Page 101 of Banter & Blushes

I drag my gaze down to my petite interruption. “Um, no. Just a friend.”

She giggles. “I think he likes you.”

My gaze finds him again. I can’t tell if he sees me at first because his eyes are hidden, but then he smiles, making my breath hitch.

“I sure hope so,” I whisper.

Iris waves to me as she runs to her bus, her backpack bouncing back and forth on her slight form.

After a day of running after second graders, both inside and out, I resist the urge to smooth my hands over my hair and instead, focus on the students, making sure they get on the right bus and don’t leave their backpacks behind. I’m wearing what I consider my dullest teaching uniform—gray slacks and a peach blouse, not to mention my sensible shoes so my feet don’t scream at me every night—so I can only imagine what a picture I must present.

This is so not how I wanted Ethan to see me, but maybe this is for the best. Like that Band-Aid analogy, just rip it off and get it over with. It must be a good sign that he didn’t leave when he figured out I work here, right? And he did smile at me.

The last bus shifts into gear, letting out a noisy and smelly gust of air as the motor engages. The giant yellow mass pulls forward like a curtain sliding open to reveal an unexpected view. I’m frozen in place, eyes locked on Ethan as he pushes off his car and heads toward me. The moment feels surreal as if I’ve waited my entire life to meet him, to see him up close, to hear his voice for the first time. I’m so drawn to him I can’t think straight.

When he’s a few feet away, he tugs off his sunglasses and tousles back his dark brown hair that somehow looks even better messy. Chocolate-colored eyes rove over my face, and his smile widens. “Hi, Mia.”

His voice is deep and rumbly, just the way I like it. The same electric pull I felt when I first locked eyes with him at the arena is even stronger without a sheet of plexiglass separating us and the blare of a sound system or a Zamboni engine drowning us out.

I take a much-needed breath. “Hello, Ethan.”

He swivels at his waist, pointing to his name across the back, then faces me again. “Figured I wear my jersey, in case you forgot what I looked like.”

I snort. “Not likely.”

His smile tilts, and his eyes sparkle in the afternoon light. Then he swings hisgaze to the left and then to the right. “School’s out. Does that mean you’re free now?”

“Yes.” I won’t mention the papers I have to grade or my plan to cozy up to a new planner and my favorite pen. I can always use that as my excuse to end this impromptu date if it goes south, but I suspect I won’t have to.

He gestures to his car. “Your chariot awaits. Unless you’d rather take yours.”

I’m not sure if he’s testing me to see if I was telling the truth or genuinely willing to let me drive. “Mine’s in the shop.”

“Engine trouble again?” His smile turns ironic, his firm lips lifting on one side.

All I can think about is what they’d feel like on mine. Soft and warm at first, then more demanding. I smile back. “Guess we’ll have to take yours. I just need to grab my stuff.”

Ethan follows me into the school. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so self-conscious in my life. First, he sees me in my teaching attire, and now he’ll see where I work, up close and in person. But he’s still here, so that must be a good sign, right?

As we walk into my classroom, the smells of construction paper and glue that normally make me smile feel more like a sticky label with the words ‘not interesting enough’ written on it, in all caps.

He stops inside the doorway, taking in the small desks and the walls plastered with student artwork and inspirational word pictures designed to teach or remind the students of things that matter.

“So, you’re a schoolteacher.” His probing gaze lands on me.

I look for the tell-tale signs of boredom—feigned interest, distraction, eyes glazed—but see none of them. Just genuine curiosity.

“Is it that obvious?” My usual snark slides out, especially when I’m nervous. I load my bag with the papers I intend to grade and slide the straps over my shoulder, pushing the chair under my desk.

Ethan takes a few steps toward me. “Seemed like you kept avoiding the topic.”

I drop my eyes to my average shoes, wishing I had at least worn my cute flats today. “Most guys think schoolteachers are boring.”

“You are far from boring, Mia Popovic.” His words pierce a deep place in my heart.

My eyes leap to his. “How do you know my last name?”

“I was helping my coach’s daughter with a presentation about hockey. I asked her teacher about you.”

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