Page 16 of Breakaway Hearts
I blink a few times, stunned at how uncannily accurate her guess is. I’m not quite sure what to say in response though, so instead, I grab another Twizzler and chew on it furiously.
“Ooh, youdohave a date.” Peg smacks me on the shoulder with surprising strength for a woman her age. “That’s great! Goodness, it’s so wonderful that you’re getting back out there. I know with how things ended with your ex—”
“Peg,” I warn, and she holds her hands up.
Most of my fellow teachers know about my breakup with Austin a year or so ago. He didn’t come around the school a lot even when we were dating, but I talked about him sometimes, and they noticed when I suddenly stopped mentioning him.
None of them know quite how rough our breakup was though. It felt too personal to get into at work, and I didn’t want to confide in anyone about the number he did on my self-esteem.
“I’m serious, though.” She puts a warm hand over mine. “You’re so young! In the prime of your life. When I was your age, I was out on a date with a different guy every weekend. You’ll have to fill me in on all the details tomorrow. Is he good looking? Does he have a good job? How did you meet? Oh, I can’t wait.”
“A different guy every weekend? Damn, girl.” I arch a brow at her, grinning.
She waves off my question and continues on with all the things she’s excited to hear about after my date, but my mind gets stuck on thoughts of Austin. I haven’t dated much since him. I haven’twantedto. After I broke things off, I had a hard time finding the optimism to jump back into the dating pool, and I’ve had to face the fact that it’s unlikely I’ll ever find someone who can give me the kind of love I crave. The kind of love my parents had, before my dad passed away.
“Anyway,” Peg says once she finishes her tirade of potential questions I’ll be faced with tomorrow. “You be sure to have fun tonight. You’re only young once! And you’re so beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you. If this date doesn’t work out, there’s this boy in my yoga class who—”
The bell cuts her off at just the right moment, and I say a quick thanks to the heavens for their intervention.
“Oh, wow!” I rise from the couch, tucking the Twizzlers bag into one of the communal cupboards before grabbing the empty Tupperware containers from my lunch. “Time sure does fly, huh? I’ve gotta get to class. Keep those kids in line!”
Peg shakes her head, a wide, knowing grin spreading across her face as I slip out of the room and rush back toward my classroom.
* * *
I hop off the bus a little after four p.m. and make the short trek to my apartment building. I’m pretty sure there’s paint in my hair from an afternoon activity I stupidly decided would start the week well. You’d think after teaching for three years, I would know better. But clearly, my mind has been a little preoccupied.
I fumble with my key in the lock of the main entrance, which sticks way too often, but the neighborhood is safe enough that my standing outside for five minutes struggling doesn’t usually bother me. The hall light in the entryway beyond the glass door flickers.
“Creepy,” I mutter. It’s been like that all week, even though I called the landlord as soon as I noticed it to let him know it needs to be replaced.
I manage to get the door open, then hiss out a breath as I almost slip in a small pool of water on the floor just inside the doorway.
“Dammit.” I wrap my arms around the large bag I bring to school with me every day, making sure my footing is solid as I head toward the stairs that lead to my floor. This building wasn’t in great shape when I moved in, but it’s definitely gotten worse since I got here. Unfortunately, I can’t afford a lot better on my teacher’s salary, and it’s close to my school, which makes it hard to leave.
After shooting a quick text to my landlord to remind him about the flickering light and let him know that there’s now some kind of leak in the entryway, I make my way up the stairs to my apartment and hop into the shower. I can’t take too long underneath the scorching stream of water, but it eases my nerves, which are rapidly escalating the more I think about what tonight means.
Reese is my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were both just awkward teenagers. But now he’s a famous hockey player, and I’m an elementary school teacher, unaccustomed to being in the spotlight.
If everything goes as planned, I’m about to be center stage.
And I’m still not sure how I feel about that.
I force myself out of the shower five minutes too late, which gives me minimal time to put on makeup and get dressed before heading to the arena. I opt for something light and natural and pull on one of Reese’s very old jerseys over a tank top—a green one as a good luck charm for Reese—and then slip into a pair of comfortable jeans.
The jersey is from one of Reese’s very first professional games, the first one he ever won, and he gave it to me afterward. It was a gesture of friendship I’ve never forgotten, even though I mostly wear it to bed now on particularly chilly nights and when the heat in my apartment building goes kaput.
The ends of the sleeves are fraying, and I pick at a loose thread. I hope Reese is okay with this. It’s the best I’ve got for now.
My phone buzzes, and I grab it off my unmade bed to see Reese’s name lighting up the screen. Perfect timing.
REESE: You on your way? Can you meet me in the family lounge when you get here?
ME: Calling a car now! And sure, I’ll text you when I’m there.
REESE: Sounds good. I’ll see you soon, Firefly ;)
ME: lol, shut it before I shut it for you.
