Page 8

Seven

Speed-walking around several small children on the ground, I make my way over to Rosalie. “Serendipity on Second Street,” I forcefully whisper to my bestie. “Serendipity on Second Street!”

Rosalie furrows her brow. My serendipitous moment is sitting on the floor in her classroom and she’s frowning at me. Rosalie!!! Less frowns. More explaining.

“Fran,” she hushes in a scolding tone. “We have two more minutes of quiet reading time. Shh.”

I don’t have time to even roll my eyes at her ridiculous comment. Instead, I lower my voice even more and say just above a whisper, “Serendipity on Second Street,” while shaking Rosalie’s arm.

“If you’re going to lose your mind, you have to do it after school hours. Do you have any idea how many things an elementary school teacher is thinking about during the school day?”

“Rosalie!” I hiss—and not quietly. “My serendipitous moment that happened on second street last weekend is sitting in your classroom.”

“Wait.” Those blue eyes come to understanding and turn to bright, beautiful marbles. “The soccer player?” she hisses just inches from my face. “The professional athlete sitting on my classroom floor is the guy who kissed you?”

“ Whoa . Professional what?” Did she say athlete? Did she say professional? That smiley man in the back of the bar was cute. He smelled heavenly. He kissed like I’m guessing Zac Efron would. But professional plus athlete? We just went from Grease 2 to Jerry Maguire , people.

“Are you sure?” she whispers, but with our quiet chatting, half of Rosalie’s class has decided that reading time is over. They are giggling, talking, and rolling on the ground—no wonder the woman is serious about not disturbing quiet time.

“I would never forget that face. Or those lips.”

“Forrest Holmes!” Rosalie snaps, her eyes on the red-headed boy just feet away from us.

“Stop bowling over Emily like that! She isn’t bread dough, and you aren’t a rolling pin.

” Rosalie’s teacher voice is in full play, and every child in the room freezes.

“We have two guests in our classroom, and you’re being very rude.

And that”—she points to where Forrest was just rolling on the ground—“is not reading, sir.”

“Sorry, Miss Conrad,” Forrest says, but he’s smiling too wide to mean it.

Sighing, she says, “Okay, class, reading time is over. We have an assembly today, but before we go, we get a one-on-one meeting with a new friend. So, everyone up, sit at your desks, and voices off.” Rosalie gives me a pointed stare.

One that says my serendipitous moment is going to have to wait.

Then she claps and her kids move. Even Forrest. They are like well-trained puppies.

Even I move to the horseshoe table at the back of the room and take a seat.

Rosalie is quiet until everyone is in position. And then she begins. “Mr. Whitaker is a soccer player for the Reno-Tesoro Red Tails. His job is playing soccer. Isn’t that exciting? Has anyone been to one of their games?”

As Rosalie speaks, that professional athlete walks to the front of the room. My eyes follow him like thunder follows lightning.

Several hands shoot into the air with Rosalie’s question, and my kissing partner grins for his crowd of seven- and eight-year-olds.

Rosalie steals my eye contact, tapping her wrist. She’s asking about work. And yep, I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave now.

But how in the world can I leave now ? So I’ll be late. Glen can be mad. Jill will cover for me. There’s no way I’m leaving just yet. I lift one shoulder in reply to her silent question.

“So many of you. That’s great,” Rosalie says as she moves from the center of the room to stand right next to my serendipitous moment.

“I’ve never been to a game.” She peers out at her class.

“So, before we go into the gym to watch the members of the Red Tails team perform a few drills, we get to ask Mr. Whitaker some questions. If you have a question for our professional soccer player, what should you do?”

Twenty hands shoot into the air as an example.

“Very good,” Rosalie says with a nod. “Does anyone have a question for Mr. Whitaker? ”

A few hands drop, but several stay high in the air. That professional athlete calls on a boy in the front.

“Are you a millionaire, Mr. Whitaker?”

Laughing, my lip-locking partner answers, “No. I am not.”

I listen to two more questions. But I’m over this Mr. Whitaker stuff—I’m ready for a given name, a real name. So, I raise my hand, along with a few other kids in class.

His eyes dart to me, and with a wiggle of my fingers, he grins. “Miss, in the back,” he says, calling on me.

“What’s your first name, Mr. Whitaker?”

“That’s Callum Whitaker,” says a boy three desks to the left of me. He shakes his head. “Number ten. Reno-Tesoro Red Tails.”

