Page 42 of Play On

I remain still, forgetting how hungry I am or how much I want to dive into anything that involves bread, crème, and strawberries.

I study him, this gorgeous man sitting across from me. A man who is so unlike me in so many ways, from his quiet demeanour to the way he studies people before showing bits and pieces of himself.

I’m so lucky he’s started to reveal who he is to me.

I know this morning I’ll get let inside his world a little more. But Friday night? When we have our first real date?

I intend to go all in on discovering who Noah really is.

And I can’t wait to do it.

Chapter Eleven

Making Snails

I really did it.

I take a moment to look around the reception classroom, where Bella has not only read a story aboutSloane the Snail, but is in the middle of creating snails with the children. Members of the Royal Rota are taking pictures and filming her with the children as I sit back and watch with a sense of pride.

This is my art project. I designed it, thinking of how to translate the book into a fun craft for children. I figured out how to make a snail out of construction paper and pipe cleaners. I prepped all the pieces with Bella yesterday, and now I’m watching the children excitedly put their own creative touches on the snails with crayons. They’re all chatting happily about what they are doing and how they are making their own snails special.

I can’t thank Bella enough for this opportunity. I told her so last night at dinner, but I feel the need to tell her again. Because seeing the children’s reaction to this?

My idea was a good one.

I know my excitement should be tempered by the fact that this is a children’s art project. It’s a snail made of construction paper and it’s not life-changing, blah blah blah. But it’s been solong since one of my ideas has been embraced that this really means something to me.

“Look, Violet,” a little boy says to me, “my snail has big swirly eyes!”

I glance down at Barnaby, who is sitting next to me. His snail has large eyes that are swirled with crazy red and white circles, and one thought goes through my head.

That snail is stoned.

I repress the bubble of laughter that threatens to come up in my throat and smile brightly at him. “I love his eyes!” I declare excitedly.

I select another crayon and begin drawing designs on the strip of paper that is going to be my snail’s shell. I’m with a table of children, all of them eagerly working on their own projects.

The girl next to me reaches across me, but lets out a huge sneeze, followed by a croupy fit of coughing.

Which isn’t covered by her hand, of course.

I cringe. I swear I can practically feel her sick germs land all over me.

“Ava, remember to cover your mouth when you cough,” the teacher reminds her.

Well, that’s a warning that has come a bit late,I think.

Ava picks up a silver crayon, begins to colour with it, then sneezes again.

I begin a mantra in my head:I will not get Ava’s cold. I will not get Ava’s cold. I will not get Ava’s cold.

“You should try silver,” she says, holding out the crayon to me.

ICK!

My first reaction is to decline it, but when I see the excited look on her little face, I can’t. “I think that’s a great idea, thank you,” I say, inwardly cringing as I accept the crayon from her.

Okay. I can use the crayon, and as soon as we’ve finished crafting, I’ll scrub my hands for five minutes.

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