Blake
I spot Mia through the window of her classroom during lunch period, hunched over her desk with a sandwich she hasn't touched and papers spread around her like a fortress. She's been here less than two weeks and already she's built walls so high I'm surprised she can see over them.
I knock on the doorframe. "Hey, you know we have a teachers' lounge for a reason, right?"
She looks up, startled, and I catch the flash of something vulnerable in those blue eyes before she masks it with a polite smile. "I have lesson planning to do. Trying to stay ahead of the curve."
"The coaching staff usually eats in the gym. Less gossip, better company." I lean against the doorframe, keeping my posture casual. "You're welcome to join us."
"That's really kind of you, but I should probably stay here." She gestures at the papers. "I'm still getting my bearings with the curriculum."
I nod, not pushing, but something about the way she won't quite meet my eyes tells me she's not avoiding the gym because of lesson plans. She's avoiding people. Avoiding questions and the whispers that follow her through the hallways.
"Offer stands if you change your mind," I say.
As I walk away, I glance back and see her staring at that untouched sandwich, her shoulders curved inward like she's trying to take up as little space as possible.
The rest of the day, I find myself thinking about her more than I should. During practice, while my players run drills, I catch myself wondering if she's still in that classroom. If she's eaten anything or just let that sandwich sit untouched.
Tuesday, I make a point to walk past her classroom between periods.
She's there, talking to a student about an essay.
Her face lights up when she discusses literature, animated in a way that totally transforms her face.
The transformation is striking. This is who she is when she forgets to be guarded.
Wednesday, I see her in the hallway, and she actually smiles at me. It's small, tentative, but real. Progress.
Thursday, I notice Jack standing at his office window during lunch, his gaze fixed on something below.
I follow his line of sight and realize he's watching Mia's classroom.
The intensity in his expression makes my stomach tighten.
That's not the look of a principal monitoring a new teacher. That's something else entirely.
I frown. I've never known Jack to react like that to a staff member.
It's obvious, even from where I’m standing, that he's attracted to her.
Jealousy, out of nowhere, pops up and rears its ugly head.
I give myself a mental shake. I've got no business being jealous.
Still, the emotion remains, so I force myself to get back to work.
Later that afternoon, I'm heading to the gym when I see Noah leaving Mia's classroom.
He's got that slightly dazed expression guys get when they've been near a woman they're attracted to.
Him too? First Jack, now Noah? He doesn't notice me as he walks past, too lost in his thoughts, probably all about our new English teacher.
I file that observation away with the others I've been collecting. The way Jack's jaw tightens when other male teachers talk to Mia. The way Noah finds excuses to stop by her classroom. The way Mia seems hyperaware of both of them, her body language shifting whenever either man is near.
And then there's me. I feel like I'm sneaking around, spying on her. Like some stalker.
Friday after school, I'm loading equipment into my truck when I see Mia struggling with a stack of boxes near her car. She's trying to balance three of them at once, her arms shaking with the effort and the boxes sliding precariously in her arms.
"Whoa, let me help with that." I jog over and take the top two boxes before she can protest.
"Thank you." She blows a strand of hair out of her face. "I thought I could manage, but apparently I overestimated my upper body strength."
"What's all this?" I peer into one of the boxes. Books, mostly. Classroom supplies.
"Just some things I picked up for my classroom. I wanted to add more contemporary titles to the reading list." She opens her trunk and I load the boxes inside.
"That's a lot of books to haul around. Where do you live? I can follow and help you carry them in."
She hesitates, and I see the walls starting to go back up. "That's really not necessary."
"Mia." I keep my voice gentle. "I'm offering to help carry boxes, not asking for your social security number."
That gets a small laugh out of her. The sound does something to my chest, makes it feel lighter. "I'm staying at the Pinewood Lodge. Just until I find an apartment."
"The motel?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. "You've been there all this time?"
"It's fine. Clean. Quiet." She closes the trunk with more force than necessary. "I've been apartment hunting, but everything I've looked at is either too expensive or too far from the school."
I lean against her car, studying her. She's wearing dark jeans and a simple blue sweater that brings out her eyes.
Not to mention the way it clings to her chest, drawing my eyes briefly to her breasts before I jerk them back to her face.
Her hair is down today, falling past her shoulders in soft waves.
I have the sudden urge to run my fingers through those silky-looking strands.
"I might be able to help with that," I say. "My landlord owns several properties around town. He's got a unit that just opened up. Two bedroom, reasonable rent, about ten minutes from here."
Her eyes widen. "Really?"
"Really. I can give you his number if you want. Or I can call him myself and put in a good word."
She narrows her eyes with a slight frown. "What's the catch??
"No catch. I know you're new in town and could use some help ... and a friend." I shrug, keeping my posture open and non-threatening.
She looks away, blinking rapidly. When she speaks, her voice is thick. "Thank you. I'd really appreciate it if you could put in a good word."
"Consider it done." I pull out my phone. "Give me your number and I'll text you his contact info."
She rattles off her number and I send her a quick text so she has mine. My fingers brush hers when I hand her phone back and ... was that electricity zinging between us just from that slight touch? Her breath catches and I know she felt it too.
"I appreciate that more than you know," she says softly.
We stand there in the parking lot as the afternoon sun slants across the pavement, and I realize I want to know everything about this woman. What made her leave Riverside ten years ago? What brought her back? What puts that sadness in her eyes even when she smiles?
"So, tonight," I say, breaking the silence. "The team usually celebrates after the game at Mario's Pizza. Nothing fancy, just pizza and terrible arcade games. You should come."
"I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
She gestures vaguely. "People are already talking about me. If I show up at a team celebration, it'll just give them more to gossip about."
"Let them talk." I step closer. "You can't live your life worried about what small-minded people think. Besides, the team would love to have you there. Half of them are in your English class, and they won't shut up about how cool you are."
That makes her smile, a real one that reaches her eyes. "They said that?"
"Direct quote from my quarterback: 'Coach, Miss Wilson is actually cool. Like, she gets us.'" I mimic his teenage drawl and she laughs.
God, I want to make her laugh like that again. Want to be the reason that guarded expression melts away.
"I'll think about it," she says.
"That's all I'm asking." I push off from her car. "Text me if you need help moving into the new place. I'm pretty good at hauling furniture."
"You've already done so much."
"Mia." I wait until she looks at me. "I want to help. Let me."
She nods, and I see her throat work as she swallows. "Okay."
I watch her drive away, her brake lights disappearing around the corner. The parking lot is nearly empty now, most of the staff having left for the weekend. I'm about to head back to my truck when movement catches my eye.
Someone is standing at a second-floor classroom window, watching. The figure is backlit by the classroom lights, making it impossible to see who it is. But I can feel their gaze, focused and intent.
I look up, trying to make out any identifying features. The person doesn't move, just stands there staring down at the spot where Mia's car was parked moments ago.
Then, as if realizing they've been spotted, the figure steps back quickly. The curtain falls into place, blocking my view.
A chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the cooling evening air. That wasn't a casual observation. That was surveillance.
I stand there for another minute, watching that window, but whoever was there doesn't reappear.