Leave Him Loved_Harloe Rae Page 5

  “But with more subtlety.”

  Gavin lifts his chin at me. “Should we be offended?”

  I scoff and shake my head. “It’s a bit late for that. You practically begged for it.”

  “Look who’s calling the wheatfield gold,” he drawls.

  “You’re really not related?” Audria glances between us with a crinkle in her brow.

  “Fortunately. He’s worse than usual because you’re sitting next to me and not him.”

  “Well, maybe it’ll be his turn with the new girl tomorrow.”

  I take a liberty—small as it might be—and swipe a finger along her cheek. “Careful, or I might get jealous.”

  Her skin heats under my touch. “I didn’t say who that girl would be. I can’t be the only unfamiliar face strolling down Main Street.”

  “Summer tends to attract more visitor traffic,” I admit. “But none of them will hold the same sticking power as you.”

  “Well, that’s sweet. Are you trying to stake a claim on me, farmer?”

  “And what if I am?”

  “I’d say you better buy me dessert first.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “All right, class. Eyes up here.” I clap three times in quick succession, one of our cues for calling attention. Only a few heads turn my way.

  “Kiddos.” I try again. “It’s time for circle. Then we can play outside while waiting for your parents.”

  That last part gets the entire bunch rushing toward me like a herd of sugar-crazed roadrunners. The ground seems to quake under their tiny feet. Without an ounce of grace, they pile onto the alphabet rug in a heap of wriggling bodies and nonsensical chatter. What can I expect from a dozen pre-kindergarteners? These tykes have endless energy, as they should at ages four and five.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s settle down.” Wishful thinking. “We had another great morning together. It’s Friday now, which means you won’t be at school for two whole days. Who knows why that is?”

  Several hands shoot into the air.

  I trace a finger through the eager beavers to raise anticipation but land on one before something shiny distracts them. “Yes, Harmony?”

  “Um, it’s the weeks-end?”

  I smile at her adorable pronunciation. “That’s right. And what does weekend mean?”

  More arms wave for attention.

  “Eli?”

  “We don’t have school,” he states, puffing his chest out.

  “Uh-huh,” I agree. “What else, Quinn?”

  “Mommy doesn’t have to work and takes me to the park.”

  I nod and grin wider. “Oh, that’s excellent. All great answers. So, you’ll be leaving soon for the weekend, and I’ll see you again on Monday. Should we read a short book before you go?”

  “Yes!” The collective force of the shout rings in my ears.

  I grab the fan favorite stashed between my thigh and the armrest of my chair. Squeals and gasps shatter the momentary silence. With raised brows, I press a finger to my lips. I crack open the first page and hold it up for all to see. The class scoots forward in one wave of motion.

  “If you give a horse a carrot, she’ll probably—Caroline! Stop poking Johnny,” I scold.

  Properly chastised, the little girl folds her hands and sends me an expression fit for an angel.

  Just give it thirty seconds.

  “If you give a horse a carrot,” I begin again. “She’ll probably want an apple to go with it. And if you give her an apple, she will probably ask for a bucket of oats.”

  All is well for approximately six pages. Then a loud rip shreds through my animated retelling. I set the book on my lap, exhaling to the count of three. Lord, please grant me patience.

  “I farted.” Jimmy giggles.

  The entire class erupts in a chorus of rowdy cackles.

  It’s hard not to laugh, really hard, but I manage to school my expression. They’re testing me, and I can’t show an inkling of weakness. “And what do you say?”

  He bites his bottom lip. “Excuse me?”

  “Good job.” I glance at the clock with a sigh. This group of youngsters is a bottomless pit for knowledge, but sitting for longer than five minutes takes a Herculean effort.

  Speed-reading the second half isn’t my preferred method. Time has escaped me, though. I ditch the goofy voices and extra pauses, hurrying the story along so we can finish. When I recite the telltale the end, twelve bodies rocket up off the floor and zoom toward their cubbies.

