Shay gasped. “I don’t know what he’s here to fix, but mine just broke.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Again, I find myself siding with Shay here,” Delia said. “Maybe just make out with him a little more. Let him take the edge off.”
I glared at her.
“What?” she said defensively. “He looks like he’s a great kisser.”
“I bet he’s taken off more edges than a carpenter.” Shay nodded fervently.
They were going to humiliate me in front of him. Absolutely mortify me. I could feel it.
It was then that I noticed Mrs. Adams trailing after him, like a duckling falling in line after its mother. I was sure nobody in the room blamed her for following him.
Before he could speak, she said, “Hello, again. I’m so glad you made it.”
I wanted to say, I made it, too, but I needed to behave.
Then she launched into a boring explanation of the false ceiling hanging above us (filled with balloons that would drop at the end of the party) and said that we could attach the poms to it.
“We’ll take care of it,” he said.
“I have every confidence that you will!” she said, flirtatiously waving her fingers at us before she left.
He turned to face me and I was about to introduce my friends, when he said, “Hi, Shay. Nice to see you again.” I shouldn’t have been impressed that he’d remembered her name, but I was. It had taken Brad three months to remember Shay’s name without me prompting him.
She greeted him in return and then introduced him to Delia, who looked a little starstruck.
Then Shay announced, “Okay! So we’re going to go hang up these cotton-ball strings. Over there. And leave you guys. Here.”
While she didn’t say, Alone, she might as well have. I didn’t know what they thought might happen. We already spent tons of time alone together. It wasn’t like this one incident at a dance was going to suddenly make him figure out that he couldn’t live without me.
I looked over his shoulder as they walked away and they were both making faces at me. Shay mouthed, Go for it! And while I couldn’t figure out what Delia was saying, it was a long sentence that probably involved respecting our feelings and each other, and she looked very enthusiastic about it.
Tyler started to turn around, presumably to see the craziness I was staring at, and it made my two friends scatter in opposite directions.
I gestured at him. “So, what’s with the accessories?”
He looked down at his tool belt. “I did some construction work in college to help pay for school and I still had this stuff in storage down in the basement. I thought it might help. Don’t you think it makes me look like I know what I’m doing?”
“It does kind of make you look like you should be hosting your own HGTV show.” What he really looked like was the hottest man alive, but I couldn’t tell him that. “Shall we?”
Tyler had just set up the ladder when Miss Martha found us. Again her gaze was anxiety provoking. “Ms. Gladwell needs you to come to her office.” She didn’t wait to see if I would follow and just immediately left.
“Okay.” I handed the poms in my hands to Tyler and said, “I’ll be right back. Ms. Gladwell is my boss.”
“I’ll be here,” he told me.
Shay was talking with one of her math students. “It’s due tomorrow. You can’t do this whole assignment the night before.”
“Challenge accepted, Ms. Simmons.”
“That wasn’t a challenge!” she called after him just as Delia asked, “Out of idle curiosity, how much nonedible glitter can a student eat before I am technically a terrible teacher?”
Shay saw me and said, “Where do you think you’re off to?”
“Gladwell wants to talk to me. Again.” I didn’t know whether or not to be concerned. I figured there was nothing she could do that was worse than assigning me decoration creation and setup.
Well, except for firing me.
So of course that became my number-one thought as I made my way to her office. This time I checked the seating area for any rogue parents, but it appeared we were alone.
“Please close the door and have a seat.” This time she wasn’t distracted. She was looking straight at me and I felt a little like how a mouse must feel just before a snake pounced and swallowed it whole.
I did as she asked and sank slowly into the chair. Her expression was so serious, so intense, that I knew this had to be bad news.
She pushed a stapled pile of papers toward me. “I would like to offer you a two-year contract, which is standard for what we extend to our first-year teachers.”
“You want to offer me a contract? Now?” This was always done at the end of the school year. Always.
“You can read over it and return it later or sign it now if you wish. But you have my word that it is the same contract given to everyone who makes it past their probationary period.”
“But . . . why?” I picked up the papers and started skimming through them. There was going to be a slight salary increase and a guaranteed job for at least the next two years. I wasn’t seeing any hidden traps or things that wouldn’t be to my benefit.
She leaned back in her chair, her arms folded. “Because if you sign it now you would have incredible leverage in case someone tried to dismiss you.”
But wasn’t she the only person who could dismiss me? And why would she fire me if she was offering me a contract first?
I tried to ask as much when she announced, “You are an excellent teacher and Millstone Academy will be lucky to have you stay on. I also will not let someone else try to dictate what hiring decisions I can and cannot make. You came highly recommended and I see that trust was not misplaced.”
My mother. My mother was trying to get me fired. This was how she was going to make me regret walking out on her. By taking away a job that I loved and was good at. Just to punish me.
I leaned over and grabbed one of Ms. Gladwell’s pens, and I signed the contract. Even if it might have some clause about forfeiting my eternal soul, I didn’t care. It was gratifying to know the headmistress was on my side and that I had just made myself safe from my mother’s attack.