“Hand, Andrew,” Rosalie says, one finger gliding over her lips.

I swallow—because Andrew is making me feel as if I should have known my kissing partner’s name all along. Was I kissed by a celebrity and didn’t realize it? I’m trying to decide which movie that is when?—

“Yes, my first name is Callum.” His eyes crease as that joyful grin widens, making my mind pause its whirlwind search.

Callum . It’s a nice name. A very nice name. In fact, it might even be nicer than the title “kissing partner.”

“Jamie,” Rosalie says, pointing to a boy in the middle with his hand in the air. Her jaw clenches. “Go ahead.”

“Did you always want to play soccer?” Jamie asks, his hand still high as if he might have a second question.

“Always,” Callum says. “My parents were really supportive too. They used to drive me all over the country to different camps and academies when I was your age.”

A smile blooms on my face. I can’t help it. His parents —as in, loving partners. At least that’s what I’m hearing.

Goals, people.

Callum Whitaker is speaking my language.

I raise my hand again, wiggling my fingers with urgency—hey, it worked last time. I ignore the frown Rosalie is giving me. I know it’s there. I can feel the disapproving heat of it. But I pretend she’s invisible and I can’t see that glower.

“Uh, yes, the teacher in the back. Miss—what was your name?” Callum’s smile shines on me once more.

Jamie groans, his hand still waving. “She’s not a teacher! She’s not even in second grade!”

Jamie’s just jealous. I’m getting a second question, and he isn’t.

My jaw clenches, and for three seconds, I revert to second grade and ponder lying, giving Callum a more romantic name than Frances . Rosalie would rat me out though. “Fran,” I say, then clear my throat, trying to muster some pride. “My name is Fran.”

Callum doesn’t curl his lip at my name—not in the way Lance did. “Okay. Fran. Did you have another question?”

“Yes.” My nerves jolt. Rosalie’s heated stare is making me sweat. “Is there someone special in your life? Romantically speaking.”

Rosalie coughs—or maybe she’s choking. I’m not sure. Either way, she’s so loud that I can’t hear Callum’s answer.

I must look confused because, brows raised, he gives me an obvious shake of the head.

Single. Nice . See, Rosalie—your prediction of married and sleazy is so wrong.

I shoot my hand in the air again, but before Rosalie can skip over me and call on the next student, I say, “And you aren’t scummy, right? Like, you’re a decent human being?”

Callum laughs, and the sound does something weird to my insides…

something I cannot explain. “I’m not shady.

My mother would never have let that happen.

I’d like to think I’m a decent human being.

” He clears his throat. “Most of the time, anyway. Occasionally I may do something a little crazy and out of character. But never intentionally scummy.”

His message is clear. I bite my inner cheek. Because I never thought Callum or that kiss scummy—that question was for Rosalie’s benefit.

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh in front of me. I peer down to Moni, who is rolling her eyes with her groan. She is observant.

I almost stick my tongue out at the girl, when Rosalie speaks up again. “Any other questions? Soccer -related questions?” Her eyes drag over to me. “From. The. Children?”

A couple more kids raise their hands. Callum takes his time and answers each question. There are still hands in the air when the intercom sounds, calling him and the other Red Tails to the gymnasium.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rosalie hisses at me while I watch as that professional athlete walks out of the room.

I shrug, not bothering to acknowledge the question head-on.

“Fran!” she whisper-hisses—though her students are silent and can surely hear every word. “You asked the man about his relationship status?”

“What?” I scoff. “I’m putting your worries at ease.”

“My worries?” she says. “Mine? You don’t have any worries, Frances ? Because you should. ”

I pull in a sharp breath. “Don’t you dare,” I whisper. “That’s low, Rose. Calling me Frances—and in front of Moni.”

Rosalie’s gaze drops to Moni, who is watching the entire encounter—along with her classmates. My friend’s shoulders rise and fall as she exhales. “Fran, what are you doing with this man?”

“Playing out my romcom remake dreams?”

“In my classroom? He is a stranger.”

“That doesn’t sound very smart, Miss Fairchild,” Moni says.

“Haven’t you ever heard of stranger danger?” Jamie asks.

“He’s not a stranger,” I bark.

No more than the men I meet on HeartLink. Sure, we chat before any actual in-person contact is made, but why can’t kissing count as chatting?

I think it can.

I think it should.

I trust Callum’s kiss.

It spoke volumes.

So, Rosalie and Moni can keep their noses out of it.