Page 106 of Teacher of the Year

Olan’s free hand comes up to my cheek. His fingers find their way into my hair because they always do.

“You missed my mop?”

“I so fucking did.”

I laugh at this, and his hands, still in my hair, pull my face toward him, and heat radiates from his skin, the familiar smell of his ChapStick instantly soothing me.

“You won. How does it feel?”

“I’m happy. Mostly for the school, but sure, it feels good. But this feels better,” I say, placing my hand on his chest.

“Marvin, whether you won or not, you’re still always teacher of the year to your students. They adore you. And so do I. You’re my teacher of the year. Always.”

Not knowing what to say, I softly place my lips on his. He smiles, making the kiss a little more challenging, but I’m up for it.

“You know we first met in the bathroom. At school,” he says, pulling back.

“We did?”

“We did. You peed all over yourself.”

“Oh my god, no, I didn’t. It was water from those damn sinks.”

“Well, whatever it was, your pants were soaked. And now we’re in a bathroom again.”

“Let’s finish dinner and go home,” I say, leaning in. My mouth makes contact, and this time, he holds me close, and we kiss with intention in a way that lets me know he’s present, ready, and we’re in this together.

“I love you, Olan Stone,” I say on his lips as I pull back.

“I love you, Mr. Block.”

And he does. And I do.

EPILOGUE - Three Months Later

Standing at the counter, Illona does her best to spread peanut butter onto bread, her fingers messy and tacky from tussling with the plastic knife. Gonzo lounges a few feet away, studying her, smacking his lips every few seconds, pining for a taste. I slug down my coffee and smile as her tongue juts out with the required concentration.

“Doesn’t it feel good to help make your own lunch?” I ask.

“Actually, no, it doesn’t feel good. It feels sticky.”

She raises her hands, slathered in peanut butter.

“Come, I’ll finish,” I say, turning the faucet on for her and tossing her sandwich into a container.

Olan bounds down the stairs holding a brush and a handful of ties. He comes up right behind Illona as she washes.

“My hair!”

“I got you,” he says.

Olan readies himself for action. Illona stands with her back to him, petting Gonzo while her dad works his magic. Gonzo purrs and rolls over so his belly can be rubbed. I watch as Olan masterfully separates her hair into sections and begins to braid. He works swiftly, but there’s such attention and care. It swells my heart and reminds me why I love his beautiful soul so much.

“Are you ready for first grade?” Olan asks, pulling and brushing.

“I mean, I guess so. It won’t be as fun as kindergarten, though, right, Marvin?”

“Sweetie, nothing is as much fun as kindergarten. But first grade is pretty awesome. And Mrs. Chapman is amazing. You’re going to love her.”

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