Page 5 of Turn My Crank

"Perfect. I'll see you tomorrow then." He winks—actually winks—at me before turning back to Susie. It causes my stomach to clench with excitement. It's been way too long since I had a date. "Let's get going, pumpkin. We're causing a traffic jam."

As they walk to his truck, Susie's small hand in his large one, I can't help but stare. Colby helps her into her booster seat, carefully buckling her in before closing the door and walkingaround to the driver's side. Before getting in, he glances back at me and gives a small wave.

I wave back, feeling a flush creep up my neck as I turn to the next car in line. The rest of car duty passes in a blur as I process what just happened. Did Colby Reynolds just create an excuse to see me again? And am I really this excited about it?

Yes, I decide as I call the next student's name. Yes, I am.

It's been too long since I felt this flutter of anticipation, this spark of possibility. As a first-grade teacher, I spend my days surrounded by small children and married parents. My dating life has been practically non-existent since I took this job.

But now there's Colby—handsome, attentive, devoted to his daughter, and apparently interested in seeing me outside of mandatory school functions.

Tomorrow at four. Just thinking about it makes my stomach flip in a way that's both terrifying and exhilarating. I've kept myself hidden away for so long, trying to be the best person I can be, that I've sort of let life pass me by. Hopefully this is the push I need.

As the last car pulls away, I gather my things and head back to my classroom, already planning what I'll wear tomorrow. Something professional but flattering. Something that says "dedicated teacher" but also "woman who notices how good you look in those jeans."

Because I definitely noticed. And I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be the beginning of something I never expected when I posted the parent-teacher conference sign-up sheet last week.

three

. . .

Colby

The elementary school hallway smells exactly like I remember – a mix of disinfectant, school lunch, and that strange papery smell that seems to cling to every classroom. I shift my weight from one boot to the other as I check the room numbers. The familiar anxiety I always feel in schools starts creeping up my spine. Even as a thirty-two-year-old man, these places still make me feel like that overweight, awkward teenager.

"Daddy!" Susie's voice cuts through the hallway noise as she barrels toward me from Ms. Reeves' classroom, her dark curls bouncing with each step. My chest tightens the way it always does when I see her – this perfect little human who somehow belongs to me.

"Hey, Sunshine," I say, scooping her up and settling her on my hip even though she's probably getting too big for this. She wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing tight. "I came to see your habitat project."

"Ms. Reeves said mine is the bestest one," she whispers loudly against my ear. "Come see!"

I carry her back to the classroom, nodding awkwardly at a couple of other parents who are filtering in for the showcase. When I step through the doorway, my eyes immediately find Ms. Reeves, and something in my chest shifts.

She's kneeling beside a little boy's desert habitat, her blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders as she points out something in his shoebox creation. The soft cardigan she's wearing hugs curves that I've been trying not to think about since our first parent-teacher conference. When she laughs at something the kid says, the sound travels across the room and settles somewhere beneath my ribs.

"Ms. Reeves!" Susie calls out. "My daddy's here to see my forest!"

Lacy Reeves looks up, and when her eyes meet mine, her smile widens. She stands smoothly, brushing invisible dust from her skirt before walking toward us. I set Susie down, and she immediately grabs my hand, tugging me toward her project on a table near the windows.

"Mr. Reynolds," Ms. Reeves says, extending her hand. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Her hand is soft and warm in mine, and I hold it a second longer than necessary. "Colby, please. Mr. Reynolds makes me sound like my old man."

"Colby," she repeats, and somehow my name sounds different when she says it. "Then you should call me Lacy when we're not in front of the students."

Susie pulls on my arm impatiently. "Daddy, look! This is where we go hiking!"

The shoebox forest is impressive – pine trees made of painted pinecones, a tiny creek with blue cellophane water, even small clay animals hiding among miniature bushes made of sponges painted green. Pride swells in my chest.

"This is amazing, Sunshine. Did you make all of this?"

"Ms. Reeves helped with the hot glue gun," Susie admits, pointing to various elements. "But I did everything else! See the trail? That's where we walk, and I put a tiny tent here because remember when we camped last summer?"

"I see it," I say, crouching down to get a better look. "You even got the little stones around the campfire. That's incredible attention to detail."

Lacy moves to stand beside us, her perfume a subtle hint of something floral. "Susie has quite the artistic eye. She told me all about your hiking trips while we were working on this. You two spend a lot of time outdoors, don't you?"

"Whenever we can," I nod. "Best way to tire her out so I can get some peace and quiet."

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