Page 6 of Secret Love

“Cassidy Ward? Have you already had a turn?” I look around the room after glancing briefly at the seating chart. She’s sitting in the back and I could’ve guessed who she was without the chart due to her blooming red cheeks.

Her eyes flicker up to mine and I’m shocked to see tears in her eyes. She shakes her head.

“Did you complete the work?”

“Yes,” she says softly.

“Okay, let’s see it.” I smile encouragingly. I’m not sure how Mrs. Carboni feels about late work, but surely it counts for something that she finished the project.

Cassidy stands up and sets the folder on the desk next to where I’m standing.

“I put my poster back there before class,” she points to the far right in the back of the room, “and my folder was ready on time—the poster was too, but…I’d rather not do the reading if that’s okay.”

“Oh, I—” The bell rings, cutting us off, and everyone hurries to leave, including Cassidy.

I flip through her folder, smiling at the pictures Cassidy drew of Margaret Peterson Haddix. I’m a huge fan of MPH’s work, and Cassidy captured her perfectly. As I skim through the report, it’s also well done, and I walk back to look at the poster when I hear a phone ringing.

I search for the culprit and realize it’s the classroom phone too late. It stops ringing right before I get there, and I sit down at the desk, pulling out my lunch bag as I continue looking over Cassidy’s report. I wonder why she didn’t want to read the passages.

There’s a knock on the door and the sound of a throat clearing. When I glance up, the hot guy from the grocery store is the last person I expect to see standing there.Henley.He looks quite different from this morning. His thick black hair is not as unruly, and he’s wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, which does little to hide his muscular arms and chest. But the biggest difference is that his eyes are not warmly assessing me the way they were earlier. He’sscowling, his full lips curled in contempt.

I’m so flustered, I drop the folder on the desk and stare up at him.

“Well, well,” he says.

Well, well, indeed, my brain replies.

“I need to have a word with you,Mrs.Carboni,” he says sharply.

My mouth parts to jump in and correct him, but he doesn’t pause long enough.

“Did you really tell my daughter that she’s wasting your time?” He shakes his head. “I understand feeling that way sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you tell the child that. Do you know how sensitive kids this age are? Apparently, you don’t…which makes me question why you are even teaching middle school.”

I heat with the reprimand even though it has nothing to do with me.

“I don’t know why she didn’t turn in her project,” he goes on.

“Ah, you’re Cassidy Ward’s dad.”

His eyes narrow, and if anything, he looks angrier. “Yes, I’m Cassidy’s dad. Henley Ward.” His scowl deepens. “Did you tell more than one student that they were wasting your time?”

One hand goes to his hip and the other drags through his hair. I get distracted watching his thick hair fall back into place.

“She worked on it all last week and did a great job too. I looked it over myself. I encouraged her to turn it in and will talk with her more about it, but I just wanted to ask you to refrain from speaking to your students that way…EVER. AGAIN.”

Who thehelldoes he think he is? Way too many memories of watching my mom be berated by my dad flood through my mind, and I can’t tolerate it another second.

His jaw clenches and I jump in before he can say anything else.

“You’re one of those parents, I see.”

Two spots of color flood his cheeks and I lift an eyebrow.

“I’d probably be the same way if I were a parent,” I add. “But you needed to get your facts straight before you waltzed back here and gave me a piece of your mind.” I stand up and move around the front of the desk, folding my arms as I lean against it. “Cassidy turned her project in today. In fact, I was just looking it over when you stormed in.”

He swallows and those dark brown eyes that looked at me at the grocery store with such amusement and maybe even attraction now simmer with fury.

“I tend to agree—a student shouldn’t be told that she’s wasting the teacher’s time. However,” I hold up my hand when he starts to interrupt, “I don’t know the context of this statement…what Mrs. Carboni might’ve been referring to or what might’ve been said or done to provoke the statement…since I’m not Mrs. Carboni.”

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