  I take the opportunity to enjoy a precious moment of reflection. My first week on the job went better than I could’ve predicted. The kids are a dream, albeit more rambunctious than a litter of puppies. Our classroom is what I imagine every young teacher envisions when choosing this profession.

  Rainbows made out of construction paper decorate an entire wall. An array of other vibrant craft projects adorns the other three. Glitter is permanently embedded in the carpet. Any surface I grant a cursory sweep reveals globs of glue. I wouldn’t choose to have our space any other way. This environment inspires learning, regardless of the cluttered mess.

  An overly sweet hint of strawberry frosting from Carter’s birthday cupcakes still lingers. A special treat was provided each day this week, for some occasion or another. I wonder if the adults responsible laugh while choosing the highest sugar content items. Because that’s exactly what these kids need more of. Lemon zest from my diffuser puffs into the air for some added freshness. Thank goodness body odor isn’t a concern yet.

  The hum of barely contained chaos pulses through the small room. The children’s tiny motors, running nonstop, are about to make the mad dash homeward bound. That level of excitement is infectious. I stride to the exit leading outside and peek through the tinted window. The parents, nothing if not prompt, already line the playground fence. I shove the door, releasing my students into the extremely well-monitored wild.

  Peals of laughter explode into the early-afternoon warmth. Another cloudless sky allows the sunshine to bathe us with glorious rays. The exposed skin on my arms soaks in the vitamin D with prickling goosebumps. I greet each mom, dad, or trusted relative with a wave. Some want to chat longer than others, which I happily accommodate. Sharing snippets and witnessing their genuine enthusiasm for each morsel solidifies my decision in choosing this career.

  Once the final kid is buckled in their seat and officially out of my hands, I slump against the brick wall with a groan. A dull throb attacks my temples. I rub at the strain in my nape while turning to go inside. My feet ache regardless of the comfortable sandals I wear. Every muscle in my legs screams in agony with each shuffling step. All those makeshift squats will get me ripped by summer’s end. But most noticeable, above all my ailments, is the growing smile threatening to split my face.

  “Hey, girl. I could use a drink. How about you?” Bea—my wall neighbor and bubbly co-worker—hangs just over the threshold, propping the office entrance open for me.

  “Desperately,” I moan.

  “That bad?”

  “No, just… challenging.”

  She tuts and shakes her head of bouncy curls. “That’s a nice word for disastrous.”

  “Challenge can be a good thing,” I defend.

  Bea’s mouth curls in a manner I recognize as appeasing. “Yes, of course. Especially while working with kids. Anyhoo, have you been to the Salt Lick?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of it.” The name instantly reminds me of Reeve, who I haven’t seen since my first day in town. That was almost a week ago. I can’t help wondering if he’ll be there. Would that be a deciding factor either way?

  “Keep your expectations low, and we’ll be golden.”

  “Hole in the wall?”

  Her hand teeters back and forth. “It’s not that shabby, but there’s definitely room for improvement. Let’s just say you won’t find a line wrapping around the block to get in this joint. Bam doesn’t have many local barflies anyway. Cross your fingers that we get a spot on the pat
io.”

  That’s probably different from the stool Reeve suggested. “Is the interior that rough?”

  “Eh, it’s mostly the ripe man sweat and stale popcorn I prefer to avoid. I can eat three bowls of that salty crap before regret sets in. They don’t allow you to bring it outside, so that saves the calories for liquor.”

  “I’ve probably seen, and smelled, worse. The snacks always do me in too.” My stomach gives a quiet grumble in warning—surprise, surprise.

  Bea sounds her agreement. “Oh, for sure. The other two watering holes off Main Street are total dives. I’ll take you to one if desperation ever calls.”

  “So long as there’s booze, I’ll be a happy camper.”

  “That I can guarantee.” She gathers her belongings stashed in one of the staff lockers. “Let’s get a move on. The umbrella shade is calling my name. Maybe I’ll order a fruity cocktail.”

  I nod and backtrack toward the hallway. “Sure, that sounds great. But first I should spend at least an hour deep cleaning the classroom. Can I meet you there?”

