“It’s so nice of them to not make us go home yet,” I said as I stood and began walking toward the door. Millie’s eyes widened at my leg, but she kindly let it go. “Being gone for two weeks seems like torture right now.”
“I know. I just spent the last hour cleaning paint off all the desks, so yeah, I’m with you. Christmas break sounds terrible.”
“Do you know why it’s in the auditorium?” I asked, closing my door behind me.
Millie and I fell into step beside each other down the hallway. Out of a habit of self-preservation, I glanced at the classroom across from mine. Miles’s door was closed, and the lights were off.
“Maybe Harris arranged a musical number for us?”
I smiled at that. Our shy and stoic principal was generally well-liked among the small staff at Stanton, but a musical number was definitely not his style. （Thank goodness.）
“Or maybe they’re getting us presents this year, and they’re so big they need the stage to pass them all out,” I suggested, smoothing my skirt as we walked.
“I’m sure that’s it. So, who’s excited to spend a week at a beautiful lodge in Vermont with her mom and her new husband?” Millie’s over-exaggerated voice couldn’t help but make me laugh, even though very little about my upcoming trip felt humorous.
I made a face at her. “I guess that’s me—unless I get a better offer from my best friend to be the fifth wheel at her family’s holiday celebrations.”
Her face dropped. “You know you’d always be welcome with us. You’re like a second mom to my kids, but I think you need to be with your family this Christmas.”
“I just feel like avoiding my problems has served me really well these past few months. I’d hate to ruin that now.”
“This will be good for you,” Millie insisted as we reached the end of the hallway and turned right, leading us to yet another hallway. “I promise. You can’t avoid your mom and Russ forever.”
“I could sure give it my best effort.” We walked a few moments in silence before I added, “But thanks again for telling me about the lodge. Even with my bad attitude, I know it will be better than going home.”
She nudged my arm. “You’re welcome. It comes highly recommended. I think it will be perfect for your family this year. Like a fresh start. Nobody has to step on anybody’s toes or worry about blending traditions. Is your sister’s family coming?”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
The thought of spending time in my childhood home with another man in my dad’s place had been more than my heart could take. When I explained that to Millie, she suggested a Christmas lodge in Vermont that she’d heard about from a friend. It seemed the perfect solution. There were separate cabins and plenty of holiday activities to distract us all. I was a little surprised my mom had agreed to the change, though. We were staunch traditionalists when it came to Christmas, but then again, that was before my dad passed away. For whatever reason, she seemed excited about Vermont, and I wasn’t going to argue. Having my sister and her family there would be my other saving grace. Anytime I wasn’t locked away in my own cabin, reading, I could play the doting aunt card, which would get me out of any unwanted family time—or at least keep me appropriately visible at gatherings but unable to converse much. The plan was perfect.
When we entered the auditorium, my eyes scanned the room. The faculty had spread out among the first six rows closest to the stage. We began to make our way down the aisle but were stopped by Pamela, the school secretary. Pamela had the heart and demeanor of someone meant for bigger things than a high school secretary. With her loud voice and excitable nature, I could easily see her being some sort of radio announcer or one of those women who MC a beauty pageant. She was originally from Texas, and her accent was her trademark, which meant she worked hard to keep it thick, even after ten years of living in the north. Her hair was as big as her heart, and both were bursting at the seams.
“Hey ya’ll. We’ll announce what’s going on in a minute. For now, grab a cupcake, and then go sit with your department, okay?” She cheerfully motioned us forward and went to greet the teachers following behind us.
My stomach dropped. It might have been fine if my department included even one other person to serve as a buffer between me and Miles, but it was just the two of us.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered to Millie, anxiously scanning the aisles. After the email incident from a month ago, Miles had been insufferable. He made himself very available at all times for a snide comment, a teasing reminder of my mistakes, and just…flaunting his…whatever.
“It must really be hard to be single and have to sit with the hottest attraction this school has ever known.”
“Don’t even start. He never lets me forget that.”
She laughed, unrepentant as always.
“And it really doesn’t say much for our school if he’s the best we’ve got,” I hissed. Not that it was important, but for the record, I used to be the hottest attraction. Me. And not all that long ago. I didn’t mean that in a conceited way, but I was once the young, cool teacher who everybody planned their class schedule around. Me. And now, because I drew the line at turning my classroom into a donut-eating, Harry Potter-reading, student-stealing circus, I was a forgotten old has-been—at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
“Go sit by him. Hold his hand. Tell him he’s pretty. And then call me later.”
“Millie,” I whispered frantically as she inched away from me.
She only laughed. “Go give those hams a little pat hello.”
I made a very convincing gesture of threatening to cut her head off, but she only gave me her signature eyebrow waggle and waved as she made her way toward the art department. The traitor.
He was sitting in row six, behind the rest of the faculty, three seats in from the aisle. He leaned forward, talking languidly with the coaches, aka history teachers, sitting in front of him. They were laughing and conversing easily as I trudged toward them as though death was imminent. When I reached the aisle, Miles turned and looked at me. His eyes skittered down my body, landing on my torn tights. It figured that my flaw would be the first thing he noticed. My skin flushed with his gaze, which immediately set me on edge.
“Get in a fight over the Oxford comma again?” he asked, looking at me as though something amused him.
“I’m surprised you’ve heard of the Oxford comma,” I replied pleasantly.
“Some of us take our grammar seriously in this school, Carrot Stick.” He paused, making a face. “Nope, scratch that. I’ve tried out all the vegetables on you, but Celery Stick is just my favorite. It really rolls off the tongue.”
“You haven’t tried Olive yet,” I said, sitting down warily, keeping an empty seat between us, and smoothed out my skirt so that it covered my knee.
“Too on the nose.”
“It’s not even a vegetable.”
“And yet, it’s always on the veggie tray.”
I blew out a breath. “So funny. I’ll bet all ten fans on your author newsletter get a kick out of your impressive wit.” Did I not mention that Miles was an author? He’d recently been picked up by a publishing house for his middle-grade adventure series.