Chapter 8
Winnie
The end-of-day bell blares through the kindergarten wing, and the classroom erupts like a bottle of pop after a single Mentos has been dropped into the top.
Backpacks are already slung over tiny shoulders, art projects flapping from overstuffed folders, and half the kids are mid-hug as I herd them toward the dismissal line.
By the time I walk the last straggler out to the carpool loop, the hallway smells like Goldfish crackers and dry-erase markers, and my brain feels like it’s been through a glitter tornado.
Only then do I make my way to the break room, where I foolishly hope for a minute of peace. My day isn’t over yet, but I’m going to take a tiny break with my giant water bottle, a half-eaten string cheese, and the hope that no one is in the mood to talk.
I am disappointed.
“Oh my god, Winnie!” Kelsey exclaims, already perched at the table with a yogurt and too much energy. “Start talking before I combust. That TikTok last night? You looked like you were one swoony sigh away from falling in love.”
I’d managed to avoid this all day because once you start supervising kids, you really have no time for anything else. Alas, I knew Kelsey would pelt me with questions as soon as she could.
“Please,” I say, slumping into the chair across from her. “It was just a date.”
Emily from second grade leans around the fridge door. “A date with Lucky Branson.”
“And you made a TikTok with him. On your porch. And he called you electric.” Kelsey leans forward, eyes glinting. “We dissected it during our entire lunch break. Which… why didn’t you join us?”
“Had a massive glue disaster I had to clean up.” A white lie because there was glue, but it wasn’t disastrous and I had something else I wanted to do. Also, I wanted to hold space with my memories of last night to look for any sign that I’m being played.
I haven’t found it yet.
I peel my string cheese in slow, careful strips. “It wasn’t that serious.”
“Uh-huh,” Emily says, closing the fridge and flopping into a chair. “Which is why he posted it to his TikTok too? And it’s already pushing a million views?”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
The video exploded overnight. Comments were… a lot.
Most were enthusiastic, begging me to go out with him again. We ended the video before I agreed on a second date and so at that time, no one knew that I did, in fact, agree to it.
A few comments said we had great chemistry. Some were hilarious—one person said we looked like the couple in a Hallmark movie but with sex appeal.
But then there were others.
Unkind ones.
She’s not even that pretty.
What’s he doing with her?
She looks like someone who says “oopsie” when she drops her phone.
If she won’t take him, I will.
That should be me, not her.
This is exactly how I know Lucky Branson is nowhere close to average and why he’s truly in a different league.
But he’s decent, my inner voice reminds me.
Actually, he’s way more than decent. He’s absolutely a great guy and I can’t ignore that.
Kelsey reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You okay?”
I nod, but the truth is I’m not entirely sure. It’s been a roller coaster and my stomach hasn’t settled since Lucky smiled at me on my doorstep like I was the only girl on Earth.
Which is probably why I filmed a TikTok during lunch. I left the lights off in my classroom, propped my phone on a stack of sight word flashcards, and spoke honestly, albeit in a low whisper.
“Okay, friends. Here’s the update you’ve all been not-so-patiently waiting for.
Yes, I had a great time on my date with Lucky Branson.
Yes, he’s funny, charming, a little cocky but in an acceptable way, and very snack-forward.
And yes, I did agree to a second date. But…
” I held up a finger. “I’m still going to date other people.
Because this was always meant to be an experiment.
I want to see what’s out there. What makes a connection feel real.
So, stay tuned, because the experiment continues.
And I promise to keep you posted, whether it ends in romance, bedlam or a restraining order. ”
I posted it an hour ago, and it’s already flooded with comments. Mostly positive.
Mostly.
A knock at the break room door makes us all look up. Mr. Walters from the front office steps in holding a cellophane-wrapped bouquet.
“Winnie?” he says, looking around until he spots me. “These just got delivered for you.”
I blink in surprise, rising from my chair and abandoning my string cheese to accept them. It’s a stunning arrangement of spring florals and as I take them, I see it—an envelope tucked among the petals. My stomach swoops.
I tear it open and pull out two tickets to the Titans’ game tonight.
There’s a note in looping, slightly messy handwriting.
Thought you might like to see what all the fuss is about. Bring a friend. Snacks on me.
—Lucky
Kelsey squeals, having snuck up on me, peering over my shoulder at the note. “No way.”
Emily snatches one of the tickets. “These are insane seats.”
I stare at the bouquet, at the tickets, and feel torn down the middle.
