Two
Winslet
There were still three more weeks before teachers at MCS had to be back in the classroom to prep for the first day of school. I was almost one hundred percent positive that I was the only one in Hobby Lobby spending their birthday money on supplies for their students.
Perry had gone overboard with his gifting this year. The five thousand dollars I had refused to take from him as a birthday present was magically deposited into my checking account. When I called to tell him to take it back, his phone had been disconnected, which was weird, but this wasn’t the first time he’d gotten a new number. He’d send it to me soon. Perry hated spam calls, and when he got too many, he would always get a new line.
After thinking about it for a few days, I had caved in and decided to spend the money on my new students. Last year, I had found a Pinterest board with all these cool ideas to do with your class. There was this one where each kid could have a keepsake of their year—throughout the entire year, I would take pictures of special projects they did, have them answer current event questions, then build a memory book in a binder for their parents to have at the end of the school year. It wasn’t a cheap task, and it was going to be time-consuming, but I loved it.
So, here I was, in the scrapbook aisle, studying all the options. The number of stickers alone was overwhelming. I dug my phone out of my purse and pulled up my Pinterest app. I had to focus on what all was required for this undertaking. And not get carried away with all the pretties. Five thousand was a lot of money, but a teacher in Hobby Lobby could put a dent in that in no time.
I had a few rules I needed to follow too. For example, less Santa and more Jesus for the Christmas holidays. MCS was a private Christian school. Owned by the big Baptist church in town. I had learned last year that many of the parents didn’t like Santa. He took away from the real reason for Christmas—or so I had been told when I had my students do a Santa art project. Also, little Ben Bagwell had informed me that Santa was a lie and liars went to hell. Which, in return, had made Everly Watson burst into tears because she loved Santa.
Needless to say, the drama that had ensued and the meetings I had to sit through with not just the parents, but several others—including the principal, Mr. Clairton, who explained the reasons why we left Santa out of the classroom as much as possible—was a pain in the ass I did not want to repeat.
Anya Cagle, one of the fifth-grade teachers, had been sure to mention in the teachers group text how we should all keep Christ in Christmas. Then, she had gone on to say how thankful she was for all the fellow teachers she worked with who were faithful to the church and loved the Lord. I was almost positive that I was the only teacher who did not attend a church, and she knew it. From day one, she hadn’t liked me, and I had no idea why.
AH! Here it was. Okay, first thing would be their paper on what they did that summer, what they were looking forward to in second grade, and a list of their favorite things. I would need those fancy stickers to decorate the page after all.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, and a tingle ran through my body from the thick drawl.
My head snapped up, and I turned toward the sound.
Holy guacamole. Was it warm in here? I had a sudden need to fan myself. My face felt hot. I was too young for menopause, but whew. What had God been thinking when he made this man?
Slate-gray eyes locked on mine, and a small curl to his lips had me ready to swoon. Just like in those books Marley—my stand-in mom—read, I was gonna crumple to the floor and sigh at any moment.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he said, cutting his eyes to the stickers with summer themes I had been studying.
Thick black eyebrows lifted slightly, making his forehead wrinkle. Jesus, he even looked sexy while doing that. My gaze went to his messily-styled, ink-colored hair, and I wanted to run my fingers through it.
“I was wondering if you knew where I could find paint supplies. The aisles aren’t labeled, and I’m lost,” he said with a chuckle that I literally felt between my legs.
There was a flash of something silver on his tongue. Was that a tongue ring? It was. Oh my sweet goodness.
When a man such as this one walked into a Hobby Lobby, they should announce it over the intercom to prepare the women for this type of encounter. Because right now, I was struggling to find my words. He could have walked off a movie set. He was that gorgeous. Perfect. Not a flaw.
And here I stood, in my cutoff sweatpants; a tank top that might have a small ketchup stain from the burger I’d had for lunch, but was thankfully black, making the red spot hard to see; and flip-flops. I was wearing freaking flip-flops. Oh, and let’s not forget that my hair was in piggy-tails at the nape of my neck, as if I were the age of my students.
He was staring at me. Waiting on— OH! —me to respond. Crappity. I was making a complete fool of myself.
When I’d broken up with Alec, I had sworn off men for at least a year. It was almost a year, but the past eleven months had been so peaceful without him that I realized men might be more trouble than they were worth. That, of course, was before I had laid eyes on the Adonis who was still waiting on me to speak.
I cleared my throat and smiled, trying not to appear like a creepy, stalker-prone psycho. “Oh. Yes, um…” I glanced past him.
Where he needed to be was on the other side of the store. I could point, but he would likely still not find it. Hobby Lobby wasn’t for knowing where you were going. They wanted you to wander, get lost, buy things you didn’t need. It was a great sales plan. Worked ninety percent of the time, I’d say.
“It’s a bit hard to explain,” I replied, looking back at him. “Let me show you.”
With his chiseled jaw and deep-tanned skin and those light eyes, he gave me a full smile, which caused my heart to flutter.
“I’d really appreciate that,” he said.
And I would really appreciate getting to look at you longer.
“It’s no problem,” I replied. I motioned back behind him as I gripped the handle on my shopping cart. “Um, I’ll lead the way once I get this thing out of the narrow space here.”
