Chapter 24
Ari
“You know,” I say as Wade’s truck drives down the interstate, “it’s really a shame my mom wasn’t home when you picked me up.”
Wade glances over from the driver’s seat. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re not getting any credit for this.”
“For helping with the wedding?”
“Yes.” I gesture toward the road ahead of us. “The whole point of this trip is to gain points with my mom. The one person you’re trying to impress is currently at the florist.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true.” A smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m trying to impress you too.”
I roll my lips, trying to keep my smile in so he doesn’t know how flattered I am.
His fingers tap lazily against the steering wheel. “Besides, I don’t mind going for a drive with you.”
The sincerity catches me off guard.
No smirk.
No teasing.
No joke.
Just Wade looking entirely too content to spend his Saturday driving me across Vermont to collect discarded wood.
I immediately turn my attention to the scenery outside my window, knowing that I’m reading way too much into Wade’s motivations. “Man, you don’t see a view like this in Florida.”
Rolling mountains in the distance, their slopes still mostly green, though patches of gold have started appearing along the higher ridges. Every now and then, a maple tree blazes bright red against the darker forest around it, like it couldn’t wait for the rest of autumn to catch up.
“I almost forgot how much I loved it,” I say to myself.
“I’m glad you’re being reminded.” Wade goes silent, letting me take it all in.
A few miles pass before conversation gets the best of me. “Why’d you become a principal? Is it because your dad was?”
“It’s not because of my dad.” He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I guess it was because somebody should care.”
That’s not the answer I expected. I thought for sure he’d say something about more pay, the power that comes from being in charge, or the autonomy to do what he wants without the rigidness of a set schedule of classes.
“There was this freshman when I first started teaching.” He sits back deeper into his seat. “He got suspended three times before October.”
“Troublemaker?”
“That’s what everybody thought. Then I sat down and talked to him.” Wade shrugs. “Turns out he was working nights, stocking shelves, because his mom lost her job.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He keeps his eyes on the road as he shakes his head.
“He was exhausted. Falling asleep in class. Missing assignments. The school administration—my dad—kept punishing him for his absences without asking why. My dad saw a discipline problem. I saw a kid who needed help. His situation taught me somebody should care enough to ask the second question.”
I’ve spent years categorizing Wade as charming and reckless and incapable of taking anything seriously.
But this doesn’t fit the version of Wade I’ve carried around in my head.
There’s so much more to him than what people choose to see.
Or maybe he doesn’t let them see. I’m just glad he’s allowing me small glimpses into the real him.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“Why’d you become a teacher?”
“My answer sounds terrible compared to yours.” I laugh. “At first, it seemed like a good job for when I have a family. Summers off. Same schedule as your kids. Family-friendly.”
The words leave my mouth before I fully think about them.
And suddenly, I’m twenty-three again. Engaged.
Planning a future. Assuming there would be children and a husband and a life that looked completely different than the one I ended up with.
I was young and naive. I’m different now… at least, I hope.
“But somewhere along the way, teaching stopped being about that.”
“And became?”
“The students.” The answer arrives immediately. “The ones lingering after class who need encouragement. Like you said, they desperately need somebody in their corner.”
Wade nods like he understands exactly what I mean.
By the time we pull into the pallet yard, something between us feels different.
Not bigger or romantic. Just different. Like we have a better understanding of who each other is.
I’ve judged only one side of Wade Stevenson and accidentally ignored the rest, and I’m slowly learning that’s been my loss all these years.
We both climb out of the truck at the same time.
“I’ll go inside and see if they have the order ready.”
I nod, glancing around the pallet yard at the stacks of wood and parked forklifts.
A man emerges from one of the buildings with Wade. He looks at me and smiles. “You two must be the bride and groom.”
I open my mouth.
Wade beats me to it. “Absolutely. Lady love and I can’t wait to get hitched on September twenty-third.”
Lady love? It’s my least favorite term of endearment yet.
“September twenty-third!” the man gasps. “That’s next week.”
“Exactly. Cutting it close, but she nearly bankrupted us with the centerpiece budget.”
The worker looks genuinely sympathetic. “Those flowers will get you every time.”
