Chapter 10 #2
This isn’t how I expected my first year in Dark River to go.
I came here for a fresh start, for quiet classrooms and small-town life and a chance to figure out who I am without my family’s name attached.
I didn’t come here to fall for a single dad with a seven-year-old I adore and a hundred reasons why this is complicated.
It’s Friday night, and the school gym has been transformed.
A big screen takes up one end, currently showing pre-movie trivia questions that nobody’s paying attention to.
Families are spread across the floor on blankets and sleeping bags, staking out territory like it’s a concert lawn.
The smell of popcorn fills the air, mixing with the general chaos of a hundred kids who are thrilled to be at school when it’s dark outside, which apparently makes everything more exciting.
I’m stationed at the snack table near the doors, selling popcorn bags for two dollars, juice boxes for one, and homemade rice krispie treats courtesy of the PTA moms. Mrs. Patterson is working the table with me, cheerfully making change and chatting with every parent who walks up.
Despite trying to focus on snack duty, I can’t stop scanning the room. I don’t know if I’m eager to see Theo or irritated with him. Probably both. Either way, my eyes keep drifting toward the gymnasium doors every time someone new walks in, and I’m starting to annoy myself.
Stop it, I tell myself firmly. You’re a professional. Act like one.
Then, there they are.
Theo and Chloe walk through the doors together.
Chloe’s carrying a rolled-up pink blanket and practically bouncing with excitement, already tugging on her dad’s hand and pointing toward the front where the good spots are.
Theo follows her lead, patient and unhurried, that little half-smile on his face that he gets when she’s being enthusiastic about something.
He looks good. Of course he looks good. He’s wearing jeans and a dark sweater that fits him just right across the shoulders, and his hair is doing that thing where it looks effortlessly perfect.
It’s deeply unfair how attractive this man is.
Cosmically unfair. The universe should not be allowed to put someone who looks like that in my direct line of sight while I’m supposed to be maintaining professional composure and selling popcorn.
His eyes sweep across the gym, past the families settling in, past the kids running around in the semi-darkness, and land on me.
I hold his gaze. I’m not going to be the one who looks away first, not after a week of radio silence. Let him be the one to break. After a moment that stretches just a little too long, Chloe tugs at his arm and he lets her drag him toward a spot near the front. He doesn’t look back.
The lights dim. The movie starts—Moana, which I genuinely love. I’m nothing if not a sucker for Disney movies, romantic comedies, Pixar, anything that makes me cry happy tears at the end. The world is hard enough without seeking out darkness in my entertainment.
Besides, there’s nothing better than watching a room full of kids experience a story together, their faces lit up by the screen, completely lost in the magic of it. Even the parents seem to relax, leaning back on their blankets, letting themselves be transported, too.
I stay at the snack table through the first half, restocking popcorn bags and making small talk with parents who drift over for refills.
Then Mrs. Patterson comes back from her break and waves me off, so I start circulating.
Walking the perimeter of the gym, checking on kids, answering whispered questions from parents about next week’s schedule, making sure nobody’s causing trouble in the dark.
A kid needs help finding his mom. Another kid spilled her juice box and needs napkins. Eventually we start running low on cups at the snack table, and I volunteer to grab another pack from the supply closet down the hall.
I slip out through the side door, letting it close softly behind me.
The corridor is dim and quiet, lit only by the red glow of the emergency exit signs.
The sounds of the movie are muffled now, distant singing and laughter filtering through the walls.
I take two steps and walk directly into someone.
“Sorry—“ I start, stumbling backward, and then a hand is on my waist, steadying me. I look up.
It’s Theo.
His jacket is draped over one arm. He must have come out to grab it from the coat rack by the entrance, but he’s not moving toward the door. He’s not moving at all. His hand is still on my waist, fingers spread across my side.
“You okay?” His voice is low.
“I’m fine,” I manage, but it comes out breathless. Neither of us moves.
We’re alone in the hallway. No kids, no parents, no one watching.
Just the two of us and the dim red light and the muffled sound of music through the walls.
His hand is still on my waist, thumb resting just above my hipbone, and he’s not letting go.
He’s looking at me with that same intensity from Friday night, the same look he had right before he kissed me against my door.
The whole world narrows down to his hand and his eyes and the six inches of charged air between us. I don’t breathe. I’m not sure he does either.
He exhales slowly. His hand tightens on my waist and his fingers dig in slightly. I feel every point of contact like a brand. The warmth of him bleeding through the thin fabric of my shirt.
I think this is it, this is the moment—
A door opens somewhere down the hall. He lets go.
“I should get back to Chloe,” he says.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Enjoy the movie.”
He holds my gaze for one more second and then turns to walk back through the door into the gym. I’m left standing alone in the dim hallway, pulse racing, skin still tingling where he touched me. Sophie was right. He’s not uninterested.
He’s hanging on by a thread.
And I don’t know whether I want to give him space to figure his shit out, or grab that thread and pull until the whole thing unravels.