Page 95 of Capri

Kindergarten is the fun year for kids, but also the year that is pivotal in starting their primary years.

It’s the year teachers find out how well preschool equipped them, or didn’t, in some cases.

I love it.

I love developing relationships with kids on different levels and doing what I was taught to do in order to make learning fun for them. Something I didn’t get much support in growing up.

I remember my middle school math teacher calling me stupid in front of the class. It’s a horrible memory I’ll never forget. I can tell you exactly what I was wearing, what Mrs. Duncan was wearing, and what we were learning.

Those are the traumas I vowed to never let a child experience on my watch. I do it for Stevie, but I also do it for me.

I specialize in working with children who have learning differences and need the tools and skills to reach their fullest potential.

My classroom is a hands-on station for every type of learner.

Colors and patterns linger everywhere that meets the eye.

Right now, I’m putting everything into this bitch of a desk, trying to move it to the other side of the room.

“Just a little further…” I breathe out, giving it my best effort, only for it to move nowhere.

“Don’t work too hard.”

I whip my head toward the door. “You.”

“Me.” Jones grins. “Nice room.” He walks in like he owns the place, much too big for a child-size classroom. Thank God for that because I could use a man’s muscles right about now.

“How’d you find me here?” I smile.

“Small town.” He smirks. “Didn’t take much asking around to find out which school was yours. Figured I’d help you out.”

Big, beautiful butterflies soar through my belly faster than my heart can catch up.

“Come make yourself useful then, old man.”

His smirk does things to me. “Put me to work.”

Oh, I’d love to. In more ways than one.

Jones helps me rearrange my entire classroom to perfection. I hardly lift a finger and get to enjoy the view.

His thick, muscular thighs are hugged by formfitting jeans, accompanied by work boots and a plain black tee. I’m not sure if it’s possible, but he looks bigger. Stronger than even the last time I saw him.

Maybe it’s because he’s in my classroom doing the Lord’s work and all that.

At the last minute, I purchased a new fridge for my room. Technically, we’re not allowed, but most of the teachers have them and administration has yet to say anything about it.

I’ve been wanting one, so I finally splurged.

But this thing is a pain to move. It may be small, but it is mighty. “If we can just fit it into that space right there,” I say, pointing to the little nook in my supply closet. “We’ll be done.”

“I got this,” Jones says, and I hang back, watching him manhandle the fridge like it’s nothing.

He tucks it into place, plugs it in, and makes sure it’s running. It’s the little details of care I notice with him.

His intentions.

“Perfect,” I say, glancing around the small closet.

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