Page 3 of What Did I Miss?

Makayla huffs. She doesn’t have time to show him the ropes. Surely Mr Fancy Private School can figure it out by himself. After scooping up her belongings, she points out Paul’s desk, hidden under a pile of dusty novels and unwashed mugs.

‘Nothing comes to mind. Enjoy your first day.’

It better be his last.

The final bell rings, and students flee the building, leaving behind a trail of chip wrappers and empty energy drink cans. Makayla makes her way to the South Wing staffroom, praying Beau is in Jeffrey’s office, handing in his resignation.

They haven’t crossed paths all day. Not because she’s avoiding him (okay, maybe a little).

During breaks, he kept students in for absurd reasons, such as checking their phones.

Yes, the school rules state that devices must be kept in lockers, but if the staff enforce it, there’ll be a riot.

Which is exactly what happened when he confiscated Ebony’s mobile.

She complained to Makayla, calling him an ogre.

She also muttered some other words that Makayla pretended not to hear.

Pick your battles, she figured. Why is he suddenly acting like a drill sergeant?

He was more than happy for Makayla to boss him around on Saturday night.

Makayla returns to their office and finds him sitting in her chair.

The only one that doesn’t wobble. Her colleagues are gathered at a table in the centre of the room.

They commune there every afternoon to offload their frustrations about working in a public school.

‘When will they repair the photocopier?’ ‘How much longer until they upgrade the computers?’ ‘Why aren’t the staff toilets fixed yet?

’ It’s free therapy, and there are always plenty of snacks.

The graphic design teacher sits beside Beau, engaging in a lively chat while cradling her expansive belly. She’ll be going on maternity leave any day now.

‘Have my seat, Makayla, I’m heading off.’ She waves away his helping hand before brushing pastry crumbs off the front of her mauve hijab.

‘I can’t stay. I’ve got a … thing.’ Makayla stuffs papers into her laptop bag and races to the car park without looking back.

Most of the cars have gone, except Agnes’s red hatchback, which is taking up two spots as always. No one’s brave enough to park beside her; she’s always dinging other cars when reversing. Still, better a car than a student.

‘Wait!’ Beau appears beside Makayla’s Jeep as she slams the boot. ‘You’re a fast one, aren’t you?’

It sounds like he makes a habit of chasing women. Stalker.

Beau’s mighty chest heaves as he tucks his hands into his pockets. Makayla’s not looking, and she’s certainly not thinking about the delicious pecs beneath his shirt.

‘I hope you’re not leaving because of me.

If I’m honest, I’m happy we’ve run into each other.

I’ve been racking my brain trying to think how to find you without knowing your name.

What I’m trying to say is, the other night was fun – a lot of fun.

’ A knowing grin creeps across his face, as though he’s recalling all the saucy things they did.

‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about. You must have me mistaken for someone else. Happens all the time; I’ve just got one of those faces.’ As the words fall out, the guilt creeps in. If the roles were reversed, she’d call him a dog for this kind of behaviour.

Beau doesn’t get huffy about it, though. He hovers his lips by her ear, bringing goosebumps to her skin. ‘Is that so? Then how do I know you have a birthmark on the nape of your neck?’

Makayla flicks her jacket collar up to hide the stork bite, as her mother used to call it.

She often forgets it’s there. Of course Beau hasn’t.

He traced his finger over it when they were curled up in his Egyptian cotton sheets.

It was right as the morning sun crept over the skyscrapers, scattering a heavenly light around his bedroom.

‘Okay, you got me. Keep this on the down-low. I mean it. Don’t tell a soul.’

Agnes appears, walking between them instead of going around like a decent person would.

It’s bad enough she caught Makayla sobbing in a toilet cubicle over her bastard ex-husband last year.

She snitched to Jeffrey, who immediately called Makayla into his office to ask, ‘Are you okay?’ fifteen times.

Makayla shuffles backwards and stays mute until the gossip queen is out of earshot.

Beau drops his nothing-to-see-here grin. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re married.’

‘What? Absolutely not.’ Makayla waves her ringless left hand at him to prove it. The only thing she’s ever cheated on was a keto diet. ‘I just don’t want people knowing my business.’

Beau’s shoulders relax, but he’s still in no hurry to leave.

If he wants to get back to the city before dark, he’d better get going.

There’s only one road in and out of Goldbrooke, a forgotten outer west suburb that’s overpopulated and underfunded.

Makayla lives nearby, sparing her the bumper-to-bumper commute.

The downside? She can’t step outside without running into students or, worse, parents.

On multiple occasions, a mum peddling essential oils has cornered her like an aggressive drug dealer.

‘That’s a relief,’ Beau says. ‘I followed you out to see if you had plans tonight. Are you free?’

Makayla blinks more times than the lights at a pedestrian crossing. The nerve of him. Who cares if lying in his arms was the best she’s felt since her dumpster-fire marriage ended? Not her. Besides, without the illusion of the handsome stranger, there’ll be no heat left.

‘Nice try, buddy. It was strictly a one-time thing.’ She gets into her car and closes the door, ignoring his rebuttal. She’s not interested in Beau Shepherd, and she’s not ( I repeat, NOT ) falling into bed with him again.