Page 56 of Just This Once

“When you see them next year, they’ll be a foot taller.”

An ache pinched in my chest. Hedging my bets, I had put in several applications at schools in the surrounding area, but it was slim pickings given the low turnover in small towns. Worry flashed through my mind.Where will I be next year?“I hope I get the chance to see that.”

Rachel released me from her hug. “Didn’t you hear?” My brows pinched. “It’s official. Jenny Kirk isn’t coming back.”

I searched her face for the truth. “Seriously?”

Her grin expanded. “Seriously. Rumor is that she told Principal Cartwright this morning that she plans to stay home with her kids. Her resignation is official as of today.”

Hope and excitement sparked under my skin. My gaze flitted around my classroom.

Rachel bumped my shoulder as children’s voices grew louder in the hallway. “So maybe don’t pack up the classroom quite so soon.”

I swallowed hard and smiled. “Maybe I won’t.”

“Bro!” Michael Marsh stopped midway through the door and gestured toward the whiteboard where I had written their final assignment. “What’s this?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Bro?”

His sheepish grin nearly made me smile. “Miss Ward.” He tipped his head. “Come on.” His charming smile didn’t work on me, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “An essay? It’s ninth period and practically summer break!”

I glanced at my handwriting on the whiteboard and smiled. “We’ve spent all semester building our classroom community. A part of that is expressing gratitude. Once we finish the assignment, we’ll do one last exit dance party, and you’ll finally be rid of me.”

I winked at Michael, and he grinned. My throat grew tight as I tried to find excitement in the prospect of the school year ending. The students filed in, and I took my position at the head of the classroom. I pressed play for gentle background music to softly flow from the classroom speakers.

“Please take out your gratitude journals and flip to a fresh page.” My eyes roamed over my students, doing my best to commit each one to memory. I pointed at the prompt. “Sit quietly with yourself. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes if that feels good to you.” At this point, nearly every student closed their eyes and relaxed. We had come so far in such a short amount of time. “When was the last time you felt truly peaceful? Who were you with? What were you doing? Take two minutes to let the memory play in your mind like a movie.”

I glanced around. Even Michael’s health-care aide was standing in the back of the room with her eyes closed. I allowed mine to shut. I took a deep breath.

Warmth washed over me as the memory of Whip’s embrace flooded my mind. I had been surprised to discover he wasa cuddler. I was not. By nature anything that kept me from moving forward was inherently uncomfortable, but somehow the strength and warmth of his arms around me allowed me to melt into him and justbe.

“Now open your eyes and try to capture that moment on your paper.” Dreamy expressions and soft smiles morphed into concentrated furrows as my students followed my instructions. Gratitude journaling had been something that was outside of the curriculum, but I’d woven it into our lessons, and I hoped it had made a significant impact on my students, even if they didn’t continue the practice after this year.

Movement at my doorway caught my attention. Mrs. Kuder scowled at me. I paced toward the door. “Afternoon. Can I help you?”

She gestured toward the rolling cart behind her. “You have a delivery.”

I glanced at the cart. Boxes were stacked on it. “I do?”

“Every classroom is getting a delivery, but there are special instructions that this box goes toyou.”

Curiosity piqued, I gestured for her to enter. “Come on in. Thank you.”

She grumbled, undeterred by my friendliness. Apparently she was still salty about me taking over the educational foundation.

Whatever.

She could be mad all she wanted. With my help—and that of the Bluebirds, of course—the foundation had raised more money in a few short months than they had in the last four yearscombined. Plus, we hadn’t even hosted the carnival yet.

The top box on her cart had the wordsMiss Wardwritten in neat, blocky handwriting. I looked at Mrs. Kuder. “Where did these come from?”

The deep wrinkles around her mouth deepened. “The firehouse did a charity drive. Each classroom in the whole school is getting something.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Every kid. Can you believe it?”

My heart flopped over with a splat.Why don’t you let me take care of it?Whip’s words echoed in my mind. Could it be?

I blinked and refocused my attention as my excitement grew. “Thank you.”

With a harrumph and a swat of her hand, our grumpy librarian exited the classroom. I took the box marked with my name to my desk. Using scissors, I carefully cut open the tape. On top, there was a white envelope with the wordPrimwritten with the same masculine handwriting.

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