I took a tissue and rubbed my nose. “Okay… James. I’m Marley.”
We’d known each other’s first names already, of course, but hadn’t had occasion to use them until now.
“Thanks,” he said. “And since we’re now on a first name basis, I hope it’s alright for me to ask. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I appreciated his concern. And because the rest of the faculty knew my story, it made sense to share it with him. “It’s just that my mom passed away almost a year ago. She used to help me set up my classroom every year.” I breathed out thickly. “A few minutes ago, I was collecting the students’ daily writing prompts, and one of them wrote what amounted to a love letter to her mother. So, everything just kind of hit me out of the blue.”
A compassionate expression took over his face. He paused before saying, “That’s rough. I take it you and your mom were close?”
“The closest.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. And I promise you I’m okay, just normal sad.” I stood up and extended my arm to him. “Maybe we should start over. Under typical circumstances, I’d have done much more to welcome a new teacher, especially one in my department.”
He shook my offered hand. “No apology necessary. Sorry again for interrupting your moment.”
I laughed. “It’s fine. Sometimes it helps to be nudged out of it. I’m honestly not much of a wallower. And listen, as far as work goes, please know that you can come to me with anything you need, any questions. This is my fifth year here, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got all the most important data points you need about Coleman Creek High.”
“Data points, huh? Like what?”
“Well, for starters, there are three Keurigs in the teachers’ lounge. Only one of them makes coffee that doesn’t taste like vinegar and dirty dishwater had a baby.”
He barked out a laugh as he let go of my hand. “I’ll keep that in mind.” A hesitant smile crossed his face. “Everyone’s been great, but I’m still feeling a bit like the new guy around here. I wouldn’t mind having someone show me the ropes. I hope we can be friends…Marley.”
With my name on his lips, the last vestige of my embarrassment had eased. He’d looked at me, brown eyes bright, and I’d sensed the beginning of a real connection. His kindness made me want to know him better.
At first, our friendship had been tentative. We talked about students at school, sent each other funny memes, drank coffee in the teachers’ lounge. This had led to spending our lunch period together, and eventually, to hanging out outside of school. We’d watched my favorite Hugh Grant rom-coms, and he’d introduced me to obscure 1960s science fiction films. One Saturday we went apple picking, something he’d never done before. Another weekend he drove me to Spokane to try Ethiopian food, a first for me. A shared love of puzzles and games had resulted in daily battles of Othello and Mastermind—along with a week spent in my dining room working a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle. I’d cooked him dinner. He’d brought me take out. Even our dogs liked each other. And although everything we’d done had been strictly platonic, the lines were feeling blurry.
Today at lunch, they’d shifted further.
We’d been sitting on a bench in the hallway. James had barely kept a straight face as I’d relayed the story of my second period’s heated debate over whether Taylor Swift or Beyoncé was the Shakespeare of our time. Finally, he’d burst out laughing, offering, “It’s obviously Justin Bieber,” before slapping his hand down playfully over mine.
That’s when I’d felt it. A spark. Brief, but unmistakable.
Stunned, I’d peered over at him, his eyes vivid and laughing, and I realized the connection I’d felt when James first said my name had developed into something more. Something electric.
The knowledge had come on so gradually my initial instinct was to second-guess it. The flicker of awareness caused by the light touch of his fingers. After James had removed his hand, I’d made an excuse to head back to my classroom, needing to gather my thoughts. Knowing I’d see him at this meeting.
Principal Nadal jiggled the wires connected to his laptop and several of the teachers sighed at the continued delay. After making sure no one watched us, I stole another glance at James. He sat with his arms folded across his broad chest, grinning at something Coach Hurley said.
Another revelation hit me. Over the time we’d spent together, my objective acknowledgment of James’s good looks had progressed into genuine attraction.
Imposing but soft, he stood six-three, with wide rounded shoulders and a bit of a belly—extra padding that carried over into the generous curve of his backside. Those features, along with the strength he exhibited in every movement, felt like the epitome of approachable masculinity. And, of course, there was his style, so unique compared to other men in town. He was the sole male teacher with long hair, and the only one who wore jewelry—bracelets on both wrists, rings on his thumbs, and a small stud in his right nostril.
James was different, but in the best possible way. Intriguing. With his charm and good nature, he’d quickly won over not just me, but our students and colleagues as well.
He’d even converted testy old Mr. Bailey—who’d taken one look at him at the first faculty meeting and proposed that the school ban “man accessories” for teachers. When James had arrived for the next day’s assembly wearing a tiara, Mr. Bailey couldn’t stop his cheek from lifting a fraction. James had given the other man a good-natured wink before taking the pink plastic headpiece off, and the two had been unlikely friends ever since.
And ultimately, it was this—his kind heart—that continued to draw me in. Made him more beautiful.
Our obvious bond was the reason I often felt the curious eyes of our co-workers on us. They’d beenshippingus for months, as the students would say. I’d dismissed it. Now I wasn’t so sure.
James reached into his bag for one of the crossword puzzle magazines he always carried, offering me a pen as he placed it in the middle of the table. Was he oblivious to the other faculty members wondering about us, or did he simply not care? I had no idea. The only real pall to our budding attachment was that I often had moments like these, where I found him incredibly hard to read. His laid-back vibe occasionally felt like more of an impenetrable wall.
I needed to spend some time with him, alone, outside of school, to see if I could diagnose my own reactions. Had that spark been a momentary lapse? An aberration? Or the start of something more significant? And what about James? Had his feelings becomecomplicated? I’d spent the afternoon thinking back on the past few weeks. There had been several times I thought I’d caught him looking at me in a flirtatious way, a few brushes of his fingers against my lower back that may or may not have been accidents. But nothing definitive. He certainly hadn’t said anything out loud to suggest he saw me as more than a friend. And since I knew I was bad at reading him, it was possible I’d imagined those touches and glances.
I felt certain we’d both agree protecting our friendship was the priority. James had been the brightest light in my life since my mom died, and whatever else existed between us, I didn’t want to jeopardize that. No need to show my cards while I was still working things out in my mind.
