Page 113 of Wild Tangled Hearts

The grade three class I’m teaching this period is excited and eager to dive into another day of creative adventures. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and for a brief moment, I manage to push the weight of my emotions to the back of my mind.

But every second I’m alone with my thoughts, my heart begins that torturous beat,Damien, Damien, Damien.

I sit in the teachers’ lounge during lunch break, picking at the garden salad I brought from home, but my stomach churns with every bite. I push it away and glance at my phone. Nothing. I’m not expecting him to message me after the way he left, but my stupid heart clings to hope.

"Hey.” Maryam, a kindergarten homeroom teacher, sits across from me. “You look terrible, Bella. Everything okay?"

“Thanks,” I say, laughing at her bluntness. One thing Maryam is is honest, and I appreciate her for it.

“You always look beautiful, but you seem worn down today.”

I give her a small smile and swallow over the lump that’s taken up permanent residence in my throat. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Life stuff."

Maryam raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my attempt to brush off my feelings. "Want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "Not really. I'm still trying to process everything," I admit.

Maryam leans in closer, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I know one thing that will cheer you up. Wait until you get a look at the new substitute gym teacher. The man is hotter than a freshly microwaved burrito.”

“A burrito?” I chuckle. “That’s a creative metaphor.”

“Well, you know how much I like my burritos,” she says with a wink. “But honestly, wait until you see this guy. I’ve got all kinds of saucy metaphors for a man who looks like that.” Her dark eyes twinkle as she continues, “He’s like a heatwave in the dead of winter, a walking, talking furnace of attraction. He's hotter than a double shot of espresso on a scorching summer day, a blazing meteor streaking across the starry night sky--”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” I interrupt her, shaking my head. "But I think I've had my fill of hot guys for a while."

She grins mischievously. "Good, then I call dibs."

I chuckle, the ache in my chest still present but momentarily eased. "He's all yours."

Walking to my next class, that nagging need to check my phone persists. But my screen remains disappointingly blank — no messages, no calls, nothing.

My fingers type out a message to Damien, but I quickly erase it when I see how desperate I sound. Stupid tears start to well up, and I wish I’d stayed home today. I’m too distracted to be here, barely focusing on where I’m going.

And then, bam! It feels like I've walked right into a brick wall, or at least that's what my dazed senses suggest. It takes me a second as I stumble backward, and the "wall" moves to catch me before I look up into familiar hazel eyes and deep dimples.

"Bella," Alex says, grinning down at me. "I was hoping to see you.”

“Alex?” I frown. “What are you doing here?”

“Subing for Mike Parkers for the week.”

"You'rethe substitute gym teacher." It suddenly clicks why Maryam was going on about him, and she wasn't exaggerating. Alex is hotter than...well, hotter than any metaphor she could come up with.

“You could at least pretend you’re happy to see me,” he teases.

“Sorry.” I glance down at my phone, then back up at him. “I’m just dealing with some things. It’s nice to see you again.” My thoughts are all over the place, and I'm grateful when one of my students interrupts us.

It's Grace, one of my kindergarteners, clutching a finger painting of a rather abstract-looking dog.

"Miss Bella," she says earnestly, "I made a dog, but it kinda looks like a pancake with legs."

Suppressing a chuckle, I examine her masterpiece. "Well, Grace, I think it's the most unique dog I've ever seen. Maybe it's a pancake dog, and you've just invented a new breed."

Grace's eyes light up with delight before she hurries away, eager to share the news about our encounter with her friends.

Alex is still watching me, and he leans against the wall casually, arms crossed, making his biceps flex in a way that would typically have me swooning. “Maybe we can grab a coffee after work—“

Our conversation is cut short by the ringing of the bell.

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