“Taxidermy,” I interject, not letting Wade have all the fun. “My fiancé requested real, stuffed squirrels for the centerpieces, so I just had to accommodate him. Isn’t that what love is about?”
The man blinks back at Wade, unsure what to say about stuffed squirrel centerpieces. “Should we get the pallets?”
“Yeah.” Wade’s head drops, and for the first time ever, I think I’ve finally embarrassed him.
“Stuffed squirrels?” Wade scoffs. “Why couldn’t you have said a more manly animal like a stuffed lion or bear or something?”
“Yeah, because the man would believe that we would have stuffed lions in the center of all of our tables at our wedding.”
“And you think he believed squirrels?”
“I think he did.”
We’re halfway home when the truck lurches slightly. Wade’s expression changes instantly, and he guides the car onto the shoulder.
“What happened?”
“Flat tire.”
I immediately pull out my phone. “My dad pays for Triple A for me because, one time, Andy and I got a flat tire, and neither of us had a clue how to change it. It was a whole ordeal.”
Wade gives me a look. “We’re not calling Triple A.”
“Why not?”
“Because real Vermont men change their own tires.” He climbs out.
I follow. “Wade, I have the app open right here.”
“We’re not waiting an hour for somebody to do something I can do in ten minutes.”
I cross my arms. “Have you ever changed a tire before, or do I need to pull up a YouTube video?”
He walks around to the truck bed and opens the silver tool chest. “Are you serious right now?”
“I was just making sure.”
Then, without warning, Wade grabs the hem of his white t-shirt and pulls it over his head.
I panic. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to get my shirt dirty.” He smirks. “Is that okay with you?”
“Pfft.” I shrug. “Yeah, I don’t care.”
Oh, but I do care. Immensely.
He tosses his shirt into the truck, completely oblivious to my gawking. There’s no showing off or flexing. He’s too busy gathering tools.
At first, it’s just broad shoulders. The rest is hidden behind the truck bed, but then he walks around the back of the vehicle, and there’s entirely too much Wade Stevenson in my eyesight. Back muscles. Arm muscles. A chest that has absolutely no business belonging to a high school principal.
Men should not be allowed to casually remove shirts in public. There should be permits involved. Background checks. Something to safeguard women who are trying not to be attracted to their fake boyfriends.
With the jack in hand, he drops down to a crouch beside the tire. Meanwhile, I’m standing three feet away, pretending not to stare, which would be more convincing if I weren’t actively staring.
The late-afternoon sun catches against his skin. His brow furrows slightly while he adjusts the jack beneath the truck. With each crank, the muscles in his back and arms shift in the most attractive way. Triple A who? Calling them would’ve been a sin.
“Hand me the wrench.”
I nearly jump. “What?”
“The wrench. You know, so I can loosen the lug nuts.”
A shirtless man saying lug nuts is a terrible combination for my brain right now.
“Ari?”
My eyes snap from Wade’s body to his face. “Yes?”
“The wrench.”
Right.
Tools.
Tire.
Reality.
I quickly pass it over.
Wade doesn’t seem to notice that my brain has completely left the chat. He’s too busy loosening lug nuts and doing mysterious tire-changing things that I don’t understand but that look insanely sexy.
And it’s not just the muscles.
Okay.
It’s a lot the muscles.
But it’s also Wade’s confidence and competence. The two Cs that weren’t even on my radar five minutes ago. I respect his abilities. I’m insanely attracted to them. And I’m seeing why people trust him.
“You see,” he says, cutting into my daydream, “it’s all about having the right tools.”
“Oh, you definitely have the right tools,” I mutter under my breath.
He flips his head to me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“After that, it’s all about torque and leverage.”
That’s when I cough out a laugh. “Stop! We don’t need any more tire lingo.” Especially when my mind keeps assigning double meanings to everything he says.
“Why?” He flashes me a silly grin. “Changing a tire is wheely important.”
His stupid dad joke makes me laugh again.
And now I’m attracted to him for a completely different reason than his outstanding six-pack.
Somewhere between the student stories, the pallets, and the flat tire, Wade has stopped fitting neatly into the irresponsible category I’ve assigned him.
And I hate to admit, but I like that a lot.