Page 127 of This Could Be Us

She clasps her hands in front of her, smiling out over the crowd of students.

“You guys are the generation pioneering all this stuff,” she says. “I’m playing catch-up. I’ve always wanted my girls to go to college.”

She turns a playfully narrow-eyed glare on Inez. “I still do. Don’t get any ideas, young lady.”

Everyone laughs, and she turns that brilliant smile back on the assembly.

“But it’s amazing what you can do in the time we live now, thecareer you can have with your phone, a ring light, a few good ideas, and consistency. This is the perfect career for me because it allows me to do what I love most.” She pauses to shrug. “Make the best home possible for my girls and me. I share the meals I prepare, the ways I keep our house clean, the ways I manage our schedule and our budget with the world now. It’s my niche, and it’s changed my life. It’s given me a lot more than just a way to make a living. It’s given me new confidence and helped me value making a home as vocationally valid in a way that culture hadn’t reinforced before.”

She grins, watching the students chew on the samples. “Any questions?”

Hands fly up all over the room, and I hover in the hall for another fifteen minutes listening to her field questions and entertain her daughter’s classmates. Finally they break and head back into their classrooms. I hang out around the corner, waiting for the crowd to clear. Eventually Soledad and Diane appear in the hall, wobbly cart in tow.

“I need to go relieve the librarian,” Diane says. “She’s sitting in for me at the front desk. I can find someone to help you get this stuff to your car.”

I step out from behind the wall as if I were just casually coming from around the corner.

“Ms. Charles,” I say. I know I’m bad at this stuff by the amused look Soledad shoots me. “Still here? How’d it go?”

“Great, I think.” She turns to Diane. “Don’t worry about finding someone to help me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Diane shakes her head. “Oh, but—”

“I’m on my way out,” I say, stepping in to steer the cart out of Soledad’s hands. “I can help.”

“If you’re sure?” Diane asks, flicking a glance from me to the cart.

“I’m sure,” Soledad and I say in unison.

“Okay.” Diane looks over her shoulder toward the front desk. “I better get back, then. Thank you both for doing this.”

She walks off, and Soledad and I watch each other for a few silent seconds.

“How serendipitous that you happened to still be around to help,” she says, starting the walk to the car.

I push the cart and keep pace with her, following Harrington’s camellia-lined brick path toward the parking lot.

“You may not believe this,” I say. “But I kind of arranged to be around when you finished so I could see you.”

“No!” Soledad turns mock-shocked eyes on me, pressing one hand to her chest. “Mr. Cross. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re stalking me.”

“Seems the only way I’ll get to see you.”

She sobers, an apology etched on her expression. “I know it’s not ideal. I’m sorry. I—”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I say, parking the cart beside her Pilot. “It’s not like we’re in a real relationship, right?”

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. She’s turned away from me, loading dishes into the trunk, and the slim line of her shoulders tenses. She pauses, dropping her arms and her head. The side-opening trunk door shields us from the school’s view, so I take a chance, gripping her arms gently from behind and bending to whisper in her ear.

“I’m sorry.” I pull her softness into my chest and fold my hands over her waist, leaning down to the curve of her neck. “I don’t mean to pressure you. You’re doing what feels best for you right now. I respect that. I just…”

Want you.

I don’t say it aloud, but the way her hands close over mine in front of her, the way she leans back into me, letting her head fall against my chest, tell me she knows. Tell me she feels it too. In her own time, she’ll know how we should move forward. I can be patient and give her that space.

The sound of quick breaths and running feet approaching makes us spring apart, but when Inez rounds the car, there is still suspicion in her eyes as she looks between her mother and me.

“Inez,” Soledad says, slamming the trunk door. “Hey. What are you doing out of class?”

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