Chapter 1
Evie
“Sorry, I'm eating cheese,” I muffle to Mrs. Johnston, our principal, between bites.
“No…problem,” She says it like it really is a problem.
But little squares of Vermont sharp cheddar are one of my comfort foods and these tiny slices of heaven get me through stressful days like today.
Mrs. Johnston hangs out in my doorway while I organize everything for my first parent-teacher conference of the morning. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed for your conferences today?” she asks.
To anyone, it would seem like a genuine question, but it never is with her. Her assumption is that I’m ill-prepared rather than simply wanting to assist.
“I’m all set here,” I reply. “Thank you so much, though.”
I hope that was simple enough of an answer to merit a quick dismissal.
She peruses my class with her eyes in the most judgmental way possible and then sees herself out.
Of course, my first parent-teacher conference scheduled for the day would be with the rudest man in town, who also happens to be the dad of the sweetest student I have.
I love Adeline. I understand and work with her dyslexia struggles, but her dad can’t seem to trust that I might know how to do my job.
So as the brawny, six-foot some-odd-inches of bearded, brown hair, and green-eyed anger storms into my classroom, I steal my spine, and my nerves, for the verbal beating teachers are used to getting around this time of the school year.
October is the perfect point in the year to meet with parents and see how their child is doing, especially in second grade where various struggles start to present themselves.
I readjust my belt between my brown plaid A-line skirt and pink cable knit sweater like it's the source of my confidence.
August is minutes early, of course—he just seems like the type. But I don’t let my mettle deflate.
With a stack of assessments, a bleeding heart, and squared shoulders, I stand to welcome the man who will more than likely send me into a panic attack in roughly forty-five minutes.
“Mr. Von, good morning, please have a seat,” I say with the sweetest customer service voice I can muster, and gesture to the seat across my desk from me.
He crosses the room and sits down, resting one ankle over his opposite knee. I seem to only get a gruff hrmph in return, so I take my seat and soldier on. “Thank you for taking time from work to meet regarding Addie. I understand—”
“Have you taken the steps we discussed recently to meet Addie’s dyslexia needs?” he interjects.
The audacity of this man.
He can’t bother to say good morning but can interrupt me?
“As I was saying,” I say, plastering on a smile.
“I understand Addie’s needs and I’ve taken steps to provide her with the extra attention she requires.
I’ve requested that the school district supply me with an aid during certain times of the day so I can work with and monitor Addie’s particular struggles and her improvements on a more one-on-one basis,” I pause, surprised I’ve been able to say this much.
When he doesn’t say anything, I continue.
“At this age, Addie struggles more prominently in her reading, specifically mixing certain letters and blending sounds together. We work on comprehension and phonics rather than just going back and rereading, and I’ve seen significant improvement in just two months. ”
Leaning forward, elbows to his knees, he steeples his hands under his chin, and he is…silent.
Now he chooses to say nothing.
Can this man only function by being abrasive and defensive? I’m exasperated already, but I pull out Addie’s assessment papers to show him the progress she’s made and the reading comprehension level I project she’ll be at by Christmas Break.
“I know as a parent there are many concerns when it comes to learning disabilities—”
“Do you?” he interrupts.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, completely dumbfounded by his response, although I don’t know why it surprises me.
August and I met briefly at Open House and while he comes off as slightly rude, there is something extremely dynamic about him.
I’m not sure if it’s his quiet confidence or his obvious brilliance I’ve experienced by how eloquently he communicates in his emails.
But since that day I’ve definitely felt an inexplicable draw toward him.
I’m curious about him and make that my reason for being attracted to him.
He also seems to be the only parent dedicated to Adeline’s education which, as a teacher, is already going to be hugely attractive in my book.
That’s probably not a thought I should be having about one of my student’s parents.
I know he and his ex-wife aren’t together anymore, but I have students with divorced parents every year and usually both parents are active in some capacity, but not Addie’s mom.
“Do you have children, Ms. Jake? I don’t believe you do.”
His deliberate use of Ms. instead of Mrs. doesn’t go unnoticed, but I let it pass and stay quiet.
As I’ve been taught to be. My divorce was never a secret, but in a small town, people generally try to avoid bringing attention to such scandals to your face while gleefully discussing it behind your back.
“How can you understand a parent’s concerns,” he continues. “When you aren’t one?”
Okay.
