Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
BASH
I watch Romilly walk to her car from where I’m standing with Logan and the rest of the group. Romilly’s friend with the dimples—Addison—says something to me, but I’m barely paying attention. A man is now talking to Romilly in the parking lot, and she’s frowning.
My shoulders tense without my permission. I start forward toward them when Logan catches my arm. “Everything alright?”
“Do you think she’s okay? Do you know that man?”
“That man?” Perry follows the direction of my gaze. “You mean the pastor?”
I blink. “Oh. That’s the pastor?”
Addison covers her mouth with her hand like she’s trying not to laugh, and Romilly and the pastor walk toward us. As soon as she’s back within my vicinity, I ask her, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” But she bites her lip and stares past me. I may not know her that well, but it’s clear she’s worried about something. The pastor isn’t far behind her, but he’s stuck in a conversation with someone else for the moment.
Gently, I place my hands on her shoulders but keep distance between us so she’s not uncomfortable. “Tell me.”
Romilly meets my gaze, debating.
“You do look stressed,” Addison says. I almost forgot she was here.
Romilly bites her lip. “Okay, fine. There’s been an emergency with the Sunday school teachers. They need to leave before the next service, so I’m going to stay and help out. I just need to find another volunteer to join me.”
Perry tilts his head slightly, lips pressed knowingly into a thin line. “It was my kids, wasn’t it? They caused the emergency.”
“Sorry, Perry.” Romilly winces. “I think Enzo and Abel might be getting sick. They just threw up on the volunteers, who now want to go home and get cleaned up.”
Addison’s mouth falls open, and Perry runs an exasperated hand down his face. “I’ll go get them.” Then, turning to Addison, he says, “Will you meet me at the car?”
“Of course.” Addison sighs. “See you later, Rom. Sorry you have to stay and help fix this mess.” She lifts Marina’s car seat and starts walking to her car. Perry heads the opposite direction, toward the main building.
Romilly turns to Logan, placing her hand on his arm gently. An unexpected frenzy of jealousy takes hold of me when she touches him. Get a grip, Bash. She’s your boss, and she’s made it clear she’s not interested in you.
“Are you available to help with the kids’ class next service?” she asks him.
He winces and checks the time on his phone. “I would if I didn’t have to head to work.”
“It’s okay, I totally understand.” She gives him a hug before he leaves, but the disappointment in the way her shoulders are drooping is impossible to miss.
I don’t know how anyone turns her down. I can’t explain the pull I feel towards her, or how that frown on her face would make me call in sick just to make it disappear. But then again, if I actually called in sick, it would be from my job with her .
“I’ll do it.” The words fly out of my mouth just as the pastor approaches.
Romilly shakes her head. “It’s fine, Bash. I can just do it alone.” Turning to the pastor, she asks, “Can we make an exception for today, Mason?”
He winces. “Unfortunately, no. We’d still need one more adult. There’s a teacher-to-child ratio that has to be followed, so you can’t take on all those kids alone.”
With a smirk, I cross my arms. “Like I said, I’m available.”
The pastor eyes me curiously. “And you are?”
I reach out to shake his hand, using a tone I used to save only for my mother’s high-value clients. “Sebastian Black. I couldn’t help but overhear your debacle with the childcare this afternoon.”
“Mason Campbell. Nice to meet you. I saw your name on the counselor list for our homeschool retreat. But you look familiar.” He rubs his graying beard as he regards me. “Wait, you’re a fighter, aren’t you? I watched your debut fight, and I have to say…you were incredible.”
“Why, thank you.”
Romilly’s eyes widen as she looks back and forth between the two of us. “Bash, you don’t have to. Really . We’ll find someone else.”
But Mason laughs. “You got something against this guy?”
“He’s my new dog bather,” she says. “I?—”
Mason arches a brow. “And we’ve already background checked him. So we’re all good there, right?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Perfect.” He beams at me. “Thanks for the help, Sebastian.”
“Call me Bash.”
We shake hands once more before he melts back into the rest of the crowd. I don’t have much time to reflect on this recent, impulsive decision of mine before Romilly’s sweet voice cuts into my subconscious.
“Why would you volunteer to help with Sunday school?”
I turn to face her. That plump mouth is downturned, and her neat brows are arranged into an adorable frown.
I gently tap her button nose with my index finger.
I can’t tell her it’s because she’s so magnetic, or that I can’t seem to leave her alone, and I quite like being around her.
So I say something I know will agitate her.
“Because you, sweet Romilly, are going to owe me a favor.”
Her frown deepens in the cutest way. “A favor? Are you serious?”
“Serious as the plague.”
“Let’s just get this over with. Follow me.
” Her tone is deep and strained, but the way she walks back toward the main building would fool anyone into thinking she’s on a gentle stroll.
She doesn’t check behind her to see if I’m following along.
She doesn’t need to. I’m right on her trail, letting her lead the way to the children’s classroom.
This is going to be interesting.
I don’t have much experience with kids. I can’t even remember the last time I interacted with one. But the idea of Romilly all alone, potentially getting thrown up on by more sick children like Perry’s makes my stomach sink.
The classroom is empty when we arrive, and smaller than I expect, with walls painted an intense shade of yellow, one way too bright for little amount of caffeine I’ve had.
The ceiling is low, making the whole space feel slightly claustrophobic, and posters of Bible stories are plastered everywhere.
