Page 1 of Second Chance Ex
Glitter and third graders simply shouldn’t mix; it looks as if Cupid himself took a great big sparkly shit in my classroom. I love my littles, but with every fiber of my being, I fucking hate Valentine’s Day. As I pick out the offcuts of pink and red construction paper that have been embedded into the mat, I’m starting to seriously regret not calling in sick this morning. Sure, I made it through the day, but at what cost? I’m going to be fishing heart-shaped sequins out of every hidden nook and cranny for the foreseeable future, I just know it.
With a sigh, I heave myself up from my knees. Dusting off my jeans as I walk back to my desk, I dispose of the remnants of Valentine’s Day in the trash on my way. Good riddance. But when I take a seat at my desk, my eyes land on a pale pink envelope I hadn’t noticed earlier. My brows knit together as I lift the tab,pulling out a red card with a pink glitter heart stenciled on the front. I open the card and I swear I almost feel the strings of my jaded heart tug in my chest.Almost.
Dear Miss Prue,
Will you be my valentine?
Love, Kevin xoxo
I grin, thinking of Kevin, my too-adorable-for-his-own-good class trouble-maker. I send him to timeout more than any other student, and he purposely calls me Miss Poo in an attempt to get a laugh out of his buddies. I’m his valentine? A strategic move, I’m sure. I place the card next to my pen holder before opening my laptop to start on some overdue planning. But I can’t help glance at my Valentine realizing that no matter how much I hate this holiday, once upon a time, not so long ago, I loved it. I loved love. I was a quintessential romantic. Unfortunately heartbreak has a habit of taking away the things we once loved and swapping them for nothing but shitty memories.
I’m not sure how much time passes when I’m pulled from my work by a knock on the door. I look up to see Adam, one of the fifth-grade teachers, inviting himself in. He looks out over my rainbow-themed classroom before smiling at me, his eyes dipping to my desk, to the Valentine’s Day card sitting perched pride of place. He picks it up and reads it, one brow arching dubiously as he places it back in its position, likely wondering why Kevin McKinley would be givingmea card.
When Adam’s eyes land on me again, I feel mycheeks heat of their own accord because Adam is… well, he’s hot. Hot in that way that is almost uncomfortable. Although he’s a couple of years older than me, I’ve known him almost my whole life, which, in a town like Rosewood, is the norm. You either grow up here, and then leave for college and never return, or you come back after college, grow old, and die here. I always imagined I’d be the former; I never thought I’d return after college. But then things don’t always work out the way we imagine them to, do they?
“Plans tonight?” Adam asks, resting against the side of my desk.
I don’t miss the way his chocolate gaze rakes over my unorganized desk before wandering to the neckline of my blouse and lingering a little longer than is socially acceptable. Adam is hot, but he’s also the resident playboy, so I know I’m not special. I have tits, therefore, I meet his one and only prerequisite. I lift a hand to cover what I can of any cleavage that might be visible, shaking my head.
“Care to join me for dinner?”
I puff air from my cheeks with an exaggerated breath, and I make a point of looking at the mess covering my desk while carefully considering my response. It’s not the first time Adam has asked me out. We’ve gone out before. Drinks. Sometimes dinner. A movie here and there. But this is Valentine’s Day. I can’t go out with Adam on Valentine’s Day, it’s way too couple-y and although he’s hot, and sure, we’ve drunkenly made out in the past, he’s absolutely not my type.
“I’ve got a heap of work I need to catch up on,” I saywith a sigh.Plus, it’s Valentine’s Day,I don’t add that last bit out loud.
“Aw, you’re not going to make me spend V-Day on my own like a total loser, are you P-Dubs?” Adam bats his enviably thick lashes.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you can call one of your many backup plans…”
He chuckles, clutching a hand to his chest like I’ve shot him. “What kind of man-whore do you take me for?”
This time it’s me who arches a brow. I hold my hand out expectantly, waggling my fingers. “Show me your phone.”
He bites back a smirk, reluctantly pulling his phone from the back pocket of his almost too-tight chinos. Unlocking the device, he hands it to me, and I start scrolling through the long list of predominantly female names in his contacts. “Abbie, Adeline, Amanda, Anna, Ashlee, Ashley with a y, Bailey, Bailey M, Baylee with two es,” I offer him a pointed glance, “Becky, Belinda, Bex, Bonnie, Britney C, Britney H, Britt?—”
“Okay, you made your point.” Adam snatches his phone off me, quickly tucking it back in his pocket.
I laugh, relaxing back in my chair and folding my arms across my chest.
“So, you’re just gonna sit here in your classroom all night?” Adam scoffs.
I shake my head. “No. After this, I fully intend on heading home to the chilled bottle of savvy B I have waiting for me in the fridge. Might order a pizza. WatchDirty Dancing.” I smile smugly. “The perfect evening.”
Adam shakes his head at me, turning on his bootsand heading for the door. “One day you’re going to wake up an old lady, Prue. With fifteen cats and not a lot else.” He flashes me a smug grin over his shoulder before strutting his way out.
I scoff, annoyance bringing me to my feet. I search for a retort, but nothing comes to mind quick enough. “I’m allergic to cats!” I finally yell, rolling my eyes at myself.
Adam’s responding chuckle fades along with his footsteps, and I sag back in my chair, exhaling a resigned sigh, fearing he might be right.
It’s rainingwhen I walk out of the school. Raining and cold; a typical Northern California winter. Cursing the weather, I pull the hood of my raincoat up over my head and hurry across the lot to my car parked all by itself; a serial killer’s wet-dream. I’m quick to get in and blast the heat.
Thankfully my journey home is a quick one, even with the detour via Chick-fil-A because it’s late and I’m far too hungry to wait for a damn pizza to be delivered. Needless to say, half my fries have already been devoured by the time I pull into the drive outside of my house. With my arms loaded, I run through the rain, careful not to sprain an ankle on the uneven pavement outside before hurrying up onto the porch and swiftly inside.
My house is a tiny one-hundred-year-old Victorian cottage with an eat-in kitchen, a living room, two bedrooms (although one is more an oversized closetthat would have serious difficulty fitting a twin bed in it) and a bathroom. An oversized shoebox, if you will. But it’s cozy, and close to downtown, and it’s all mine. Mom and Dad helped with the down payment, but I bought it for a steal because, well, it’s afixer-upper. The original hardwood floors need sanding back and polishing, some of the windows don’t open, the shower head is literally hanging on by its hose, and most of the wiring is a little shitty. But I’m only twenty-five years old, and this tiny postage stamp of a house is all mine. Plus, I’m a sucker for a DIY project.
Shucking my rain coat, I toss it and my wet sneakers into the tiny mud room off the kitchen, and head directly for the fridge in search of wine. I take out the bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc I’ve been dreaming about all day and grab a glass, heading back into the living room. I sink into the sectional and switch on the television, scrolling directly toDirty Dancing, because you can take the romance out of the girl but you still can’t put Baby in a corner, goddammit. Settling in with my wine, and what’s left of my Chick-fil-A, I release a contented sigh. Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
At some stage duringDirty Dancing, I must have fallen asleep, because with a start, I’m rudely awoken by a loud vibration echoing through my sleep-filled mind. With a snort, I sit bolt upright searching the space around me, wondering for a moment where I am and what year it is. My house is eerily silent, with the only light coming from the muted television glowing ominously red with the Netflix logo.