  She scoffs. “No way. Just come in early Monday morning.”

  A responding snort escapes me. “Because that plan is foolproof. Talk about a recipe for disaster.”

  “Or a super-wise lesson. You’ll learn really quick that scrubbing every stain isn’t necessary. Ten more will replace them, like cockroaches.”

  I shudder at the visual of those creepers streaking across the floor. “Eww, that’s gross.”

  Bea bumps me with her shoulder. “See? Perspective. Now those minor smudges don’t seem so bad, huh?”

  “You’re selling this madness. That’s for sure.”

  “Stick with me, and I’ll get you basking in relief faster. Or in this case—alcohol.”

  “All right, you win. I’ll grab my stuff. Is the Salt Lick within walking distance?”

  “Of course.” Her dry tone suggests my question is ridiculous.

  I’m still learning the intricacies of Bampton Valley. So far, everywhere I need to go can be reached by foot.

  With a slight wince, I rush to get my purse. The jumbo tote packed to the gills with art supplies stays behind. That bag wouldn’t bode well at the bar. I stifle a giggle just imagining a group of burly farmers accidently tipping a jar full of glitter across the countertop.

  “What’s so funny?” Bea pokes her head into my room, ushering me along with a shooing motion.

  “Glitter bombs.” I jog to reach her.

  “Oh, are you planning an attack?”

  “Not that the moment, but it’s fun to imagine different scenarios.”

  A sparkle glints in her eye. “Just say the word and I’ve got your back.”

  Then we’re off, hoofing it at triple speed. Guess someone is extra thirsty.

  I shrug. “We’ll see if anyone warrants such a destructive consequence.”

  Bea slaps on a pair of oversized sunglasses as we exit the school. “Very true. Those are cruel—unless you plant one for a cheating ex. It’s completely justified in that case.”

  I suck a mouthful of air between my teeth, cringing at the potential landmine. “Speaking from experience?”

  “Unfortunately,” she mutters. “But those headlines are ancient. I’ve moved on.”

  “Good, I’m glad. Guys like that don’t deserve an ounce of your grief.”

  She sends me a sideways glance from behind the corner of her shades. “Are you part of the club too?”

  “No, thankfully.” I wipe my brow at that bullet I’ve managed to dodge. “One of my friends in college was blindsided by her boyfriend. They’d been dating exclusively for years and seemed like the real deal. Then, bang, he slept with some fame whore while on the road at an away game.”

  “Fucking brutal,” she spits. “Jersey chasers are the worst.”

  “So I hear. I’ve never been attracted to athletes. Not my jam.”

  “How about country boys? Farmers come from solid stock, if you know what I mean.”

  I still, the breath stalling in my lungs. “I haven’t met very many of those.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. This town is crawling with prime options for the picking. I can introduce you to the finest quality our crops have to offer.”

  If I didn’t know better, I would assume she was referring to actual plants. She’s passionate about the subject, though. This woman could probably make mud sound appetizing.

  “Oh, that reminds me. We have plenty of cowboys available too. Pick your indulgence, Audria.”

  I relax, exhaling the lead balloon that’s held hostage in my chest. She isn’t referring to a particular dark-haired gent with stunning blue eyes. “Really? I would’ve thought it’s the opposite in a small town.”

  “It depends on the man. Plenty hold out for that special someone to sweep through Bam like a Billy Currington song.”

  I give her a blank stare. “Who?”

  Bea snorts. “Oh, girl. This is gonna be fun. Buckle up for a wild ride.”

  “Just remember I’m only staying in Bampton Valley for a year.”

  “Unless a certain someone changes your mind.” She wiggles her brows.

  “Not going to happen,” I state with unwavering conviction. “Getting attached isn’t in the cards for me.”

  Her hand flaps at me. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll check back in a few months.”

  A groan bubbles up my throat. I’m sure for the lifers in this town, that decision wouldn’t be one at all. It’s impossible for them to understand my reasoning, and vice versa. An uncomfortable twist cramps my belly. Disappointing people isn’t my favorite. I’ll have to passively avoid this situation. That’s one message legible enough for me to have gained since moving in.

