Chapter 20
Shay
Students will be able to cross bridges and climb mountain-shaped husbands.
I set my water bottle on the cafeteria’s refill station and tugged at the front of my dress, a pitiful attempt at circulating the thick, stagnant air.
It wasn’t even midmorning yet and I was melting.
September never ended without one last brutal blast of summer heat.
That would’ve been fine, a temporary discomfort before the crisp weather promised for the weekend, but the cooling system at Hope Elementary was on its last legs today.
“Sweltering, isn’t it?”
I glanced up from the stream of water into my bottle to see Helen Holthouse-Jones, who I still refused to refer to as HoJo, crossing the cafeteria toward me. Today’s wrap dress was sleeveless and her merlot hair was twisted up and held with a large binder clip.
“Yes,” I said emphatically. “At this rate, we might spend the afternoon spread out on the floor with the lights off.”
“Good, good. That might be the only way through,” she said with a chuckle. She uncapped her own water bottle and took a sip while mine continued filling. It took forever; I knew this. I liked big bottles and I couldn’t lie. “While I’ve got you here—”
Oh god.
“I’ve checked in with Mrs. Sanzi and we think it would work best if you slide over to her room as soon as Kelli is back on campus.
You’ll have a chance to get to know her and the class and get a feel for the content.
” I must’ve pulled an expression because she gestured to me with the bottle, hurrying to add, “Unless that doesn’t work for you. ”
“Oh, no. That’s fine. It’s great.” I laughed through my panic. “I just—you know—I’ve lost track of time. Didn’t realize until now that I’ve been with this group almost a month.”
“The first month flies by, doesn’t it?” She bobbed her head like she was well acquainted with fever dreaming her way through a September or two. “I’ll tell Mrs. Sanzi we’re ready to roll with that plan. Good stuff. Good, good. We’ll deal with Mrs. Lazco later on.”
I reached for my water and occupied myself with securing the cap. “Great.”
Then Helen threw in a casual “Any thoughts about next year?”
I kept my gaze down. I didn’t want to explain the dread associated with that question.
It was too complicated—also, none of her business—and I needed time to make these decisions.
In the past three months, I’d been engaged, dumped, and married, and that was on top of inheriting a farm (somewhat), leaving my job, friends, and city, and discovering I found my husband both attractive and arousing.
Very arousing. My attempts at taking it one day at a time were laughable.
“I’m really focused on this second grade group,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to think about anything else.”
“Makes sense,” she murmured. “If you do get a chance to think about anything else, know that it’s likely I’ll have a first grade opening in addition to that kindergarten class. Just something to keep in mind. All good? Good, good. All right, well, I’ll let you get back to it.”
I leaned against the wall as Helen exited the cafeteria, her lanyard bouncing with every step.
I should’ve been back in my classroom, using this prep period to actually prepare for next week, but I needed another minute.
The hallways were stifling and my room was at the far end of a long, poorly ventilated corridor and next year pressed hard against my chest.
Jaime routinely promised to drag me home to Boston after everything with Lollie’s will wrapped up but there were some problems with that plan.
My old school had replaced me with a very nice person named Aurora Lura, I didn’t have anywhere to live aside from Jaime’s sofa, and I couldn’t figure out how I’d look after a wedding venue at Lollie’s farm—which now had a professional business plan and initial financing approvals—while living and working ninety minutes away.
Aside from all of those very real issues was Noah and the things that happened in the pantry. I didn’t know what any of that meant. He didn’t leave me with a pamphlet explaining what to expect when realizing you wanted your fake husband.
Did I actually want him? Could I have casual sex with my fake husband?
The better question was whether I could have casual sex at all.
I had no trouble finding people attractive and I didn’t have a problem getting aroused but there were a few other bridges I had to cross before wanting to take off my clothes, be naked with them, and let that person touch me.
And I couldn’t always define those bridges but there was always something I needed in order for it to feel right.
Looking back now, I had no idea what it was that convinced me sex with the ex was a smart choice but the person before him had always made me feel safe.
I could say anything, do anything, and it wouldn’t be wrong.
I knew I’d never get my vulnerabilities thrown back in my face and I’d trusted that person.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever trusted the ex that way.
I’d wanted to trust him and I think I wanted it just enough to convince myself that I did.
I’d convinced myself of so many things. It didn’t seem possible to swallow all those lies and half-truths while telling myself I had everything I’d ever wanted.
Aside from my teenage experiences, which were the closest thing to casual I’d ever managed, my sex life fell squarely in the serious column.
And I couldn’t see how sex with Noah could be anything other than casual.
There was an expiration date stamped on our marriage and also, likely, my time in this town.
We could kiss in a pantry and we could snuggle at a football game but anything else would be—well, I didn’t see how there could be anything else.
Even if it felt as though I’d crossed many of the bridges I needed and I did want Noah, it wasn’t a good idea.
It was possible he didn’t feel the same way.
Yes, of course, he’d been rather intense in the pantry but I didn’t know what that meant for him.
I couldn’t imagine it meant anything more than one and done, get it out of the system, casual as they come.
All of those things sounded horrible to me. I didn’t have sex to get it out of my system. I didn’t know how to separate sex from emotions and I didn’t think I wanted to try. I needed to feel something. I needed to feel like I was worth multiple failed attempts at chocolate buttercream.
