he heads out. “See you soon.”
His smile is so wide, I worry about his face breaking as he scurries out of the room. I follow the kids, as I always do, to watch them get on buses or be signed out by the parents, grandparents and guardians who pick them up.
I spend the next thirty minutes cleaning my classroom and preparing for tomorrow, while trying not to think about what’s about to happen. At exactly three thirty, I run a brush through my hair, apply lip gloss and put on my red wool coat that leaves only a small portion of my tights uncovered between the coat and knee-high leather boots. I’ll confess to having dressed for him today, not that it will matter. After he does this enormous favor for me, I don’t expect to ever see him again. I tell myself I’m fine with that.
Slinging my satchel filled with work I’ll do at home later over my shoulder, I head out of school, nodding to a few of my colleagues who I encounter in the hallway. I haven’t heard a word about Flynn all day today thanks to the unfolding scandal involving Mrs. Heffernan’s husband that has everyone’s attention. While I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, she was nasty to me about Fluff, so there’s no love lost between us.
The cold air hits me like a slap to the face as I emerge from the building and head down the stone steps, looking around for him as I go but careful not to trip over my own feet. I stop short when I see him, across the street, arms crossed as he leans against the red motorcycle I saw the other night in his garage.
He’s wearing a black leather jacket and well-faded jeans. His face is red from the cold and his hair mussed, maybe from the helmet that’s propped on the seat next to him. He’s stunningly gorgeous, and I can’t do anything but stare at him for what feels like five minutes, though it’s probably much less than that. At least I hope so.
He stares right back, his expression unreadable as I finally snap out of it and cross the street to where he’s parked.
“Hi.” Wow, Natalie… Way to bowl him over with your opening volley.
“Hi there. You look beautiful as always.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
He offers a small smile that’s tinged with sadness that wasn’t there Saturday night. It makes me desperate to know what he’s thinking and why he didn’t call me. I was so sure he would.
“It’s really nice of you to do this for someone you don’t even know.”
His intense gaze devours me. “I’m doing it for someone I know.”
His meaning isn’t lost on me, and if I wasn’t so breathless from being near him, I might’ve acknowledged it.
“So where are we going?”
I give him the address a few blocks away.
“Hop on. I’ll give you a lift.”
I eye the motorcycle with trepidation. I’ve never been on one, and I’m not even sure how to get on, especially while wearing a skirt. “I’m, um, not really dressed for a motorcycle.”
“You’ll be fine. No one will see a thing.”
Before I can formulate further protest, he’s putting the helmet on me, straddling the bike and holding out his hand to help me get on behind him. I guess I’m going for my first ride on a motorcycle. Too bad it’s freezing out and I won’t be able to truly enjoy it. I want to ask about a helmet for him, but before I can pose the question, the bike roars to life and we take off like a shot.
I have no choice but to hold on tight to him if I want to survive this—not that holding on tight to him is any sort of imposition. I expect to be cold and uncomfortable, but I’m neither of those things. Rather, I’m exhilarated and thrilled to be pressed up against him for the all too short ride to the Giffords’ home.
Flynn pulls right up to the building and squeezes the bike into a parking space on the street. He gets off the bike and then helps me with the helmet.
He studies me intently, but then I’ve come to expect that from him.
“Did I say thank you for this?”
“A few times.”
“Is it okay to say it again?”
“Sure.”
“I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know. She’s an amazing person, a single mom fighting an awful battle. Her son, Logan, is in my class and he told me you’re her favorite.”
“How did he find out you know me?”
“Um, well, yesterday, the whole school was talking about how I met you over the weekend.”
He cocks his head and raises a brow, two things I’ve seen him do before when he is amused.
“How did they know?”
“Leah told everyone. I didn’t say a word. I promise you.”
“I wouldn’t have cared if you did.”
“Oh. Well, I didn’t.”
“Anyway, your friend…”
“Aileen Gifford.”
“What’s the prognosis?”
“I’m not really sure. It’s stage three, and she’s been in treatment since before the school year started. I don’t ask too many questions, but I like her. We’ve become friends.”
“How about we go pay her a visit?” He helps me off the motorcycle. Or I should say he basically lifts me off and sets me on my feet in a move so unexpected and oddly thrilling that my knees nearly buckle under me. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Other than a racing heart and sweating palms, I’m just fine. “You know she’s going to freak out, right?”
“Believe it or not, that’s happened before.”
“Still, I don’t want to drag you into an ambush without proper warning.”
“Do I need to be worried that she’ll jump me?”
“If she does, I’ll protect you.”
“Then I hope she does.”
Is he flirting with me? After two days of total silence following what I considered a rather amazing date? I’m sure my definition of amazing and his are vastly different. That thought depresses me profoundly, so I try to push it aside as we head up the stairs to the wall of buttons for each apartment. I press the one for 3C and wait for an answer.
When the buzzer sounds, I say, “Hi, it’s Natalie.”
“Come on up.” The buzzer sounds again, and we enter through the main door.
As I trudge up the stairs, I’m acutely aware of Flynn behind me. I can almost feel his eyes on me, watching my every move in that all-consuming way of his.
On the third-floor landing, he stops me with his hand to my arm. I feel the heat of his touch through two layers of clothing, but before I can wonder how that’s possible, he releases me. “How do we want to play this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Am I just going to be standing there when she answers the door?”