Page 32 of After the Rain

"Of course." I gestured to the chair beside my desk, trying to read her mood. Professional check-in, or something more serious?

"I've had a few more comments about your interactions with the Harrison family," she said without preamble. "Nothing specific, just suggestions that you might be getting 'too involved' with a single parent. I wanted to check in about how you're handling those boundaries we discussed."

My blood went cold. If there was already community speculation about my relationship with Wade, our kiss last night was incredibly poor judgment. Small towns noticed everything, and my career couldn't survive romantic scandal.

"I've been maintaining appropriate professional distance," I said carefully. "Cooper needed extra support with a family tree project, and I provided that support. Beyond that, myinteractions with Mr. Harrison have been limited to normal parent-teacher communications."

It wasn't technically a lie. Everything I'd said was true. I just wasn't mentioning the domestic dinner, the lingering phone calls, or the kiss that had changed everything.

"I'm sure that's the case," Dr. Williams said gently. "But perception can be as important as reality in a community like this. Some of our newer families from the suburbs expect different boundaries than our longtime residents. They might misinterpret friendly professionalism as something more."

The principal's gentle reminder about avoiding even the appearance of impropriety hit home. I'd worked too hard building my reputation and career to risk it for a man who was already pulling away from our connection.

"I understand completely," I said. "I'll be even more careful about maintaining clear boundaries going forward."

"I know you will. You're one of our most professional teachers, Ezra. I just want to make sure you stay that way."

After she left, I sat alone in my classroom confronting the reality of my situation. I was falling for a parent who was having an identity crisis, in a community that was already watching our interactions with suspicion. Every logical consideration argued for stepping back and protecting myself professionally and emotionally.

But for once, I didn't want to be logical. I didn't want to be the mature one who protected everyone else's comfort at the expense of my own happiness.

I picked up my phone and called Wade before I could lose my nerve.

It went straight to voicemail.

"Wade, it's Ezra. I know things are complicated right now, but I think we should talk. Call me when you're ready."

After I hung up, I felt both relief and terror. I'd reached out. I'd made the first move. Whatever happened next was at least partially out of my hands.

The drive home felt longer than usual, every familiar landmark reminding me of conversations I'd had with Wade about small-town life, about building something lasting in a place where everyone knew your business.

My apartment felt especially quiet that evening. I heated up leftover Chinese food and tried to focus on grading papers, but my mind kept drifting to Wade's face after our kiss. The wonder, the fear, the way he'd looked at me like I'd just rearranged his entire understanding of himself.

Uncle John called at around eight PM, and I found myself needing guidance about fighting for something that might not fight back.

"You sound troubled, kiddo," he said after we'd exchanged pleasantries. "What's eating at you?"

"I think I might be falling for someone who isn't ready for what I have to offer," I said without preamble. "And I'm not sure whether to fight for it or walk away."

Uncle John was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of hard-won experience. "You know, when I was your age, I met a man who was married. Nice wife, two kids, the whole suburban dream. But he looked at me like you were the first sip of water after wandering the desert."

This was new territory. Uncle John rarely talked about his own romantic history.

"What happened?"

"I waited for him to figure himself out. And waited. And waited. Turns out, some people need permission to want what they want, and some people need time to build the courage to claim it. The trick is knowing which kind of person you're dealing with."

"How do you tell the difference?"

"The ones who need permission keep looking to you for answers. The ones who need time disappear for a while, then come back when they've done the work." Uncle John paused. "This man of yours—which type does he seem like?"

I thought about Wade's desperate confusion, the way he'd kissed me like he was drowning and I was air. "The kind who needs time."

"Then give him time. But not forever. And not at the expense of your own happiness."

"What if giving him time means losing him?"

"What if not giving him time means losing yourself?"

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