Page 28 of If The Shoe Fits

I haven’t breathed a single word about what happened between me and our devastatingly sexy boss to anyone—not even Agatha, my best friend and frequent partner-in-snark.

“Frustrated,” she repeats, totally unfazed by my outburst. “See, it fits right there.”

She points down, and I finally notice the Scrabble board sitting on the table between us.

I blink, realizing we’ve been playing this little game while waiting for some students to bring more boxes of ancient, slightly musty decorations down from the attic.

Oh.

My cheeks flame, burning with a telltale blush that I’m sure Agatha notices. I try to play it cool as I rearrange my tiles and finish the word.

“Frustrated,” I mutter, placing the letters on the board.

Agatha snorts, crossing her arms and tilting her head like she’s studying me under a microscope.

“I don’t know why I gave you that,” she says, clearly unimpressed.

I glance at the board, noting the triple-word score she just handed me. “Because you’re secretly a softy,” I quip, flashing her a cheeky grin.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it, clutching at the gold pendant hanging from her necklace.

“Do you always wear that?” I asked.

“What? No, I just got it from my Granny. Anyway, maybe I just wanted to distract you from whatever’s got you all worked up. It’s written all over your face, you know.”

I huff, trying to brush off her comment, but I can’t help glancing down at the wordfrustratedstaring up at me from the board. Agatha doesn’t even know how right she is.

Because I am frustrated.

Frustrated that Wulfy is respecting the space I asked for.

Frustrated that he hasn’t so much as growled my way in two whole days.

Frustrated that instead of focusing on my job, my students, or the Harvest Moon Ball, my brain insists on replaying every detail of that night.

And worst of all? Frustrated that part of me—the part I’m actively trying to suppress—doesn’twanthim to give me space.

I sigh, grabbing a pumpkin-shaped garland from the pile in front of us and twirling it around my fingers.

“You know what’s frustrating?” I say, trying to change the subject.

“The fact that you keep sighing like you’re the heroine of some tragic romance novel?” Agatha offers, raising a brow.

I glare at her, but the corners of my mouth twitch.

“No. The fact that we’re down here decorating while the students take their sweet time bringing the rest of the boxes.”

Agatha smirks, but I can tell she’s not buying my deflection.

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s definitely what’s got you all flustered.”

I groan, letting my head fall into my hands.

Goddess help me, I might just combust before the Ball even starts.

“Did you hear the mayor is coming to the ball?”

“She is? What about the rest of the Trifecta?” I ask.

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