Page 50 of The Love Playbook

“Wow. That’s almost a compliment, Lettie Baker.” I smirk. “You might become a Chris Collins fan yet.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she mutters, lips twitching.

“You mentioned the other night at dinner you switched from an early childhood major. Is it really because you don’t like kids or was that just a dig at my mother for having six of them?”

She grimaces. “I’m not that rude.”

I arch a brow.

“Whatever.” She scoffs. “I really did discover I don’t much like other people’s kids when I helped Brynn with a volunteer gig.”

I bark out a laugh. “That’s criminal. Kids are the fucking coolest.”

“I’m not surprised you feel that way, seeing as how you’re on the same intellectual level,” she says, her tone teasing.

“I can’t even be mad at that. But why teaching?”

The humor in her eyes fades as she glances down at her plate. “I don’t know,” she says, with a lift of her shoulders.

“Aw, come on. There’s gotta be some reason you want to be a teacher.”

And I want to know what it is. I want to know everything about you, because I’m convinced past all the prickly exterior is a gooey center just waiting to be discovered.

When she says nothing, I continue to prod, “Summers off? Holiday vacations? Kick-ass hours? A pension and benefits? What is it?”

She shakes her head, biting her lip while staring into her water. “I had this teacher in high school who could tell I was going through a rough time after the divorce, so she started asking me for help with projects after school. We’d sit there together, working on whatever project she had for me that week, redecorating her classroom, grading papers. She even had me help her bake cookies for the class at Christmas. Everything and anything she could think of to keep me busy. It continued on like that into my sophomore and junior years. By the time I became a senior, it was more than obvious what she was doing, and the school projects turned into coffee dates instead.”

She laughs, running a hand over the back of her neck as she says, “There were times where that was the brightest spot in my day?that extra hour after school. And I just kept thinking about how she didn’t have to do that for me, but she did it anyway.” She shrugs, chewing on her lower lip. “It was then that I realized she was so much more than a teacher, and I wanted to be that for someone someday, too.”

I shake my head as I lean back in the booth, completely inspired. I have no idea what Charlotte went through in high school with her parents’ divorce. If I’m lucky enough, someday she’ll tell me, but as if I didn’t like her enough, she swoops in and hits me with something so fucking meaningful it makes my heart ache.

“Fuck.” I groan.

Her head whips up, eyes wide. “What?”

“As if you weren’t already my dream girl, you just went and made me fucking fall in love with you. Well played, Lettie. Well played.”

“Chris.” She scoffs like I can’t possibly be serious, but the sound of my name rolling off her tongue only tugs on my heart harder. “For once, I give you a serious answer instead of blowing you off, and that’s what you come back with?”

“What? It’s fucking true. I’m being completely serious here, Lettie. You should know by now that I’m anything if not honest.”

“Right.” Her mouth puckers like she sucked on a lemon before she takes a drink of her water.

“What? You don’t believe me?” When she says nothing, I hold up a hand and start ticking off all the reasons I’m already crazy about her, even though she can’t stand my sorry ass. “Brunette with bangs that frame those gorgeous brown eyes. Petite. Sassy and snarky as hell. An amazing friend. Every bit as smart as your mouth. Doesyoga,” I emphasize. “Add in the fact you want to make a fucking difference in some kid’s life . . .” I throw my hands up and sigh. “Say less. I’m fucking cooked. Done. Finished. Take my dick on a silver platter, it’s yours.”

“Err.” She scrunches her nose. “No thanks to the dick on a platter thing.”

“The offer stands.” I raise my hands, palms up. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“No. There’s no getting ready for . . .” She waves between us, then growls in frustration. “Never mind, I give up.”

“Complete and utter submission. Damn. It’s like, finally after all this time, we’re speaking the same language.”

Charlotte stares at me for a beat before she lifts her gaze to the ceiling and mutters, “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Must have been a saint in your former life, sweetheart.”

Charlotte drags a hand down her face. “Are you always this ornery?”

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