But it wasn’t a good idea. And Noah and I had more than enough complications between us. No need to muck things up with sex. Not when I could gift myself a fancy new vibrator for my birthday and leave those complications behind.
It was better that way. Much better. For everyone.
I barely had time for such extracurriculars, considering I had to start thinking about Mrs. Sanzi’s third grade class and whatever the hell those kids were supposed to learn.
If I could get Grace to talk me through her curriculum, it would really help.
Even if I spent a week or two embedded in Adelma Sanzi’s class, I’d still have to write my own plans while she was out.
Maybe I could visit with Grace and Emme for a long weekend, and Jaime and Audrey of course.
They’d understand why I couldn’t have sex with my husband. They’d agree with me on this.
Regardless of anything Jaime might’ve said in the past.
While I was deep in my thoughts, a door banged open on the other side of the cafeteria. I was slow to shift my gaze in that direction yet quick to whisper, “ Ohhh .”
Noah shouldered his way through the delivery entrance, two milk crates clutched in each hand, his arms taxing the limits of his t-shirt.
For a moment, I did nothing more than stare.
And who could blame me? His arms looked like tree trunks, and his chest, my god , I could make out the ripples of muscle through his shirt.
I knew what those ripples felt like, the arms too, but watching him stride across the cafeteria, his hat pulled low over his eyes and his jaw firm, was an altogether different experience.
Until he caught me staring.
A slight grin pulled at his lips as he hefted all four crates into the fridge. It was ninety-two degrees at ten in the morning, and he was carrying a whole lot of milk with those tree trunk arms and he couldn’t bother to breathe heavily while doing it.
He jerked his chin up in greeting as he moved toward me, that grin twisting into a smile.
I had no words. Not a single word. I wouldn’t have known it until now but lugging milk crates across a cafeteria while wearing a tight t-shirt on a hot day was definitely one of the intimacy bridges I needed to cross.
“Good morning,” he called.
“Mmhmm.” I clutched my water bottle with both hands. “What are you doing here?”
He pulled off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair. “Nice to see you too.”
“I mean—hmm.” He reached for my water and took a sip. I stared at his throat as he drank. “Since when do you deliver milk to schools?”
“When the regular driver’s truck overheats on the highway.” He handed the bottle back, pressing it between my breasts. His index finger brushed over my nipple. The sound that whispered out of me was profane. It had no business in an elementary school cafeteria. “All part of the job.”
“I-I guess so,” I stammered. Was it getting hotter in here?
He traced the shell of my ear and down the side of my neck, his cheeks reddening as he glanced at my cow earrings. “Cute.”
Much, much hotter.
“How many more stops do you have to make?” I asked.
He trailed a finger under my necklace, rubbed his thumb over the pendant. “This is the last.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
He tipped his head to the side and studied me as he ran that finger back up my neck. “And why is that?”
“Because you are a walking endorsement for an affair with the milkman,” I said.
Noah shrugged while a blush colored his cheeks and ears. “It wouldn’t be an affair, seeing as we’re already married.” He cupped my jaw as he leaned closer. “Isn’t that right, wife?”
His lips brushed mine, the fine scrape of his beard on my jaw and his minty breath warm on my skin. It was barely a kiss, just a touch, but it shot through me in a hot, flashing reminder of last night. It felt incredible—and highly inconvenient.
“I have to pick up my class in a few minutes,” I said.
“Then I’m stealing this minute from you. If you want it back, you’ll have to come and get it.”
He looped his arm around my waist, tugged me tight against him.
I grabbed his shoulder to steady myself.
A growly rumble sounded in his throat as he kissed me again and that noise walked right up to all the rationalizations I’d accumulated while talking myself out of wanting Noah, and knocked them over.
Those reasons and justifications, that strong, logical fortress fell like a sandcastle surrendering to high tide.
All I could do was kiss him back and wonder if I’d survive this.
From the other side of the cafeteria, a chorus of ooohhhh went up. I shifted out of Noah’s embrace to find my class filing toward the water fountain, each little face flushed and sweaty from running around in this heat. “Oh my god.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Miss Z,” Mr. Gagne called. He tossed in a completely unnecessary wink. “Finished our kickball game early. Gotta hydrate often on days like today.”
“Is that the guy?” Noah asked under his breath.
“What guy?” I knew which guy he was talking about.
“The guy who left you at the bar,” he snapped, dragging a glare over the gym teacher. “The lacrosse coach. The one I’m going to kill.”
“It is but we don’t murder people here. It sets a terrible example for the children.” I patted his shoulder. “You’re doing enough to kill him with your eyes. Calm yourself. No snarling.”
“Is that your boyfriend?” one of the kids asked.
“Are you getting married?” another asked.
Beside me, Noah snickered. To the students, I said, “Class, this is my friend Mr. Barden. He visited today to restock our chocolate milk supply. Say hello to Mr. Barden.”
“Hello, Mr. Barden,” they chorused.
Noah held up a hand. “Hey.” He turned to me, saying, “You know where to find me if you want that minute back.”
I watched as he strode toward the delivery door, hitting me with a small grin that landed somewhere below my belly button as he waved goodbye.
I had no idea what I was going to do about my husband.