Page 10 of The ABCs of You & Me

The hour between the end of the assembly and lunch drags like no other hour before it. Pete excels at math, which means I end up helping some of the other students who have a harder time with the subject. When the bell finally goes I practically run from the classroom, Pete’s eyes on me and a knowing smile on his lips.

FIVE

SOPHIE

The hour between the assembly and lunch flies by, and I’m left wondering how late I’m going to have to work in order to update the files I have on the go. I’ve only seen a quarter of the kids I have to meet, but at least only a few of the students will have regular sessions. I’ll need to meet with teachers and the EAs as well. Hazel’s notes are great, but I like doing my due diligence. Starting on a Thursday was not well planned, though; I’ll have to wait until next week to get into any kind of rhythm now.

There is a knock at the door, and I instantly feel my face heat in anticipation of seeing Foster.

“Come in,” I call out, sitting up straighter and brushing invisible hair off my face, looking up just in time to see the door swing open, revealing the man who has starred in way too many of my daydreams over the course of my life.

“Hey!” Why the hell do I sound out of breath? I’ve literally been sitting at my desk, exerting very little energy.Calm the hell down, Soph. He’s a friend, or he could be a friend. He’s just an acquaintance now. Chill the fuck out.

“Hey, sunshine,” he says, stepping in and closing the door. Why does he have to smile like that when he says sunshine? He says it like someone who has seen nothing but cloudy days for months. Had he said it like that when we were younger? When he’d said it this morning, he almost looked shocked, like he hadn’t planned on using his old nickname for me. But goddammit, I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed hearing him say it. No two syllables have ever sounded so good.

He holds up a Christmas tin and wiggles it. “Cookies?”

“You really didn’t need to do that,” I chastise while reaching eagerly for the tin.

“Same as yesterday, but I baked these last night.”

“You never liked being in the kitchen when we were kids,” I say, somewhat distracted by the pile of golden chocolate chip cookies before me.

He laughs. “Weird, eh?”

“Well, if this whole working-with-kids thing doesn’t work out, you have a backup.” I take a cookie and hold the tin up to offer him one.

He holds his hands up, politely declining my offering.

“Oh, come on, I feel rude eating in front of you.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to let me eat my lunch first. I’m a strict savory-then-sweet person.”

“Okay, I definitely remember the opposite as kids,” I say, pulling my sandwich out of my insulated lunch bag.

“I am a strict savory-then-sweet person post twenty-five,” he amends, taking out three containers from his own bag.

“You’ve changed,” I tease as I remove the lid from my sandwich container while watching Foster reveal his own lunch one container at a time. I have no idea what I’m looking at, but I know it’s going to be ten times better than my turkey, mustard, and lettuce on whole wheat. “What did you get up to last night, other than preparing a gourmet lunch for today?”

He releases a deep sigh, and I see exhaustion settle into his features. “My friends are hyper-matchmakers. And I”—hisvery largehand splays dramatically across his chest—“am chronically single.” A deep red blush spreads across his face at his admission. “I’ve been on roughly ten dates in the past month and a half with women they say are perfect for me. Last night’s spent most of the date glaring at my tattoos in disgust.”

“Tattoos?” Foster didn’t have tattoos the last time I saw him, not that I could see anyway. Maybe they’re in places that you can’t see unless you reach that specific part of a date. The thought of Foster hooking up with some woman last night turns the cookie to dust in my mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve got a few,” he says, pushing his sleeves up to reveal two formally bare arms covered in intricate designs.

“Holy sh– sugar cookies,”

He chuckles as I lean forward to study his arms. One is allLord of the Ringsscenes and characters seamlessly woven together. Nothing surprising there—on movie nights as kids he always suggested aLord of the Ringsmarathon. I, of course, would have watched the weather channel if that’s what he had suggested, but Cass never wanted to partake. The odd time she gave in, I spent most of the movie with my eyes on Foster, his eyes glued to the screen, his lips moving along with the characters. I was always stuck somewhere between desperately wanting him to look at me and dreading him catching me watching him.

His other arm is more random. A rabbit, teddy bear, and a tree I sort of recognize but can’t place. Not a single one looks like it was done on the spur of the moment or as the result of too much alcohol.

“That’s art!” I say indignantly. “How dare she not see that?”

“It’s fine. She wasn’t really my type anyway.” His eyes dip to my lips, and I reach up to brush away the crumbs he’s obviously noticing. “What about you? Have a hot date last night?” He looks genuinely pained asking me, probably just because he knows how crappy dating can be.

“Um, no, I won’t be going on any of those for a while. I need to do a lot of inner work before I’ll be ready for a date,” I confess before stuffing the rest of my cookie into my mouth.

“Bad breakup?” he asks. I’m kicking myself for creating a choking hazard because the way he looks at me makes me want to tell him everything.

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