Page 2 of Grumpy Girl and Amaryllis

“Lucky you,” I deadpan.

Croix’s brow lifts and he stifles a chuckle. “That bad?”

I talk through a sigh, “Worse, but he’s a decent dad, so it makes up for being a crappy ex.”

“Decent isn’t a very high bar.”

“I’m trying to have low bars when it comes to some people.”

He leans his head to the side, frowns, and looks me in the eyes. “Sorry to hear that, Mari. You deserve to have high bars in your life.”

The way he says my name is soft and warm like a favorite Christmas sweater. His sincerity is like a sucker punch to the gut. I’m not used to this care from a man.

Ten minutes later I’m giving the presentation, and I’m absolutely thrilled at how the children are reacting and the questions they have. There’s no heckling and everyone gets to pick out a small plant from the 1-inch pots I brought along. I love seeing my children and the joy on their faces. It’s a proud moment for me.

My excitement gets tamped down a little though by the young and probably too young, incredibly attractive, and utterly too attentive teacher. His gaze and focus on me have butterflies fluttering and flapping inside of me. The teenage girl in me jumps around, clapping and blushing at his appraisal.

I mentally shake the attention off. He’s too young in age and maybe name. Croix? What does that even mean? He has to be mid-twenties. Plus, he’s my kids’ teacher. That’s uncomfortable and weird, right? If not unethical or immoral. And I don’t need to be giving my ex more ammunition for his challenges to my parenting.

The kids head off to gym class when I finish. Iris and Ash run up to me and give me a hug and kiss, and everything is right in the world.

Croix helps me gather the plants and clean up the small amount of spilled soil and leaves that have fallen off from being handled.

“I’ve never had a plant before,” he says, our hands bumping as we set plants back into the wagon.

“Oh, a virgin. I like those,” I blurt out without thinking.

His rich laugh hits me with what I said, “Well….”

I swear even my hair turns beet red. “I only meant…”

“I know what you meant, Mari.” His smile blossoms my own.

He leads the way out of the building, being more helpful than I expected.

“Thanks for the presentation, Mari. The kids will be talking about this all afternoon long.”

“Hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s a great thing. They need to think broader than just what’s on our worksheets today. There’s more to learning than tests and rote learning.”

“Agreed. Thanks for inviting me…Croix.” It’s odd how his name sticks in my throat. Almost like I don’t want to finish the sentence.

He heads back into the building as I walk myself to my minivan.

Stop it. He’s young—and your children’s teacher. And you’re not ready for something… anything.

As I drive out of the parking lot, Croix runs out the door and waves me down.

I frown, looking back, wondering if I have left something behind. I brake and roll down the window.

“Did I forget something?”

His chest rises and falls quickly. “Yes, agreeing to a date with me.”

My eyes pop out of my head, and I stop breathing for a second.Seriously?

“Oh, Croix, I don’t think so. You’re my kids’ teacher.”

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