Chapter 6 Landon/Kira
LANDON/KIRA
Landon
The second I pushed open the door to the CCC, that familiar pit settled in my stomach. You’d think the nerves and hesitation would go away by now, but I guess there’s no timeline for getting used to seeing the girl you never really got over. Especially when she can barely stand to look at you.
My boots echoed against the tile as I walked toward the classroom, the same one we’d been assigned to last week. I’d spent ten minutes in my car, trying to decide if coming back was the right call. In the end, I figured the kids deserved consistency, even if my relationship with Kira was fragile.
As I turned the corner, I heard her voice through the door. She spoke in a quiet tone, steady, trying too hard to sound casual.
“—can’t make an exception?”
I paused, my hand hovering near the doorframe.
Inside, Mary, the woman who ran the volunteer program, gave a polite little laugh. “Kira, we’ve talked about this. We always assign at least two volunteers per class for safety reasons. You can’t teach alone.”
“I know. I just—” Kira’s sigh hit like a familiar chord. I used to know the rhythm of her moods, how the smallest exhale could carry so much weight. “Maybe there’s a way to switch Landon to another class? It’s not personal.”
Not personal. Right.
That hurt more than I expected.
Mary didn’t let it slide. “It sounds personal,” she replied, not unkindly. “Is something wrong between you two?”
There was a pause.
“No,” Kira said tightly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…it’s fine. I’ll make it work.”
Yeah. Wasn’t that what I’d been telling myself all week? Maybe if we both said it enough times, one of us would believe it.
Chairs scraped. I stepped back but not fast enough.
The door opened, and Kira walked into the hallway.
She froze when she saw me. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Her eyes flicked from my face to my feet like she was searching for an escape route.
I gave her a small nod. Polite. Not too familiar. Not too cold. Like I hadn’t just heard her try to erase me from the room.
“Hey.” I kept my tone even.
Her cheeks flushed. A flicker of guilt? Embarrassment? Somewhere in the middle, I’d guess. My ability to read her wasn’t as strong as it once was.
“Hey,” she said, her voice clipped. She walked past me like I was a ghost she didn’t have time to confront, her scent trailing behind her—a quiet storm of lavender, citrus, and some sort of warm vanilla that twisted something in my chest.
I stood there for a second, staring down the hallway she’d disappeared into. The laughter of kids drifted from the classroom behind me. I could open the door. Put on a smile. Pretend none of this mattered.
But damn if it didn’t.
I reached for the handle and gave myself five seconds. Five seconds to feel the sting, to swallow the guilt, to remind myself that I was here for a reason bigger than an old mistake.
Then I opened the door and walked in.
“Good morning, Landon,” said Mary with a smile. She clutched her clipboard close to her chest as she slipped by me into the hall, leaving me alone in the classroom.
Sighing to myself, I tried to mimic the tasks I’d watched Kira do last week. I picked up a dry-erase marker and scrawled the date on the whiteboard, realizing too late it was crooked and slanted downward like a sinking ship. What a great analogy.
I moved on to straightening the chairs and wiping down the kid-sized desks, each one sticky with a mystery substance I decided not to investigate too closely.
I had just started debating whether to hunt down the paint cups when I heard footsteps behind me.
“You’ve got a red stain on your shirt.” Kira appeared at my side with a pile of rags. She handed me one without meeting my eyes.
Damn. A white T-shirt in the kitchen was a rookie mistake.
“Thanks.” I took the rag and dabbed at the splotch near my ribs. “I tried out a new pie recipe this morning.”
This was my tenth round of trying to recreate my dad’s bourbon-pecan pie recipe, and this time, it went so bad, it ended up on me.
“Landon in the kitchen. Not much new there.”
“I guess I’m still me.”
I’ve always loved cooking. It was the best way to bring people together. I only really started getting into baking over the past year. It felt more precise, more intentional. Like a science experiment with sugar. I wasn’t exactly good at it yet, but I liked the challenge.
“Is the pie for the diner?”
I froze for a second, but I wasn’t exactly shocked. Mom had mentioned she came by the other day, though she’d left out most of the details. Typical.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “For the diner.”
Kira leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me it was reopening?”
I looked at her, then back down at the rag in my hand. “It didn’t seem important,” I answered, a little too honestly. “You don’t even want me volunteering here with you. Why would you care about the diner?”
