Page 31 of One Night Flame

Donkey followed my gaze. “That her?”

I was too stunned to lie. “Yeah.”

The knot that had been sitting in my chest all morning pulled tighter.

She was here. And I was about to find out if our weekend had meant anything at all.

She turned and clapped once, sharp and light. “All right, my friends—what do we remember about listening ears and walking feet?”

A chorus of “Yes, Miss Sullivan!” answered back.

She flashed a sunny smile and started leading theline down the sidewalk toward us. Hair up. Sleeves rolled. That loose button-down fluttering in the breeze like she didn’t even notice how damn good she looked.

Then her gaze lifted.

I knew the second she spotted me. That steady stride faltered by half a step—blink and you’d miss it—but her whole expression shifted. Not startled. Not even shy.

Just… aware.

And when she smiled, it wasn’t the one she gave the kids or the other teachers trailing behind her. It was the one from Saturday night.

Soft. Warm. Personal.

Hey, you.

And just like that, I was back in that kitchen. Her hands on my chest. Her breath catching under mine.

Jesus.

She turned back to her ducklings, all grace and composure, but I was still standing there like an idiot, wondering how a clipboard and a ponytail could hit harder than lingerie.

I wanted to talk to her. Hell, I wanted to pull her aside, ask what happened, why the silence. Make sure I hadn’t hallucinated the whole damn night we’d had.

But the bay was already echoing with the chaos of tiny feet and a thousand overlapping voices.

“Are we gonna slide down the pole?”

“Is that a real fire hose?”

“Can I wear the hat?”

Teachers were doing their best to coral the herd, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with a broom. Lucy was in it—directing traffic, answering questions, stopping one kid from licking the doorframe.

She stepped past me without slowing down. I thought maybe that was it.

Then her fingers brushed my forearm. Light. Barely there.

But deliberate.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just felt it.

A quiet,hey.

Not a blow-off. Not a mistake. Not a regret.

Just… not yet.

Something in my chest let go, slow and steady, like a muscle unclenching I hadn’t realized I’d been holding tight.

---