  “And here we are,” she sings.

  My dreary thoughts scatter as we approach a building on the edge of Main Street. I didn’t realize we’d managed to get so far already. Frosted glass spans a thick front panel, extending around the corner to hit all access points. The foggy surface is decorated with florescent paint and window-length posters. It’s no secret what the purpose of this establishment is based on the bold advertisements for alcohol, live music, and dancing. Looks like a spot to party if I’ve ever seen one.

  “Wow, that was fast. Less than ten minutes?” I blink away the ripple of shock.

  Bea offers a lazy roll of her shoulders. “Short jaunt, as always. You’ll discover everything is super close together around here.”

  I shake my head at the case of déjà vu. Reeve told me the same, using very similar words. An eerie chill snakes down my spine, but I’m not creeped out. It just goes to show how accurate the description is.

  I glance at the clock on my phone. “Is it even happy hour yet?”

  She tips her head back with a throaty laugh. “Please. The drinks are always on discount in Bam, especially for the ladies.”

  Another nugget of intel to stash in my collection. “I’ll never complain about that.”

  “Keep that in mind when you’re packing up to leave town.”

  I roll my eyes. “Because cheap booze is hard to come by. That isn’t a strong enough factor to stay.”

  “Just one of many.” Her hips sway with extra gusto as we stroll into the massive space.

  “Holy crap.” I almost trip over my fumbling feet as the entirety of the open area is put on display. The exterior is deceiving, and maybe that’s intentional so we feel the full impact of the reveal. I’m impressed, and surprised, as my gaze struggles to absorb the scene.

  It’s one huge room with an enormous rectangular bar in the center. Natural light streams in and streaks across the concrete floor. Clumps of people gather in every direction. About half of the three-dozen stools are occupied. A twangy song croons from the speakers hanging overhead. Several brave souls bust moves on the dance floor.

  I wrinkle my nose as a foul whiff wafts toward me. Bea wasn’t joking about the smell. Even with several industrial fans blowing, a stale stench permeates the ai
r.

  She bends close to talk over the music. “So, what’s your verdict?”

  “It’s really big.” I’m still marveling over that.

  Her chin tips to the ceiling. “Good to know size matters. That bodes in our favor.”

  “You’re nutty.”

  She winks at me. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” I smile.

  “Drinks will do the trick. This way.” She nods toward a row of open doors along the rear wall.

  I can almost feel the subtle breeze blowing from the opposite side. Bea snags my wrist and weaves through the throng like a seasoned pro. This reminds me of many afternoons trailing Vannah with Presley and Clea in tow. I sniff at the sudden sting attacking my nose. It’s silly to get sentimental over such a small coincidence, but I miss my girls. This little outing is just what I need to regain that sense of belonging. We’re about to cross into sunny patio territory when a booming voice stops me short.

  “Could it be? No way.” The masculine tone rips through the crowd. An exaggerated whoop trails his moment of disbelief. “Sure is. Look, everyone! It’s my gal pal, Rachel Green.”

  I swivel on my heel, checking for the source but having more than a sneaking suspicion who it belongs to. Sure enough, Gavin strides straight for me with a huge smile to match his exuberant welcome.

  He jerks to a halt in front of us, his jubilant expression bouncing from me to Bea. A sizzle seems to crackle between them as Gavin gives her a once-over. His perusal is so thorough that I feel violated on her behalf. She, however, preens under his scrutiny with a blush that any makeup artist would kill for. Interesting.

  After far too long of a delay, I finally process what he said. “Did you just refer to me as Rachel Green?”

  With what appears to take all his willpower, Gavin looks away from the woman beside me. I’m pretty sure he’s still ogling her decently from the fringe. “I’m a big fan of Friends, and that episode in particular.”

  I gasp. “Really? Maybe we can be besties.”

  He takes a bow. “Loyal confidant at your service.”

  “So, are you busy bird-doggin’ the ladies?” I spout my best Rachel impression.