Page 12 of The ABCs of You & Me

“I’m sure a lot are way more fun to watch than do, but I have this weird desire to try them all.” The grin he flashes isn’t hiding anything other than an admission that he wants to try cooking challenges.He is talking about cooking, Sophie, nothing more.

“Hana Pearson”—Foster points at a little girl with her hair in long braided pigtails sticking out of her toque—“goes for tutoring three days a week before school. When she started the year she really struggled with reading, like three grades below where she should be.”

“That’s hard at this age,” I say as I watch Hana throw a handful of fresh snow into the air and run under it as it falls.

“She’s now doing better than just about every other kid in her fourth-grade class.”

“Just from tutoring?” I ask in shock.

“Her tutor is a retired teacher, and she just uses a different style of teaching. It’s been amazing to watch her grow.” The pride in his voice is undeniable and annoyingly attractive.

The bell rings, and we stand at the side door as kids filter back into the school. I’ve been joining Foster on his yard duties when I have some time.

“Anything exciting planned for tonight?” he asks as we do a final sweep of the yard to make sure there aren’t any rogue kids.

“I’ve got a Pilates class, and then I may visit with some friends. It depends if I can convince them to come with me or not.”

“You like Pilates?”

“I do. I tried yoga for a bit, but I think my mind is a bit too active for an activity that isn’t. Every time the instructor would tell us to quiet our minds or something, it was like a challenge to make mine even louder. I’d get stuck going down rabbit holes of lists and creating wild scenarios for things that will never happen.”

“Like what?”

“What scenarios?”

He grins, his eyes flicking to the top of my head as if he’ll be able to see something currently playing. “Yeah? What wild scenarios does that brain create, Sophie Hore?”

Why does he have to say my name like that? Why does my name sound like a luxury good coming out of his mouth?

“Oh, anything unrealistic, really. Like, it’s supposed to snow tonight, and what if it snows to the point where I can’t open my front door to leave? Do I have enough food to survive for days on end? Maybe I should go to the store and buy a bunch of random things and then I’ll have all my cravings covered. What fruits or vegetables last the longest because I wouldn’t want to get scurvy from eating only junk. But if I do get stuck in the house, that would be a great opportunity to sort through stuff. I could do a full cleanout of all the things I accumulate. Or I could finally sit down and watchGame of Thronesbecause I’ve been meaning to for a decade.”

Foster is staring at me, mouth slightly agape. “And you’re thinking all this while in downward dog?”

“I’m thinking all thistransitioninginto downward dog. Those thoughts are just the beginning.”

“No wonder yoga didn’t work for you. I can go on ten-mile runs and only think about the song that’s currently playing, and even then it’s like, ‘this is a good song.’”

“Wow, you must get a lot done in a timely manner,” I say in awe.

He shrugs. “I don’t want to brag, but I can procrastinate pretty well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He opens the door and gestures for me to go first.

I slip the minute my foot hits the floor beyond the now-soaked mats, and strong hands wrap around me.

“Careful.” Warm breath brushes the side of my face, and I’m suddenly glad he’s holding me up. “Wet floor.” Foster lets me go once I’ve proven I’m not a fawn taking its first steps, and part of me wants to replay it over and over.

“Thanks.” I smile awkwardly back at him.

“Any time, sunshine.”

Unknown

It’s Foster, Cass gave me your number, I hope that’s okay.

Foster Walsh is texting me, holy crap, like the holiest of craps. I see him nearly every day and yet seeing his number at the top of the message has me on the verge of a meltdown. A happy meltdown, but a meltdown nonetheless.

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