Because who else could do this? Who else would do it? The two things I had going for me at the moment were that my parents were not donors to this school and Ms. Gladwell did not take kindly to being told what to do.
Once I’d finished signing it and handed it back, Ms. Gladwell also signed it and then stood, offering me her hand. “Congratulations on becoming an official full-time teacher here at Millstone Academy, Ms. Huntington.”
I wanted to squeeze her hand tightly in thanks but instead shook it a normal amount.
When I got back to the gym, I saw Shay and Delia. But I realized that the first person I wanted to tell was Tyler. I hurried over to him and his smile when he saw me was like the sun breaking over the horizon.
“What happened with the headmistress?” he asked.
“She ended my probationary period and offered me a two-year contract!”
“Madison! That’s fantastic!” He wrapped his arms around my waist, letting out a whooping noise as he pulled me up and then swung me around in a big hug.
I was laughing as he set me down. The string quartet began playing a slower version of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas,” and Tyler asked, his arms still around me, “This is our week, isn’t it? We both got promotions at work!”
We both accidentally made out with each other; we were both now standing in the middle of a school gym with him holding me tight . . . yes, this was going very well so far. I settled on saying, “It is!”
He nodded toward the quartet. “It seems to me that you still owe me a dance. Are newly hired teachers allowed to dance?”
“That depends. Are roommates allowed to ask?”
“I say yes.”
Then we were swaying gently to the music, even though I could feel almost every gaze in the room on us because the event hadn’t even
started yet and we were the only ones dancing. I didn’t care who looked. It was probably a good thing that he’d collected on his dance here, in public, rather than in the privacy of our apartment, where I might be more apt to do something inappropriate. Like confess my undying love or try to make out with him.
Instead I listened to the music, trying to quell my raging heartbeat, my tingling skin. I thought about the lyrics and how I wouldn’t be home for Christmas.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe I’d found a new home.
A few nights later, we went out to a Turkish restaurant for dinner. School had ended for the semester and winter break had begun. We were only a few days away from Christmas. We’d been chatting about our holiday plans when we discovered that neither one of us had any. He let slip that his mom hadn’t even invited him home for Christmas. I told him mine hadn’t, either.
The check came and he wouldn’t let me pay for my half. Then again I didn’t really put up much of a fight. After he handed the waitress his credit card, he said, “So our plans—I propose that we resolve to hang out during the break and eat too much junk food and watch too much reality television and then we’ll get back to working on being cultured when our vacation is done. What do you say?”
“I’m definitely in.”
Then he fist-bumped me. It was kind of humiliating to be fist-bumped by the guy you were in love with.
When we got home that night, Pigeon wasn’t waiting for us in the foyer, which seemed odd.
“Do you hear that?” I asked. It sounded like whimpering.
Tyler nodded and we followed the sound. Pigeon was curled up in Tyler’s bathroom. He called her name, but she didn’t move. She didn’t even lift her head.
Exchanging glances, we both rushed to her side and crouched down next to her.
“What’s the matter, girl?” he asked, reaching for her. When he put his hand on her back, she yelped, loudly.
There was fear and despair in his eyes. I’d never seen Pigeon act this way, and apparently, neither had he.
“We have to take her to an animal hospital,” he said. “Can you drive?”
I nodded while he carefully, so carefully, put his arms under Pigeon and lifted her up. She yelped again, but this was the only way to help her. I tried talking to her soothingly, but the whimpering only got louder. Hurrying out to the car, I opened the passenger door so he could get in and hold Pigeon on the way to the hospital.
He navigated me there, and I dropped him off in the front so I could find a place to park. After finding an empty spot, I ran toward the hospital, praying with each breath that she would be fine. I didn’t know how Tyler would take it if something happened to Pigeon.
I didn’t know how I would take it.
As I pulled open the doors, I saw Tyler and Pigeon in one of the examination rooms. She was lying on the counter, still crying and shaking. He was trying to calm her without petting her since touching her seemed to make it worse.
A nurse came into the room and asked what was going on. We tumbled over each other, trying to explain her symptoms and reactions.
The nurse nodded, listening. She tenderly touched Pigeon’s back, and there was more yelping. “Let me go get the doctor.”
She returned a couple of minutes later with the veterinarian in tow. He examined Pigeon, and came to a stop when she cried out again.
“Obviously she’s in a lot of pain,” the vet said, “and we’re going to give her some pain medications so that we can run some more tests. This could be just about anything—a slipped disc, a pinched nerve, muscle pain. It’ll take us a little while to check her out, do some blood work, maybe an X-ray. Given how late it is, why don’t you leave her here and we will call you just as soon as we know what’s going on?”
Neither one of us wanted to leave, but we weren’t given the option to stay. I drove Tyler home with him speaking only to tell me which turn to take until I got to familiar territory.
