Page 31 of Holiday Hopefuls
Dr. Rhodes chuckles. “I came to have lunch with your teacher.”
“Are you friends?”
A secretive smile threatens to overtake the man’s face. “You could say that.”
Cheeks heating, I turn back to help the other kids finish getting ready for lunch. Though, it’s really to ignore whatever Dr. Rhodes is telling Cici.
Not a moment too soon, Mrs. Fairchild and her class knock on the door to pick up my kids and take them to the cafeteria.
I don’t miss the double take she does to the good doctor sitting at my desk. Not that I blame her.
“C’mon, Cici,” I call to the little girl holding on tight to his neck.
Cici whispers something in his ear before snatching a pink lunchbox from her cubby and bounding to the line of students leaving without her.
Shutting the door behind them, my classroom is now a vacuum, and I am instantly aware of how very alone Dr. Rhodes and I are. Turning back toward my desk, I find the man of the hour sitting in a student chair about eighty sizes too small, across the desk from mine.
Having shed the overcoat, the man sits there like a modern Greek god in his black slacks and tan sweater. With a paper napkin on one leg, he unpacks a sandwich and chips from the bag marked Sandra’s Sammies, while a soda sits already opened beside it.
“I didn’t know you wear glasses,” I blurt out.
Dr. Rhodes pauses, subconsciously readjusting the thin gold frames. “You’ve only seen me twice,” he shrugs. “There’s no way you could have known, unless you’re able to divine optometrical records.”
“Not currently. But it’s next on my list of useless gifts to learn.”
Rolling his lips in, the man nods. “What are you currently working on?”
“What?”
“You said it was next, which means there’s some other impractical talent you’re trying to learn.”
“Huh,” I say, looking back over my shoulder. Gotta double check I don’t have an audience for this meeting of the minds. “Uh, then I guess it’d be how to not have my curling iron die mid-curl.”
I turn back just in time to watch his eyes flick up toward my hair. “You’d pick that over mastering how to never spill your coffee?” he grins.
So he definitely noticed the stain. Pressing my lips together, I take a deep breath. “Cocoa. It’s an ongoing project,” I answer, much to his amusement. My stilted laugh sounds more like I’m being choked as he attempts to readjust in his tiny chair. “Why don’t you take my seat? It’ll be much more comfortable for you and all your tall … ness.”
The man lifts a thick honey brow before shaking his head. “No, thanks. I’m good here.” He beams. “Besides, it’s my turn to be in your office.”
Crossing my arms, I snort. “Look, if you stay in that chair, you’ll have cramps by the end of this. Then you’ll be stuck here until maintenance can come and unstick your butt from it. With the holiday approaching, that could be days. And if that’s the case, you’ll be worthless to me.” Shrugging, I do my best to appear nonchalant and not show the extreme panic boiling below the surface about how this stupidly hot man is supposed to be my pretend boyfriend in no less than four days.
In front of my entire family.
Oh, and I’m going to be his pretend girlfriend for his family too. Let’s not forget that fun little tidbit.
Dr. Rhodes narrows his annoyingly striking eyes, considering it. Finally, logic wins out.
Or the fear of being left here over Thanksgiving break without snacks.
It takes him longer to get out of the chair than it should, but when he does plop himself down on my adult-size swivel chair, his relief is apparent. “Your classroom is about how I pictured it.”
“How’s that?” I ask absently while I focus on reaching to the cabinet above him for a stashed lunchbox. Plant-themed, of course. But it’s more to ignore how close my boobs have to get to his face mid-reach.
I don’t miss how he tenses at maximum boob-closeness.
My face flames as the stupid lunchbox decides to choose today of all days to play Keep Away.
Thankfully, the good doctor recovers quickly. “Colorful, warm. Chaotic. A little noisy.” His point is exacerbated by a flinch as I scoot the tiny chair closer to the desk.
