Page 78 of Class Act

“What was your childhood nickname?”

Again, Aryn and I looked at each other with matching confused expressions. This time Aryn smirked, and my mouth tugged upwards. Only Ruby would think these were pertinent questions.

“Pickle Pop because I liked to freeze pickles and eat them.”

“Ewww,” the three of us said in unison.

He shrugged with a chuckle. “I’m not apologizing. They were good.”

Ruby nodded once, sharply. “Those were my only questions. I needed to know if he’s good enough for Hailey.”

“I’m not,” Ford stated. In fact, he stated it so simply and genuinely that it felt like the actual air stopped moving around us. “I can be bossy, and demanding, and laser focused.” He looked at all three of us one-by-one. “I’m lucky she’s willing to eat a piece of pie at the fair in my company.”

“Oh my gosh,” Aryn whispered, giving me eyes loaded with stars.

“Good to know,” Ruby stated, maintaining her serious interviewer persona. “She’s the best of us. She’s nice, and calm, and classy.” Ford nodded as I prepared to melt into the pavement. “But you should know, she hates bodily fluids and camping. So maybe stay away from those things.”

“Although,” Aryn added, “she’s a boss at rowing river rafts.”

Ford glanced at me, amused and questioning, but I still felt frozen by all that was happening. So I raised one side of my mouth in an embarrassed smile and shrugged.

“I’ll remember that,” he said, keeping his eyes on my face, taking me in and analyzing everything he saw.

“See that you do,” Ruby replied.

With that, Ruby and Aryn said friendly goodbyes as though they hadn’t kicked up waves and walked away. But Ford, his eyes never left my face, and warmth crept into my chest.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” I managed to say. “You shouldn’t put me on a pedestal like that.”

He bent low and pressed the lightest of kisses to my lips, right there in broad daylight. “You’ll lose this argument every time,” he said.

And I couldn’t imagine wanting anyone more than I wanted him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The tears were never going to end and I was never going to be okay and my life would always be horrible from here on out.

At least that’s what I told myself Wednesday night as I laid in fetal position on my couch, covered in a throw blanket with a damp tissue balled in my fist. I still couldn’t make sense of the fact that my principal had called me in that afternoon and told me I’d need to find a new school for next year. Washington Elementary didn’t have enough enrollment for two second grade teachers, and since I was the most recent hire, I’d be the one to go. She did throw me a little bone, saying that if enrollment went up, they’d be happy to rehire me the following year.

It hadn’t helped.

My stomach ached, my chest felt hollow, and my eyes were raw.

It had taken every ounce of willpower and self-discipline I had to get out of the building with a cheerful face. Only once I’d pulled out of the parking lot did the tears begin. And they hadn’t stopped even once in the past hour. Every time I’d felt I was coming up for air, I’d think about leaving my friends, my chest would heave, and the tears would flow again. After thirty minutes of sobbing, I’d texted my mom, asking her to call me when she was done with patients for the day. I hadn’t told my friends yet, and picturing their faces caused another round of moaning sobs to begin.

My phone rang on the coffee-table, and I reached for it jerkily, sniffling loudly, wanting more than anything to hear my mom’s voice. Even at thirty years old, I still wanted her comfort and advice.

“The worst thing happened today,” I wept.

“What happened?” The voice that responded did not belong to my mother.

I gasped and hiccupped and held the phone away from my face to see the display screen, knowing already it was Ford. We’d slipped into the habit of talking every night, but it was much earlier than I usually heard from him. Most nights we talked after his kids were in bed. I held the phone to my chest and took a deep breath. We were not in a place yet where I was coming to him with my problems. In fact, as a general rule, I pretty much kept problems to myself.

“Hailey?” I heard him call.

I hurried to sniffle and wipe my nose, sitting up and taking another deep breath. The tears were still falling, but maybe I could hold it together enough to have a brief conversation.

I put it back up to my ear. “Yeah, hi. I . . . thought you were my mom,” I stammered. My voice wobbled, and I grimaced.

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