We walked out of the garage, into the lobby, and into the elevator without talking. Part of me thought we should just go to bed, try to get some sleep. My hope was that she was fine, that this was something simple and she’d be okay. My fear was that something was really wrong with her and I didn’t want to face what it would be like to lose her.
Tyler went into the living room and collapsed on the couch and I followed him. “Do you want to watch some TV while we wait? It will take our minds off things.” It was the only way I could think to comfort him. Distract him.
He looked at me bleary eyed and for a moment I thought he would say no. Instead he just nodded and I picked up the remote.
Just as I got the TV turned on, his phone rang. He grabbed for it and I muted the television. Could it be the hospital calling us already?
“Uh-huh. I see. Send me the information.” He hung up.
“Who was that?”
“Work. Some deal is potentially falling through out in California and they want me to get on a flight in a few hours to fix the situation. If something’s wrong with Pigeon—”
“She’ll be fine,” I interrupted him. We had to stay positive.
“If something’s really wrong, I won’t go.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “But I have to go. My whole job could be on the line.”
“Like I said, she’s going to be fine and we’ll bring her home and I’ll baby her until she feels better and then you’ll be back home before we know it, right?”
He nodded.
“It does kind of suck, though, that they’re making you come out the day before Christmas Eve.”
“I’ll be back in time for eggnog and presents,” he promised.
That made me smile as I thought of the presents I’d gotten him. The first was a check for rent. I didn’t know what he paid but I’d finally managed to smooth out my budget (in large part because I was finally able to stop replacing things) and I had enough to give him something. I felt very proud of it, that I could contribute and that he wouldn’t have to take care of me. I figured we’d work out the actual amount after he opened it.
The second was a photo book I’d made from a website. I took that photo of him and Pigeon and got them some new background images: Buckingham Palace, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Grand Canyon. Things like that.
The last photo had a bunch of Pokémon images surrounding them. I didn’t know which ones were his favorite, but I thought Tyler would get a kick out of it.
I had noticed a couple of presents with my name on them under the tree and it had taken all my willpower not to shake them or mess with them in any way. Okay, maybe I had a little. And one was heavy and the other was light and felt like clothes. But I could have been wrong!
“Turn the show on,” he said, his head lolling against the back of the sofa. I nodded and we watched TV until an alarm sounded and he announced, “I have to go and get packed. A car’s going to be here to pick me up soon.”
I wanted to help him somehow. Maybe offer to assist him with his packing? But I knew there was nothing I could do. We probably wouldn’t even hear anything until the hospital reopened officially at eight o’clock in the morning. And by then he’d be on his way to Los Angeles already.
As I washed countertops and swept floors just to keep my mind busy, he returned, wearing a suit and pulling his suitcase. He slipped his laptop into a bag and strapped it across his chest.
“Will you call me the second you know something about Pigeon?” I asked.
He nodded, weary. “I don’t want to leave until—” His phone beeped. “My ride’s here,” he said.
“It will be okay,” I told him.
Then his phone rang. The driver must have been impatient. Tyler answered and said, “Hello?”
His eyes went wide. “Yes? I appreciate you calling. So it was a slipped disc?” Then he put the phone on speaker so we could both hear.
The nurse’s voice came through clearly and reassuringly. “We gave her pain medication and the doctor did a little manipulation of her spine, but she’s
going to be fine. We’ll give you a prescription when you come to pick her up, but she should be back to her old self soon.”
“Thank you!” I said, nearly ready to burst into tears I was so relieved.
“You can come pick her up in the morning,” the nurse said.
Tyler echoed my thank-you, said goodbye, and then dropped the phone on the counter.
“Isn’t that so great?” I asked. “I knew she was going to be okay!”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, the next thing I knew, he had pulled me into his arms.
And then he was kissing me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
At first there was just shock. Total shock that he was kissing me. It was like some kind of kiss explosion. One second he was saying goodbye on the phone and the next his mouth was on mine. I could feel his relief, but there was more. There was passion. There was joy. All those things being conveyed, and more.
He held me so tight that I should have felt suffocated; instead all I felt was delight at getting to touch him and hold him again. I loved the feel of his strength against me. His edges pressed against my softness, his corded muscles tightening around me to keep me close.
His mouth was a blur of action, moving so quickly I could barely keep up or breathe. But I didn’t care. This was where I wanted to be. Kissing Tyler. Being held by him. Like no world existed outside of the circle of his embrace.
The electricity was still there, sparking and crackling as it filled up every part of me. But it was something more. Like the electrical storm had morphed into a firestorm. There was a blinding need and searing heat. My entire body felt like it was about to be engulfed in flames and I wanted to burn.
And I did. I burned and I burned until it was like my body had turned to ash, unbearably light, ready to float away if he didn’t keep me grounded. Against him, against his lips.
This kiss wasn’t pretending. It wasn’t theoretical. He was kissing me because he wanted to. Because he was reaching out to someone who would understand, who had been feeling all the same pain and worry, and it was a way for him to connect.
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