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I smile as I send the response, but it falters a bit as I reread Callie’s initial email. I think that’s the first time she’s sent me one that hasn’t roasted me in some way. That shouldn’t be a bad thing, but for some reason, it feels like it might be. It seems like things have been weird between us all week.
Maybe “weird” isn’t the right word. We’ve chatted in the teacher’s lounge. Greeted each other with smiles and head nods. Had a couple of planning meetings for our upcoming field trip.
It all looks normal from the outside, but I’ve felt an underlying tension between us. The skin around Callie’s eyes has been a bit too tight. Her smile just shy of being completely natural. She always seems sort of…nervous.
And she’s not the only one. Every time we talk, my heartbeat accelerates, and my skin starts to itch. I’m transported right back to her apartment as she held me in a tight hug. But this time, in my mind, I don’t pull away. I tilt her head up and press my––
“Knock, knock.”
I look up to see Peter, one of the fifth grade teachers, standing in my doorway. I shift my weight in my chair and clear my throat.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“Some of us are going to O’Malley’s for happy hour at five-thirty. Want to join?”
My mouth curls up at the corners. Peter and some of the other teachers hit up the Irish pub every Friday night to unwind. I go with them sometimes, and it’s always a good time. And tonight, I could use a drink.
“Sure. I’m in,” I say, grabbing my bag as I push out of my chair.
“Sweet,” he says, grinning as I follow him out into the hall.
My steps stutter when Callie pops out of her room at the same time. She pauses when she sees us, then dons a bright smile as Peter stops in front of her.
“Hey, Callie. O’Malley’s tonight? Royal’s coming.”
He always invites her. She never says yes.
Her eyes dart toward mine, then her tongue peeks out to moisten her lips. My eyes drop to track the motion, and my chest hollows out. When I raise my gaze back to her eyes, she’s looking at Peter again.
“Sounds fun. What time?”
My stomach rolls, but I think I manage to remain perfectly still and not react to the feeling. She’s coming to O’Malley’s. She knows I’ll be there.
I know our relationship has shifted dramatically over the last couple of weeks, but it’s hard to get used to her not overtly avoiding me at all costs. Her eyes drift my way again, and I smile to let her know I’m happy she’s joining us. She starts to smile back at me, but then her gaze shifts back to Peter when he speaks.
“Five-thirty. I’ll see you guys there,” he says, then gives us a small wave as he walks away.
Callie waves back, then looks my way again. There’s an almost-awkward, tense moment where we just stare at each other silently, then Callie clears her throat and breaks the eye contact by blinking twice.
“You headed home first?” she asks, then turns around and starts walking like she expects me to fall into step beside her.
I do.
“Yeah,” I say, shifting the weight of my messenger bag so the strap sits more comfortably on my shoulder. “You?”
“Yeah. I need to clean up after making slime all afternoon,” she says, grinning at me.
That was one of my ideas––a fun project for Friday afternoon that’ll send the kids home for the weekend with smiles on their faces. I’m glad she took my advice, and if her smile is any indication, I’d say it was a success.
We chat about it as we head out to the parking lot, then give each other a wave as we split apart and head for our cars. My left knee bobs as I drive home, excitement over hanging out with Callie outside of work again rippling through me.
I know it’s dangerous. I know I shouldn’t be feeling these things. Not for her.
But this is the first time I’ve felt anything for a woman since Hope passed, and I refuse to ignore it. And if I’m interpreting the signals Callie’s sending correctly, she likes me, too. I’m tired of trying to deny it for propriety’s sake. It’s not like it’s against the school district’s rules to date another teacher. It’s frowned upon, sure, but not forbidden.
If something happens between us, we’ll figure out how to manage it at work.
At home, I shave and take a quick shower before dressing in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted, knit shirt. A half-smile tugs at my lips as I push the sleeves up to just below my elbows. I didn’t miss Callie checking out my forearms when I arrived at her house last weekend. I wonder if she’ll stare at them again. I can’t wait to find out.
At O’Malley’s, it only takes a quick glance around to realize I’m the first to arrive. I head to the bar first and order a pitcher of beer. I ask for four glasses in case any of the others want to share. Picking up the stacked, frozen glasses in one hand, I grab the full pitcher in the other and hold it firmly as I search for an empty table. Spotting two in the back, I head that way.