That’s... a fair question.
But not having children doesn’t make me incapable of empathy.
I lean back in my chair, hoping I look far calmer than I feel. Slow breaths, Evie.
“You’re right, Mr. Von. I don’t have children of my own.
” I fold my hands neatly in my lap. “I have worked with and grown to love so many different students, that I become concerned about the difficulties my students face. I take their struggles seriously and personally. My job isn’t to replace a parent—it’s to partner with one.
” I place just enough emphasis on partner to make my point.
“I do everything I can to understand each family’s concerns so we can meet every child where they are and help them grow at the pace that’s right for them. ”
He pauses, staring at me for a moment, before nodding in approval. “And what about her social interactions?”
Now he just seems like he’s trying to keep the conversation going which is odd.
“Addie gets along well with her classmates. They don’t notice the extra help that she is provided, she communicates clearly with her friends and myself, understands rules to games, and has a desire to interact with other kids.
I expect that the bulk of her struggles will be reading and writing.
But I’ll be able to better gauge her writing skills next semester.
” I offer him a small smile. “I hope you can rest assured that Addie functions well in and out of the classroom and is getting the help and attention she needs.”
For the first time since he walked through my classroom door, something softens in his expression. It’s there only for a moment before it disappears beneath that carefully controlled exterior.
I take the moment to slide Addie’s assessments across my desk. He takes them and I watch as his eyes pour over graphs, charts, scores, and comments through the pages.
While he studies Addie’s assessments, I study him.
Professionally.
Mostly.
Mr. Von is undeniably gorgeous. I've only seen him a few times and met once before, but anyone with half a brain and a working pulse would be irrevocably undone by the sight of this man.
I don’t know much about him, except that his family owns the logging company that keeps Pine Lake going. I believe he’s more on the tech side of the company. It’s impossible to not notice, during my completely objective assessment of him, that he is in such incredible shape.
Oh, Evie, always admiring the ones you can’t have.
My brain knows we're making an objective assessment, but the pull in my lower stomach doesn't seem to be on the same page.
I'd attribute a large portion of his good physique to the food he eats.
I've seen the lunches he packs for Adeline and either he's an amazing cook or they find a five star restaurant to eat at each night.
His outfit definitely seems tailored to accentuate his muscular figure even though he’s only in basic dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and what has to be a custom made cream leather jacket because it just hugs all the right spots.
I’ve never met Addie’s mother, but Addie must take more after her, with her sunny blonde hair, but shares the same vibrant green eyes with her father. You’d think Pine Lake was named for this family’s eye color because it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.
The conference continues on in a very similar manner. He asks curt questions, and I give kind, thoughtful answers. I have to remind myself to be thankful that he showed up anyway.
Some of my kids have parents who don’t even take the time to come out. I understand some can’t take off of work, but others can and still choose not to.
I attempt to stay professional, but during the conference I can’t stop admiring him.
He’s so classy looking which you wouldn’t expect in a small town like Pine Lake.
Since meeting him at Open House, I really can’t stop thinking about him, but that feels extremely inappropriate given our parent-teacher dynamic, so I tragically keep all those thoughts to myself.
And it might be wishful thinking, but I’m fairly certain that he keeps glancing up at me through his lashes more than necessary.
I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t make me feel very good about myself.
Taking what’s probably an unprofessional sip of my iced coffee, I wait for him to finish flipping pages. He stands abruptly with Addie’s file in hand, I’m assuming readying to leave and I follow suit.
“Thank you so much for all of this. I’ll pass these along to her pediatrician,” he states while simultaneously turning to leave.
“Sorry, Mr. Von. I actually need to keep her file but I’ll happily make copies for you and her pediatrician, and send them home with Addie tomorrow,” I offer.
“Great.” He drops the folder on the desk, and without giving me a second look, spins, and leaves my classroom, closing the door behind him. But not before I get a chance to commit him to memory.
The straight jacket constricting my airflow and the weight that must’ve been sitting on my shoulders seems to evaporate with the click of my door.
I slouch down in my chair, tapped out.
I glance at my clock on the wall that has the face of a schoolhouse and arms of pencils—9:45A.M.
With a sigh, I drop my head back on the cushion of my chair. I give myself five minutes to recenter and refocus, and turn it all back on for my next parent.
Because, as hard as it is for me to believe, August Von was only my first meeting of the day.