She bit her bottom lip. “It’s not that I don’t care,” she murmured. “It’s just complicated.”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Right.” I turned to toss the rag on the counter, then glanced back at her. “So complicated that you tried to get me kicked out of this class. Are you trying to free up a spot for your boyfriend to join you or something?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Xavier? Not really his thing.” She paused. “Wait, how do you know about him?”
I shrugged, leaning back against the edge of the desk. “Josh may have mentioned it.”
“Josh,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Town gossip, as always.”
“Some things never change.” I tried not to sound as bitter as I felt.
She looked down at the floor, her foot tapping gently against the linoleum. I knew that look. She was trying to find the right words, to be diplomatic. “I didn’t realize you’d be hurt by me saying that to Mary. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to show up today.”
“I’m trying to stay true to all my commitments.”
Kira sucked in a breath and nodded. “Okay then. It’s you and me versus a classroom of hyper children.”
I cleared my throat. “I didn’t mean to ambush your class. I just didn’t expect you to be so dead set on avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you,” she admitted. “I’m trying to figure out how to be around you again.”
That made something sharp twist in my chest.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
“I don’t know why you’d want anything to do with me at all.” Kira took over my duties of setting up the classroom. “Considering you left with only a note that said I’m sorry.”
“That’s not—”
The classroom door creaked open as one of the kids peeked in, grinning, and I straightened, giving him a wave. More and more kids trickled in, filing into the same seats they took last week, even though there were no assigned seats.
The class moved quickly once it got going. The kids were loud, energetic, and somehow managed to spill paint within the first five minutes, but Kira had a calm rhythm to the chaos. I followed her lead and did my best not to get in the way.
At one point, a little girl with pink glasses asked if I was Kira’s husband, and I nearly choked on the sip of water I’d just taken. Kira turned beet red but handled it like a pro, laughing it off with a gentle “No, just a friend.”
By the time the hour was up, the tables were a mess of water cups, finger paintings, and half-used stickers.
The kids filed out one by one, waving goodbye and already asking what they’d be doing next week.
Kira offered a patient smile to each of them, while I helped stack the chairs and collect the stray crayons that had rolled under the shelves.
As the last child skipped out the door, the room fell into a quiet lull.
That was when Mary appeared, her clipboard tucked under her arm and a warm but slightly frazzled smile on her face. “You survived.” She winked at me. “Not bad for round two.”
Kira wiped her hands on a napkin. “Barely,” she teased before reaching for her bag.
“Would you mind doing me a favor, Kira?” Mary stepped closer. “We’re low on some supplies for the CCC. Paper towels, pens, things like that. We should be able to swing a few new paintbrushes, too. If you’re not in a rush, I can lend you my car to pick them up.”
Kira, who’s probably never said no to an authority figure in her life, nodded. “No problem.”
As Mary dug through her purse for her keys, I cleared my throat. “Actually, I’ve got a car. I can drive us. That way Kira has some help.”
Both of them looked at me. Kira blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t need to—”
“It’s my pleasure,” I said.
Mary raised a brow. “Even better. Thanks, Landon.”
Kira hesitated for a second longer, then gave a reluctant nod. “Sure.”
I tried not to read too much into her response—or the guarded way she slipped her bag over her shoulder—but I couldn’t shut down the urge that I needed to talk to her for just a few more minutes. Attempt to clear the air between us.
What better way than at an overcrowded supply store on a Sunday?
Kira
The discount store had that familiar scent of dust, plastic, and faintly perfumed cleaning products. Shelves crammed with every color, size, and style of art supplies lined the aisles, making the space feel tighter than it was. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, and I squinted under their harsh gaze.
I turned a corner, scanning the aisle of acrylic paints, trying to match a palette in my head. But it was difficult when the man next to me kept picking up random items with the curiosity of someone who had never seen paint before.
“Landon, those are not on the list,” I snapped.
“Do you think Mary will notice if we get glitter pens instead of regular ones?” Landon asked, holding up a box of pens with a grin. “Add a little sparkle to her day.”
“Probably.” She has eyes, I was tempted to add.
Landon’s mischief-filled eyes lit up at my response. He tossed the box into the cart, pushing it forward and making an exaggerated show of maneuvering around a wobbly shelf of canvas boards. “Good. Hey, how do you feel about macaroni art?”
“Huh?”