Setting my order down on one table, I move the chairs out of the way and push the second table against it before arranging the chairs around them. I’m not sure how many people are coming, but hopefully eight seats will be enough. Sliding into a chair that affords me a clear view of the front door, I pour myself a glass of beer and take a sip.
Other teachers trickle in over the next several minutes, five in total, and Peter mentions to the group that we’re only waiting on Callie. My gaze moves to the door every time it swings open, and I feel my disappointment growing every time it’s not her.
I would text her to find out if she’s still coming, but I don’t have her number. We’ve never really had an occasion to exchange numbers before, all of our correspondence going through email. I’m about to ask the others if anyone has her number when the door swings open, and there she is.
Time stops, and so does my heart. I swear she’s moving in slow-motion as she spots us, smiles, and heads in our direction. She’s wearing a pretty little white sundress paired with a denim jacket and white sneakers. The hem of the dress ends about an inch above her knees, showing off long tanned and toned legs.
Fuck, am I drooling? I think I’m drooling.
I wipe the back of one hand across my lips to make sure no saliva drips out. Callie greets everyone as she approaches, then ignores the empty chair closest to her to round the table and slide into the one next to me. My gaze drops to her legs as she crosses one over the other, and when I realize I’m staring, I snap my eyes back up to her face. Thank God, she’s looking at one of the second grade teachers and not at me.
I’ve barely processed the thought when her eyes move to mine, and I swallow hard before picking up an empty glass and wiggling it in her direction.
“Would you like a beer? Or I could go order you a vodka soda, if you’d prefer. With a twist, of course.”
Callie’s laughter tinkles in the air around me, and my chest swells. Her mouth settles into a soft smile, and she nods toward the empty glass in my hand.
“A beer would be great. I don’t want to get drunk tonight.”
Is there some hidden message in those words and the slight sparkle in her eyes? Is she…flirting with me?
I blink and look down at the half-empty pitcher before I pick it up to pour her a glass. I’m sure I imagined it. There was no hidden meaning in Callie’s words. She probably just doesn’t want to get drunk in front of the others. It’s bad enough for her that I’ve seen her shitfaced. I’m sure she wants to avoid anyone else we work with seeing her that way.
She thanks me for the beer and takes a sip before regaling me with a funny story about the slime experiment today. One of her students had tossed a ball of the stuff up toward the ceiling, where it stuck. No one told Callie about it––I’m sure they were afraid of getting into trouble––and she just happened to be walking beneath it when it finally released its grip on the ceiling tile. It plopped onto her shoulder and, God, her reenactment of the surprised shriek she let out nearly has me in tears, I’m laughing so hard.
Callie’s cheeks are glowing pink as she finishes the story, saying, “You should’ve seen the shock on their faces when I started laughing. There was this weird, stilted silence that made me laugh even harder, then one of the girls giggled and set off the rest of them. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it through the wall.”
I did hear it. For the first time since we’ve shared a classroom wall, Callie’s class disrupted mine. But there’s no way I’m telling her that. Not if there’s even a slight chance that it would deter her from enjoying the new, fun atmosphere she’s created for her students. And for herself .
We spend the next hour and a half talking to pretty much only each other, and before I know it, the others have trickled out, and Callie and I are the last ones here. She seems to notice at the same time I do, and her cheeks darken in color as she meets my eyes. She starts to speak, cuts herself off, then tries again with the same outcome. I remain silent and still, giving her time to get her thoughts in order.
She takes a deep breath and blows out slowly before asking, “Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”
Time freezes just like it did when she got here, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as my blood heats. Callie’s expression twists, and she opens her mouth. She’s going to backtrack. To rescind the invitation out of embarrassment.
I can’t let that happen.
“Yes,” I say firmly before she can utter a single syllable. Then for good measure, I add, “Definitely, yes.”
A shiver runs through her, then she swallows thickly, nods, and offers me a small smile. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat back to her, then I stand and hold her chair for her.
This is happening. I don’t know if “nightcap” is code for something else, or if she’s really only asking me back to her place for a drink.
And I can’t fucking wait to find out.