When he turned to walk in that direction, I was gifted with the view of the best ass I’d ever seen in my life. Levi’s should pay him for wearing those jeans. Seriously, he shouldn’t have to buy clothing. Brands should send him free items to display on that body of his. It would sell millions. Women everywhere would buy whatever he had on for the men in their lives.
While his back was to me, I fanned myself quickly with the pack of stickers, then tossed them into the cart before following him. I’d thought my ex had an incredible butt, but even with all Alec’s training, this man had him beat, hands down. Not even a close second.
Alec was a pro athlete. He’d played football in college at Mississippi State, which was where I met him. Then, he was drafted by the New Orleans Saints. It had only taken two months after graduation and him going to Louisiana for us to break up due to other women.
I’d called him one night to congratulate him on a win, only to hear a woman answer his phone—who giggled and then told me he was unavailable at the moment because he was between her legs—and that was the end of things. I cried, ate ice cream, watched sappy movies, but in the end, I had known it was coming. We had grown apart. Alec sent dozens of pink roses, called for weeks, even showed up at my school, which caused massive chaos because of who he was, but I found I didn’t want him back. I had forgiven him, and I was done.
The god in front of me stepped to the side and waited on me to move up beside him. He flashed those gray eyes at me again, and my heart went into a little frenzy. I knew all about men who were prettier than me. I wasn’t even going to entertain myself with that idea again. But looking for a few minutes at the Hobby Lobby I could do. No harm in that.
“My name’s Oz,” he said, holding out his hand. It was a large, strong, masculine one that looked like he knew all about manual labor.
I held my breath as I slid my much smaller one into his, wishing I had taken the time to paint my fingernails this morning. That hot pink I had bought would have looked really nice about now.
“Winslet,” I replied.
Although when I’d been growing up, everyone had called me Winzy. My brother and Marley still did. I wasn’t telling him that though. It felt childish.
His grip was firm but gentle as he shook my hand, then released it. I fought the urge to smell my hand and see if it held his scent now. He might bolt for the exit if I did. The thought made me want to giggle, but I repressed it.
“That’s a lovely name,” he told me.
“Thank you,” I replied.
My mom hadn’t been an alcoholic yet when she named me.
Before I blurted something stupid like that out, I nodded my head toward the paint supplies. “This way.” I began walking, not allowing myself more time to gawk at Oz.
I liked that name. It fit him. Just like his jeans.
“So, uh, are you an artist?” I asked so there wasn’t an awkward silence.
That deep chuckle made me shiver. I wished I could record it and keep it to replay over and over.
“Not exactly. I’m helping my friend with a project for his son’s bedroom. I have more creative talent than he does, so I said I’d get the art supplies we needed.”
He had a friend with a kid. He was going to paint something for him. I was so close to that swoon I had been worried about. I needed to slap myself. Snap out of this.
“Sounds like a lucky little boy,” I replied.
“You have no idea.”
Interesting response.
“They have some of everything here, don’t they?” he asked, sounding impressed, as we passed the aisle with beads of all kinds.
“Yep. Well, except snacks. I mean, there is the candy, but they need drinks and hot dogs maybe or pizza. Kind of like Sam’s Club.”
I glanced up at him to see he was studying me like I was an oddity that confused him. My rambling tended to do that to people. It was a nervous habit I had adopted as a child. When my mother’s temper sparked, I’d use it to help distract her until I could get my brother safely away from her. It hadn’t always worked, but it had sometimes.
“Hot dogs?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. But the good kind. They’re delicious. Oh, and Sam’s Club also has that pizza pretzel that is fantastic.”
“I’m intrigued now. What is a pizza pretzel?”
I grinned. “Exactly what it sounds like. The dough is shaped like a pretzel, and it has lots of gooey cheese and a couple of pepperonis on top. You get a cup of sauce to dip it in.”
The corner of his mouth tugged, but he didn’t actually smile, nor did he respond. Luckily, we had arrived at the paint supplies so I could stop talking about food as if all I did was eat. I did enjoy eating.
Perry and I had gone without food for days, growing up. I’d give him what little we did have, and often, I’d go without for longer. A couple of times, I had blacked out because of it, but we had survived. Perry was a successful CEO of a start-up software company, and I was a teacher. Mom had said we wouldn’t amount to anything, but she’d been wrong. I imagined she was rolling around in her grave at my brother’s success.
“Here it is,” I announced, although I was sure he could see all the paint supplies and didn’t need me to point out the obvious.
He nodded his head, and I noticed a cold expression in his eyes this time as he shifted his focus from me to look at the aisle I had brought him to.
“Thank you, Winslet,” he said in a businesslike tone that didn’t fit our interaction in the least.
The glimpse of his tongue ring was the last thing I saw of his face before he walked around me.
“Uh, yeah, um, you’re welcome,” I replied.
He continued on, not looking back, and I waited, not sure if I should say bye or just go back to the scrapbook aisle. After a moment, I decided this was my cue to leave.
Perhaps he thought I had been flirting? Or was interested in him? He was gorgeous, and I was sure women threw themselves at him. I’d dated a man like that. One who was prettier than me. Would I ever do that again? Oh, hell no. He was safe from me.