Because I was considering going out for a drink with one of the other guys who stitched my original challenge video. A perfectly nice accountant named Mark who made a joke about tax season being a mood killer. That was sort of comical.
But now… now there’s this.
A reminder of the guy who makes me laugh until my face hurts. The one who calls me electric like it’s a compliment and not a hazard warning.
“You’re going, right?” Kelsey says with a nudge of her shoulder into mine.
“I don’t know. I was going to meet someone for a drink.”
“Did you commit to it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. Not yet.”
And if I’m being truthful, I didn’t commit because I was having doubts about dating other guys when Lucky wanted to go out again. I’m not built to be a casual dater… at least not for the long haul.
But when it really boils down to it, while Mark made one amusing comment about tax season, I’m pretty convinced that’s all he’s got in the tank, and I don’t really want to meet him for a drink.
“Is this considered the second date?” Kelsey muses as I stare at the tickets.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
Truthfully, I don’t know what this means other than it’s impressing me and I’m hard to impress. And part of me doesn’t want to be impressed. I want to remain bitter and skeptical of men because otherwise I’ll have nothing left to poke fun at.
“I think you should go to the game, Win.” Kelsey puts her hand on my shoulder, her face a mask of empathy. “I get it’s hard to choose between an accountant and a professional hockey player. The only thing that you really need to know is that if you go to that game, I better be the one you take.”
I snort and pat her hand. “You’re the one I’d take. I’m going to think about it. I’ll let you know.”
I head back to my classroom and prep everything for Monday. I pack up my things and drive home with the flowers belted in like a passenger. I glance at them at every stoplight, like they’re going to offer me guidance or whisper secrets from Lucky’s subconscious.
When I get inside, Buttermilk thumps three times from his favorite corner as if to say, “You’re late and I’m starving.”
“Same, fluffball,” I mutter, setting my bag down and opening his pen. He jets out and zooms in circles while I head into the kitchen, then fuss with the flower arrangement and force myself not to smile like a giddy schoolgirl.
I open the fridge. It’s a sad graveyard of almond milk, expired salsa and half a lemon. Dinner is either popcorn or making an effort, and I am not emotionally available for effort.
Buttermilk hops to my feet and glares up at me with the quiet disdain of a barista who knows I spelled my own name wrong on the mobile order. “Don’t start,” I say, grabbing a carrot and placing it on the floor before him. “I’m having a moral crisis.”
He crunches loudly without a single note of sympathy in his beady eyes.
Typical.
I flop onto the couch and grab my phone. The TikTok I posted during lunch has now passed two hundred thousand views. The comments are a mix of encouraging and downright nosy.
@DogMomJen: “Winnie. Bestie. You HAVE to give Lucky a second date and ditch any other potentials. We’re all living vicariously through you.”
@GretchenWithAPlan: “No offense, but if you don’t go out with him again, I will.”
@ChaosGoblin420: “He’s too hot to be trusted. This is the beginning of a rom-com or a court case.”
I scroll, heart pounding, then set the phone down.
“Okay,” I say aloud, looking over the back of the couch at Buttermilk still munching his carrot in the kitchen.
“Let’s be reasonable. I have two options tonight.
I can go meet Mark, an accountant who made one joke and might unironically enjoy spreadsheets…
or go to a professional hockey game to watch a guy who has already made me laugh more in one night than most men have in a year. ”
I pause. Then throw my head back and groan into the couch cushion.
“Why is this so hard?” I say, muffled into the fabric. “Why do I always feel like choosing fun is a trap?”
Buttermilk hops onto the rug in front of me, sits like a small, fluffy therapist, and gives me his usual look of passive reproach.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mumble. “You don’t even date.”
The thing is… I know what I want. I’ve known since I opened that envelope and saw the tickets.
I wanted to hug Kelsey and scream. I wanted to put on something cute and fun and go cheer Lucky Branson on.
But I didn’t want to admit that out loud.
Because that feels like giving something up.
Like maybe I’ve already lost control of the experiment.
Of myself.
But maybe—just maybe—this is the fun part. The spontaneous part. The part where I let myself feel instead of strategize.
I pick up my phone and text Kelsey, You free tonight?
Her reply is almost instantaneous. If this is about a hockey game, I’m already putting on my lipstick.
I grin and rise from the couch, intent to put on that cute outfit, maybe some more makeup and possibly curl my hair. I type back a quick message. Pick you up at 6. And bring your foam finger.
I turn to Buttermilk. “We’re doing this. We’re going. And I’m not going to worry about the what ifs. Deal?”
He thumps once.
I take that as approval.