Page 31 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you

“T rust me, beginning students sound ridiculous trying to swear. Learn the polite words first, and once you’re fluent, you can use bad words.” Trace denied one of her first-year student’s requests to learn how to cuss. “Outside of the classroom. Don’t get me into trouble.”

“Miss Perry?”

She wanted to ignore it. To pretend that the hand that shot up at every opportunity hadn’t popped up when there were ten minutes until the weekend.

“ Oui ? Wes?“ Was it bad that she enjoyed the quasi-alliteration of his name? Probably. Better than saying, “Yes Wes,” like she had to in third period poetry, his chosen elective. The other students rolled their eyes as he began to talk, all looking at the clock and realizing their early escape wasn’t happening.

Suddenly protective of her eager student, who never tuned her out, Trace focused all of her attention on Wes.

Intelligent, inquisitive expression engaged, eyebrows drawn together and lips pursed pensively, he asked, “Why are you so picky about us learning to say it exactly the way you do, when it’s pronounced differently in different parts of the world, even different parts of France?”

As she began to open her mouth, twenty sets of eyes drifted toward the open door.

Curious head tilts and whisperings amongst the already restless, waiting-for-the-weekend freshmen, she knew it wasn’t Haley or her mom, as they were practically regulars around here.

Ellen had made a solid impression when she’d come for French cuisine week, with a different French-themed goodie each day she was there.

Haley popped in after school often, and they’d go for a walk or grab an early dinner.

Nope. Neither of the usual suspects.

Thrill surged up the middle of her spine until she shivered with anticipation.

She couldn’t resist. Trace folded her arms over her chest and turned toward their visitor. “Would you care to explain why it’s important to master a single, common accent first?”

Leaned with his good shoulder against the door, decked out in his new low slung black jeans, crisp athletic fit black t-shirt, and unstoppable waffle-soled black leather boots that had shocked her mother, Cole fired her a playful promise of payback with a simple glance.

With one side of that grin lifted higher than the other, hands in his pockets, he lingered eye contact with her before speaking.

“ Bonjour, je m’appelle Cole Falk. Je suis un ami de Mademoiselle Perry. Je parle plusieurs dialectes .“ Completely understanding the assignment, he spoke with very simple words the students should recognize, but he used a different accent for each word.

Without even considering the point of the lesson, Marcy aimed straight for the question Trace suspected they all were eager to ask. “Miss Perry? You haven’t introduced us to your friend.”

Perfect. She fired a wink back at Cole and couldn’t help the ornery shrug back at her students. “He introduced himself just now, did you not understand?”

The sea of blank stares was priceless.

Not moving from his post, Cole said it again, this time with the crisp Parisian they were more familiar with.

“I get it,” Wes said brightly, grinning wide when Cole gave him an easy, cheek-biting smile on seeing the lightbulb shining over the eager student’s head. “We didn’t understand because you jumped between accents.”

Cole winked back at Trace, and she knew the questions about him were only going to get more personal. In the last few minutes of class, the barrage of questions ranged from was he her boyfriend to did she meet him in Paris to does he speak English .

Cole didn’t answer, but when the bell rang and the students began to pop up with their bags, he strolled into the classroom to stand out of the way.

“Hang on,” Trace called out over the chaos. “Homework. It’s a doozy.”

Groans echoed around the room, and she didn’t resist the snarky giggle that bubbled up in her tummy.

“Watch a French movie. Subtitles are okay, but not dubbed. Tell me ten words you recognized on Monday, and any idioms you heard that we don’t use in English.”

The wave of relief was priceless.

As they thinned out, Cole wandered closer and sat on the edge of her desk. Hands in his pockets, he waited quietly while she erased the board and straightened desks for the evening.

When she finally routed his way to grab her bag, he tipped a subtle nod. “Ready?”

“Did you grab my suitcase?”

“Of course.” Only a slight hitch in his movement and the first step, he moved back to let her lead the way out.

They made their way down the hall and toward the faculty and staff parking lot, his limp minimal. Even the mark on his cheek had faded from an inflamed pink to a shiny line that matched his skin, but she knew the scar would be permanent.

Trace halted as they stepped outside and scanned the parking lot. Cars rushed out like a frantic trail of ants, the other teachers ready to start the weekend, so it took her a moment to realize something was off. “Where’s my car?”