Bright colors and cartoonish figures grin down at me.
I don’t remember Noah’s Ark looking quite so happy at my church back home.
Romilly gets to work on the empty room, arranging the plastic, primary-colored seats in a circle.
“It’s far too cheery in here.” I wrinkle my nose against the faint smell of crayons and glue in the air, along with something vaguely sweet, like...squashed raisins? It’s nauseating.
“I think the word you’re looking for is stimulating. Or maybe exciting.”
“No, no. I said cheery, but I meant dreadful, actually.”
Romilly ignores me, restocking a tiny table in the corner with craft supplies. “You know, I’m actually glad you volunteered. You’re way too confident for your own good. This should do wonders for your ego.”
“This will be no problem ,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint you.” But I’m lying, and deep down, I think Romilly knows it.
As if on cue, young voices drift in from the hall. Romilly opens the door, and the first wave of parents arrive with their miniature humans. My nerves skyrocket.
Romilly checks in each child and eventually hands me a clipboard to do the same. Once a good ten minutes pass without another kid arriving, I set mine down on the counter and take in the chaos around us.
At least six different conversations are going on at once, all of them in squeaky, high-pitched voices.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, glancing over at Romilly.
She's across the room, crouched by a kid who’s apparently upset about his drawing.
Romilly looks like she belongs here, like this room and these kids were already penciled into her day.
It’s strange, watching her like this. She's usually so composed, so focused, whether she’s having a conversation or even working on her dogs.
But here with the kids, there’s something even softer about her.
Her smile is brighter, her movements more relaxed.
Meanwhile, I’m...well, I’m just hoping I don’t break anything. Or anyone.
A few kids crowd around me, looking me up and down. It’s like they can sense that I don’t belong here, but instead of driving them away, it’s made me the target of all their attention.
One boy, maybe five or six, steps closer. He’s got a wild mane of brown curls and a streak of blue marker on his face. His shirt is too big, and he looks like the type who would be constantly falling into puddles. He’s clutching a toy dragon, and his eyes widen as they lock onto me.
“Do you fight dragons?” he asks, voice full of wonder. “You look like a knight.”
I blink down at him. “What?”
The other kids go quiet, like they’re interested in my response.
I glance toward Romilly, hoping for some sort of rescue, but she’s still helping that kid with the drawing, completely oblivious. Wincing, I answer the kid. “Oh, yeah. I fight dragons all the time, mate.”
His eyes widen even more, and a girl next to him gasps. “You do?” she whispers, as if I’ve just confessed to being some kind of superhero.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t fight them like—” I struggle for the right words, something that won’t get me in trouble with the parents later. “—like hitting them or anything. It’s more strategy. You’ve got to outsmart the dragon.”
A girl wearing a princess dress jumps in. “How?”
“Not with swords, obviously. Dragons fight with fire. So, you know, you have to put out the fire before they can spread it.”
That earns me a chorus of “oohs,” and I try to relax my shoulders. Apparently, that was a good answer.
“But how do you do it?” the boy with the dragon toy presses. He’s looking at me like I’m his new favorite person in the world.
“Water, of course. You put out the dragon’s fire with water. That’s their weakness.”
The boy gasps, clutching his toy even tighter. “Like the ocean?”
I nod, catching Romilly’s eye as she watches us. There’s a tiny smile on her lips that makes me wonder if she’s just as amused by my tale as the kids are.
“Yeah, like the ocean,” I say, forcing a grin. “Dragons hate the ocean.”
“And why not swords?” another kid asks. “I thought all knights use swords.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Swords? Nah. That’s too messy.
Like I said, you’ve got to outsmart the dragon first. Dragons are really stubborn, you know.
They think they’re so much smarter than everyone else, but they’re really just controlling.
So you have to make them think they’re winning, before you can finally break free.
” It takes me a moment to realize how low my voice is.
I take a steadying breath when my mum and dad’s faces come to mind.
Relax, Bash. No need to get so intense about it.
But the boy nods solemnly, like I’ve just imparted some ancient wisdom.
Romilly finally walks over, crossing her arms. Her green eyes flash with amusement. “Bash, I didn’t realize you were such a dragon expert.”
I shoot her a teasing grin. “There’s plenty you don’t know about me.”
Romilly blushes, and her gaze jumps back to the kids. “Alright, everyone, why don’t we finish up our drawings before song time?”
There’s a chorus of excitement as the kids scramble back to their tables.
“Thank you for your help,” she says. “You really didn’t have to do this. I could have found someone else, but I’m still really grateful.”
“Well, you’re not bad company, you know.”
She fights a smile with impressive effort. “You mean, you’re not sick of me yet? After the week we had at work?”
“No way.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s only a matter of time.”
Romilly saunters off before I can respond. “We’ll see,” I murmur to myself.
What she doesn’t realize is how much each moment I’ve spent with her is only making me want more.
But I know deep down getting sick of her would be better for both of us.
Me, because I don’t need any distractions right now, and her because I’ve disappointed everyone else in my life.
My parents, when I became a fighter. The church, when I made decisions that labeled me a bad influence.
My friends, when their parents told them not to talk to me anymore. The list goes on.
And I’m sure Romilly has a different type of man for herself in mind when it comes down to it. One who’s nothing like me. I doubt I could ever live up to the kind of standards she has.
But for some annoying, terribly aggravating reason, there’s a part of me that wants to try.