Chapter 2
STANTON
Pascal Winfield was cute as a bug. I noticed him the first time I set foot in the library.
He was tiny compared to me—five foot eight, if even that, compared to my six-one—with a slim figure.
His brown hair was always neatly styled into a bit of a preppy look with a quiff in the front, but it suited him to a T, as did the round glasses that couldn’t hide his gorgeous brown eyes.
But what I liked most about him was how elegant he was. He moved with such grace, almost like a ballerina. Even his fingers were slim and charming…and without a ring, I couldn’t help but notice.
I’d looked forward to my first Safe Space event all day. Not just because I would see Pascal again. I did genuinely want to help queer teenagers navigate their identity. But I couldn’t deny that the chance to spend some more time with Pascal added considerably to the appeal.
The Community Center’s meeting room was empty when I arrived, but I’d deliberately shown up early. Pascal was balancing precariously on a step stool, tacking a poster to the wall.
I rushed forward, steadying him. “How about you let me do that? You seem a little too vertically challenged for the task.”
Pascal turned to look at me over his shoulder, those brown eyes sparkling with amusement behind his glasses. “Are you calling me short?”
“I would never.” I kept my hand on his lower back—for safety reasons, obviously. “I’m merely suggesting that some tasks might be better suited to those blessed with additional altitude.”
His laugh was musical, sending warmth through my chest. “Well, when you put it that way…” He carefully stepped down, and I immediately missed the contact when he moved away. “The rest of the decorations are in that box.”
I grabbed the Inside Out character posters, admiring the artwork. “These are great. Did you make them?”
“Oh gosh, no. One of our regulars, Violet, is quite the artist. She made these last week when I mentioned the theme.”
While I put up the posters, Pascal busied himself with arranging chairs in a circle. The way he fussed over getting them exactly right, making sure they were all evenly spaced, was endearing.
“So, how does this usually work?” I asked, stepping back to make sure the Joy poster was straight.
“We start with a check-in, where everyone shares how they’re feeling using colored cards that represent different emotions.
Then, we usually do an activity or have a discussion.
Today, we’re talking about emotions.” He paused his chair-arranging.
“I hope that’s okay? I should’ve run the theme by you first.”
“Pascal.” I turned to face him. “This is your program. I’m here to assist you in whatever you need.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Right. Of course.” He fiddled with his glasses. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Some of these kids might ask personal questions…”
“About being bi?” When he nodded, I continued, “I’m completely open about that. They can ask me anything. And yes, I promise I’ll avoid answering any inappropriate ones.”
The smile he gave me was worth everything. “You’re going to be amazing at this.”
Ten minutes later, the room buzzed with activity. Fourteen teenagers lounged on the chairs, their energy filling the room with chatter and laughter. But as soon as Pascal clapped, they quieted down. “Everyone, this is Mr. Kohler. He’ll be helping out with Safe Space from now on.”
“Stanton is fine,” I said, waving at the group. “And I’m excited to be here.”
“I’m happy to have you here,” Pascal said, promptly turning red. “We’re happy, I mean. As a group.”
Some of the teens snickered, but I managed to keep my face blank. “Thank you.”
“Let’s do our check-in,” Pascal said quickly.
He handed out colored cards to everyone, explaining the system to me. Red for anger, blue for sadness, yellow for joy, green for disgust, and purple for fear. The kids could pick multiple cards if they were experiencing different emotions.
I watched, impressed, as each teen shared openly.
Violet Frant—she had to be Sheriff Frant’s daughter—picked yellow and purple, explaining she was excited about an upcoming art show but nervous about people seeing her work.
Her stepbrother Byron chose blue, admitting he was struggling with his relationship with his biological mother.
From the little he shared, I gathered it was contentious.
Gabe Everett—the spitting image of his father, Doc Everett—grabbed yellow.
He had just gotten early admission into the University of Washington’s pre-med program. We all cheered when he told us.
When it was my turn, I chose yellow as well. “I’m happy to be here, learning from all of you. And I’m happy I moved to Forestville. It’s such a wonderful town, and the people here are amazing…and so welcoming and inclusive.”
Pascal beamed at me, and my heart did a backflip. He had this way of lighting up a room with his smile, and seeing that warmth directed at me made me feel like I’d won something precious.
“Remember,” Pascal told the group, “there are no wrong emotions. They all serve a purpose, even the ones that don’t feel good.”
A hand shot up. “Like in the movie? How Sadness helped Riley in the end?”
