Chapter Seven
__________
Jason
"Hellooooo," Grayson sing-songs in front of my desk. I look up at the knowing smirk playing on his lips. "What's got you all lost in your head?" he teases.
"What do you mean?" I try to for nonchalance as I glance away from Ben's latest text. A photo of him and Caleb holding a ton of roses. So many that they’re spilling out of their arms. Side by side, I realize that Ben is slightly taller than Caleb but only by a couple of inches.
They are so cute together. Barrett must have snapped the picture.
"I only called your name three times," Grayson reprimands. "And, I've been standing here...in your classroom... for like, five minutes while you stare at your phone with heart eyes." Grayson leans against my desk, arms crossed over his chest.
My cheeks flush, a faint blush that I'm sure is on display that mirrors the rosy hues from Ben's photo on my screen. "It's...um…a good day," I manage, fumbling to put my phone face down.
Grayson's always been perceptive, and he reads me like a damn book.
"A good day, huh? The kind of good day that involves clandestine phone staring and suspiciously happy sighs?" He kicks my foot with his. "Spill it. Who's the mystery florist? And more importantly, is he single?"
The question hangs in the air, laced with his usual playful curiosity. Still, there is a genuine flicker of interest in his eyes.
I all but growl at him like I'm some over-possessive beast.
I swallow before asking, "Who says he's a florist?"
Grayson rolls his eyes. "It's either that, or someone really loves roses."
I hesitate, a tiny smile returning. "Let's just say," I begin, my gaze drifting back to the phone, "that the roses aren't the only thing blooming today."
"I think this is our best lunch date yet." He winks and takes a seat in his usual spot at the small kids' table.
I decide the best way to approach this is just to rip the Band-Aid off. "I have a date tonight."
Grayson's eyes widen, and his brows shoot to his hairline as if I grew a third nipple on my forehead.
His smirk is now a full-blown grin. "A date!
With the rose guy? Oh, this is good. This is really good.
Please tell me all the details and leave nothing to my imagination. " He teases, wiggling his eyebrows.
So, I tell Grayson about Saturday, leaving out the intimate parts of Ben's breakdown and me holding him through it. I simply tell him he was having a rough day and that I was glad to be there to help him through it. Then we all went to lunch, and I got to know the sweet guy a little better.
Grayson eyes me like there’s more to my story, but he doesn't press. He stands up from his tiny chair and does this little shimmy that is more awkward than graceful. "So, what's the plan, Stan? Dinner? Drinks? A romantic stroll through a greenhouse?"
I laugh, swiping one of my curls away from my eyes. "Partially correct. I'm taking him to dinner, and since he's new in town, I thought we would go for a drive and see the sights. Maybe stop for some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows along the way."
Grayson has a longing in his eyes, and I know I screwed up with the hot chocolate comment.
Grayson loves hot chocolate with marshmallows, especially when he's in little space.
I know deep down we aren't a romantic match, but I also know that with me potentially dating someone new, there will be a loss for him. Me as a fill-in daddy.
Grayson looks away and clears his throat.
"Well, color me green. It looks like I'll be the only single person in our friends group on Valentine's Day."
When he turns his gaze back to me, his hazel eyes are a bit glassy.
I stand and open my arms. He doesn't hesitate and steps into them.
"You will meet someone wonderful, because Grayson, you are wonderful. I wish you and I could have worked out, but you know, there wasn't that romantic spark. For either of us. We fit together perfectly as friends, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
My heartfelt words cause him to relax against my chest, whispering into my shirt, "I know."
We let go of our embrace, and he goes back to his little table and opens his lunch box, and I do the same. We sit and eat and enjoy each other's company. Grayson resorts to teasing me, which means he's okay, and the moment of melancholy has ended.
Grayson's teasing, however, isn't entirely unfounded. My usual quiet demeanor has been replaced by an almost tangible hum of anticipation. It’s the kind of anticipation that makes the mundane schedule of alphabet reviews and number reviews a mild annoyance rather than the soul-crushing monotonous routine it usually is.
Part of me feels like I should request a grade level change.
I'd love to help kids with more advanced reading skills.
Don't get me wrong, my kindergartners can read; just most of them are reading basic, simple sentences.
The ones I secretly love helping the most are my strugglers.
I've even considered getting certified in special education, as I have accumulated enough credits through my electives during my master's degree.
Stepping out of the classroom still on a Ben-high, the hallway buzzes with the usual end-of-lunch chatter as kids from upper grades head in to lunch while the lower grades scramble out to recess.
The fluorescent lights seem a little brighter, the air a little crisper.
I could almost smell the faint, sweet scent of roses, a phantom scent that clings to my thoughts.
The final bell of the day echoes, leaving the usual chaos of students spilling into the hallways.
Some are being led by their teachers to get on the proper bus, while others are waiting in the pickup line for their guardians.
I ignore the flurry of bodies, my mind already calculating the minutes until I can shed my teacher persona and become… well, just me. Me, waiting for Ben.
The thought still brings a smile to my face.
After my last student is picked up, I head back to my classroom to double-check my lesson plans for tomorrow, a nonsensical action, really.
My brain is entirely occupied by imagining the possibilities of the evening.
Will we talk about books? Flowers? The startling ease with which we'd connected just two days ago?
Grayson reappears at my doorway as usual to wish me a good evening, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"Still basking in the post-rose glow, I see. Don't forget to leave a trail of petals, darling. For dramatic effect." He winks and disappears around the door jam dramatically. My chuckling follows him out into the hallway.
The idea of leaving a trail of petals is absurd. I mean, really, it's only a first date. But the image of a single flower, a quiet, bold declaration of my current mood, is far more fitting. My usual methodical packing devolves into a hurried shoving of papers into my backpack.
Stepping out into the brisk afternoon air, the scent of wet earth surrounds me, a welcome change from the classroom. The thought of Ben, his hands stained with earth and petals, waiting for me, feels like a promise.
Valentine's Day, coming up, might be just another day for most, a commercialized cliché. Still, for me, this Valentine's Day is shaping up to be anything but. It's a day that has potentially bloomed unexpectedly, much like the roses Ben was holding earlier.
My usual route to Peonies and Petals is familiar. I barely register the drive as my thoughts are consumed by tonight. Every corner I take holds a new possibility.
I replay Saturday, his smile, the way his eyes lingered on mine when I'd admired the vibrant wildflower arrangement he made. It wasn't about the flowers at all, but about the emotion that particular arrangement evoked not only in him, but all of us.
The wordless story that arrangement told.
As I pull up to Peonies and Petals, the warm glow spilling from the shop windows is an inviting beacon.
When I see Ben through the glass entering the showroom from the back, my breath hitches.
He's carrying a new arrangement. It’s elegant.
Barrett takes it from him, and he's beaming from something Barrett is saying to him.
Whatever nerves I still had fluttering around in my stomach have officially left.
I turn off the ignition and exit the car, making my way to the front door, not wanting to delay seeing him in person for another second.