“At home,” Cole answered easily, sauntering toward her usual spot.

Her parking permit hung from the rearview window of… not her car. Brand spanking new, there was a black SUV with darkly tinted windows, black wheels, beefy tires. As menacing as his boots.

“I thought my dad was going to drop you off.” Hands on hips in the middle of the gusty parking lot, she waited while he opened the passenger door and waved her inside.

“He did,” he said, laughing a grin and moved around to the driver’s side.

Finally, she climbed in, hoisting into the passenger seat. Oh my. Heated leather seats warmed in an instant, the engine humming imperceptibly. “This is… nice,” she said, sliding her hand over buttery soft black leather.

Even the gearshift handle was unique, chrome to contrast the smooth leather, she thumbed the tip of it.

At her side, Cole muffled a groan, then snorted a low laugh. “Fuck, Trace. Give me a break.”

“What?” she asked, looking up, then realized what she’d done. A light giggle rattled her throat. “Oh.”

Cole palmed the steering wheel and rested his other hand on the back of her seat, looking out the rear window as he backed into the increasing surge of weekend-thirsty staff. Another car backed out, and Cole waited, finally turning onto the exit in the row of taillights.

After slipping her hands under her thighs to warm up, she relaxed back into her seat.

Traffic thinned as they neared the edge of town.

And then it dawned on her.

Tongue fiddling in her teeth, Trace folded her arms over her chest and turned to gauge his response. “How’d you get my car home?”

“I drove it,” he said easily, enjoying leaving her hanging. She saw right through his thinly masked smug grin as he kept his eyes on the road, avoiding eye contact.

“I lost the spare key years ago, and my key is in my purse.”

“I know, I—“

“You stole my car out of a high school parking lot?” Half laugh, half shock, she burst into a full laugh when he shrugged and grinned impishly. “What if you had gotten caught?”

Wheel shifting easily in his hands, he flicked on the blinker and aimed for the highway.

Without a word, he flashed her a look.

She knew that look.

He’d loved the challenge of it.

“You could have stopped in to get my key.”

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.” He flicked the windshield wipers on faster as the sky dumped fat drops in a river over the road. “FYI, you have an oil leak. I can take a look at it when we get back.”

“I know,” she grumbled, turning to face forward. “I’ve been avoiding it,” she said, slouching into her seat. “It’s time to update it, before I run into serious problems. But I don’t know what to get. I want sporty, but I want practical.”

“That’s a tough one. Just get out there and test drive a few things, see what you like.”

“I should,” she said on an exhale. A fuzzy on her cream-colored pants caught her eye, and she plucked it off.

Scowling, she looked in the backseat. While she had her trusty suitcase jammed full, as she couldn’t make up her mind on what to bring, he’d packed lighter in an old backpack she thought actually might have been his, a long time ago.

“I’m going to change,” she said, unbuckling and rotating in the seat, her bum up and climbing on all fours over the center console. Halfway back, she laughed out loud. “Tight squeeze.”

“I can pull over,” he offered gallantly, yet the car stayed in its lane.

“That’s okay. I just want to get there.” Inelegantly landing in the backseat, nearly smashing her face into the headrest, she rotated and spun to her butt.

“Careful,” he laughed, glancing back in the rearview.

She rolled her eyes and dug into her suitcase.

The windows were darkly tinted, and the thickening clouds were bringing dusk before the sun was due to set.

Still, there was no good way to do this without flashing Cole.

Biting her bottom lip, she looked up and caught him sneaking glances back. “Hey. Eyes up front,” she teased.

Playfully leaving the mirror down an extra second, he winked in the reflection before flicking it up. “Hey, you’ve seen me naked, it’s only fair.”

“Ha. All you’d get to see are flailing legs and maybe a glimpse of my very practical panties.”

Eyes on the road, he snorted a laugh. “Why would your legs flail? What do you plan on doing back there?”

Flashing him a glare he wouldn’t see, she forcefully unzipped the suitcase and went for her new favorite denim skirt, thus reducing the chance of flashing.

She tugged the skirt on over her slacks and slid the unsexy cream slacks out from under the skirt.

The sweater was actually a favorite, a light knit and soft for the long drive, so she kept it.

Ditching the ballet flats, she switched for her knee-high boots.