“Exactly.” Pascal’s enthusiasm was contagious. “Which brings us to today’s theme. Who’s seen Inside Out?”
The discussion that followed was fascinating. These kids were so insightful, sharing their experiences with handling different emotions. When one boy mentioned struggling with anger after coming out to his grandparents, I shared my own coming out story.
“My dad didn’t speak to me for two months after I told him I was bi,” I said. “I was so angry at him for suggesting I’d chosen this. But eventually, we found our way back to each other. Now, we’re closer than ever and he’s completely okay with who I am. Sometimes people need time to process.”
The look Pascal gave me then… There was something in those brown eyes that made my breath catch. Understanding? Admiration? Whatever it was, I wanted to see more of it.
“You’re openly bi?” a lanky boy with glasses asked.
I nodded.
“How did you know?”
Pascal caught my eye, giving me an encouraging nod.
“Well, that’s quite a story.” I settled more comfortably into my chair. “Let’s just say it involved my girlfriend’s twin brother…and me realizing that I liked him as much as I liked her.”
The teens laughed, and Pascal let out an adorable little giggle.
But what really got me was how he handled the discussion that followed.
He guided the conversation about emotions with such genuine care, creating a space where these kids felt safe enough to be vulnerable.
When one of the kids admitted to feeling scared about coming out to his soccer team, Pascal shared his own coming out story with such honesty and grace that I felt my heart squeeze.
Something on the back of his arm caught my attention as he gestured. Oh, he had an insulin pump. He probably had type 1 diabetes. I was all too familiar with that, as Heidi, my sister-in-law, had it.
Pascal seemed so comfortable in his own skin.
Everything about him felt authentic, from his mannerisms to the way he listened so intently to each teen who spoke.
I had to get to know him better. It had been a long time since I’d had this level of interest in someone, and I wasn’t going to play games. Life was too short for that.
When nine o’clock rolled around, the teens were reluctant to leave but eventually dispersed after many hugs and high-fives. Pascal’s energy seemed to dim slightly once they were gone, and he sank into one of the chairs.
“You okay?” I asked, concerned.
He gave me a tired smile. “Yeah, just coming down from the adrenaline high. These sessions are emotionally intense sometimes.”
“You’re amazing with them.” I sat next to him. “The way you handled that soccer kid’s situation… That was masterful.”
A slight blush colored his cheeks. “Thanks. My goal is to be the adult I needed when I was their age.”
That hit me right in the feels. “Well, you’re succeeding.” I took a deep breath. “Listen, Pascal…”
He looked up at me, those brown eyes impossibly warm behind his glasses. “Yes?”
“Would you like to go out sometime? With me?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “On a date?”
His eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really.” I smiled, hoping my nervousness didn’t show. “Why are you so surprised?”
“I…” He fiddled with his glasses before finally looking up again. “Are you looking for a hookup? Or something more? Not that there’s anything wrong with hooking up, but I want to manage expectations. Yours and mine.”
He’d gotten hurt. The realization made my heart squeeze painfully. “While I like sex as much as most guys, that’s not what I’m after here. If I was, I wouldn’t have bothered with a date. I’d like to get to know you better.”
The smile that broke across his face was like a sunrise. “In that case, yes. I’d love to go out with you.”
“Great.” Relief and excitement coursed through me. “How about Saturday?”
“Saturday works. Were you thinking dinner or…?”
I considered. “I’m not sure yet, but I’d love to plan something for the afternoon, followed by dinner, if that’s okay with you.”
He nodded. “When it comes to dinner, you should know I’m type 1 diabetic. I have to watch what and when I eat. Sometimes my blood sugar acts up, and I have to eat something quickly…or take an extra dose of insulin.”
“I noticed your pump earlier. My sister-in-law is also type 1 diabetic, so I’m familiar with it. Just let me know when we need to adapt our plans.”
“You’re sure it won’t be an issue? It limits the choice of restaurants. A pizzeria, for example, won’t work for me.”
“Pascal.” I leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “I’m asking you out because I like you. All of you. Diabetes is part of that package.”
A pretty blush colored his cheeks. “Okay. Yes. Saturday sounds perfect.”
“I’ll pick you up at noon? That way, we can take our time.”
“Noon is perfect.”
I handed him my phone and he put in his number. “I’ll text you my address,” he said when he handed it back.
Our hands brushed, and the spark I felt wasn’t static electricity. From the way his breath caught, I knew he’d felt it too.
Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.