Under The Peaches: Teaching Love, #1

By Shana Vanterpool

Unwanted. A word eighteen-year-old Kaelyn Jefferies knows better than most. Given up at birth, she knows nothing of love. Now she navigates this world blind, worrying only about her present to survive. And sometimes when you’re the only guide you have, you don’t always do what’s best for yourself.

After another confrontation with her bully, Kaelyn flees to her hiding spot to be alone and nurse her wounds. Instead, she finds Julian Ean, the gorgeous twenty-four-year-old calculus teacher the other girls whisper about, nursing a few of his own. Until that moment, Mr. Ean was simply a man she passed in the halls. Afterwards, he is impossible to ignore … to forget. 

Mr. Ean only wanted to help Kaelyn. Patch her up and show her she was worth so much more than she was giving herself. He didn’t mean to fall in love with a student. It’s wrong, he knows it, but he can’t help himself around her. Not when her pain feels like his.

Kaelyn didn’t mean to fall in love with a teacher. It’s wrong, she knows it, but after Mr. Ean shows her what a real smile feels like, there’s no going back after that …

Book one in the Teaching Love Series, comes a poignant coming-of-age novel showcasing the beauty of strength and the delicious lure of forbidden love by Shana Vanterpool. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shana Vanterpool
• Release date: Feb 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386796688

Book preview

Under the Peaches

Teaching Love Series, book 1

By Shana Vanterpool

Shana Vanterpool Under The Peaches © 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced whatsoever in any manner, including electronic or mechanical, photocopying, or by an information and retrieval system, without written permission from the Author/Publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s overactive imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual persons, alive or deceased, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 9781520552613

Imprint: Independently published

Cover stock photo © Shutterstock

Fonts from Dafont.com

Shana Vanterpool © Copyright 2017

Other titles by Shana Vanterpool

The Demise Series:

My Sweet Demise

My Vicious Demise

The Crystal Gulf Series:

Destroy Me

Damage Me

Stand-Alone Novels:

A Beautiful Nightmare

Novellas:

Mr. Santa

DEDICATION

To all the little girls who stare up at palm trees and dream they’re fireworks, who yearn for so much more in their little hearts.

CONTENTS

Copyright

Other Titles

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Under the Peaches

Teaching Love Series, book 1

By Shana Vanterpool

Prologue

––––––––

The trees look like green fireworks as Mama pulls me into the street.

Let’s go, she hisses, tugging on my arm. Waste of a brain. I never should’ve adopted you.

Mama’s always mad at me. She doesn’t like me. I think it’s because I’m a bad girl. That’s what she says.

"You’re a bad girl, Kaelyn. That’s why I’m giving you away."

She drags me across the parking lot over to a dirty black car, where two people I don’t know wait.

The lady says she’s my new mama, and when we drive away, I’m scared. I don’t know them. I want my old mama, even if she doesn’t want me.

I watch her in the window as dust from their tires makes a brown cloud, and in my heart, I feel like something’s missing.

That was the first time I learned I was unwanted.

Chapter One

––––––––

I’m coming out of the side door, cupping my bloody lip, when I see him for the first time.

He’s huddled on the bench as if he’s hiding from the cold. His back is bowed and his head is in his hands.

For a moment, I’m confused. Typically, when I come out here, I’m alone—that’s why I do it. Having someone here throws me off. The emotions I’d hoped to expel revert back inside, like swallowing acidic regurgitation; they burn all the way down.

I frown at his back before I let the door go.

When it slams shut, he turns around. Our eyes lock the way strangers’ do, sudden and leery. His are rimmed in red, and his mouth is parted in surprise. Beyond surprise, I can sense his negative emotions. They’re heavy on his face, weighing his features down. He’s probably annoyed I’ve interrupted him. No one comes out here to be happy. I should know.

I’m sorry for interrupting. I need some time to myself, to relieve the overwhelming pressure building inside of me. I didn’t know anyone else was out here.

His eyes roam over me as I stand there awkwardly. I wonder how awful I look, although I don’t wonder long when his gaze widens. My eyes are probably cold and distrustful. My face is blotchy and pale. And the dark red strands of my hair have become gnarled and twisted on my head. To top it all off, blood seeps from the cut on my mouth. I wipe it, smearing it on my chin. When I look at my fingers, there’s more blood than I expected. My tongue shoots out to lick it up, and the taste of metal blossoms in my mouth.

It’s okay, he says, resuming his previous position. Come have a seat. He slides to the other end of the cement bench and soflty pats it, leaving me a space.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit with him. He looks familiar. I run his face through my mind, comparing it to the few I’ve managed to remember. Mr. Ean?

Yeah, he mutters, his tone uneasy. That’s me. He clears his throat and turns away, hiding from me now that I know who he is.

I move to sit beside him, sinking down reluctantly. It’s cold today. I wrap my arms around my stomach, holding myself together at the same time I seek warmth. I hug my knees to my chest, needing to be as small as possible today.

From where I sit, I can spot the teachers parking lot. Beyond there is the road leading away from the high school. Trees drenched in Spanish moss surround the perimeter, and though the sun is no match for the wind today, it sits high and bright in the sky.

I sniff quietly and attempt to calm my breathing. I want to be alone. It’s so odd having someone with me. I come out here every day through the side door in the music hall. And every day since freshman year it’s been empty.

Now Mr. Ean sits in my spot. In my way.

What happened? he asks.

You know, tripped and fell. What happened to you? I shoot back.

Don't try and see me now, I think bitterly.

All my teachers see nothing. They turn a blind eye. Mr. Ean isn’t my teacher, but he is one nonetheless, and he’s as blind as the rest of them.

The same, he mutters dryly, glancing at me.

I don’t look directly at him, choosing to monitor him from the corner of my eye instead. I wipe my lip off with my collar, staining my white shirt. I don’t think about explaining the blood to anyone. There isn’t anyone to tell. I do my own laundry; the only person inconvenienced is me.

It’s only ever me.

You need some ice for that.

I’m fine.

He sighs and brings his legs on the bench, sitting cross-legged as he continues to stare at the side of my face. His gaze feels heavy, aggravating as it slides over me. It feels like he’s prodding me, poking at my thoughts and insides. I shift uncomfortably.

Who hit you?

Mind your own business, Mr. Ean. Please, I add more softly, trying to make up for my harsh tone. I don’t know why I do, but he hasn’t been hard with me, and I’ve had enough hardness today.

I’m a teacher who can help. You’re a student who looks like you need some. What happened?

He doesn’t seem to want to drop it. With a sigh, I give in. Nessa Ferguson and Riley Bates think it’s fun to torture me. I hug myself tighter, smearing my bloody lip on my kneecap; red stains my jeans.

I don’t know them. He reaches over and gently grasps my chin, turning my face so he can see my mouth. But it looks like they got you good. Did you get any licks in?

I meet his eyes, finding they’re pale and gray. Something painful lurks on the edge. It kind of came out of nowhere. Nessa’s elbow has more bite than her fist.

He turns, facing me, and touches my mouth, irritating the cut with his thumb; I hiss. Sorry. Come back to my classroom with me? I have a first-aid kit.

I pull my face free and shake my head. I’m fine. I am, I insist, when his expression becomes doubtful.

Dropping his hands into his lap, he regards me patiently. How long has this been going on?

Since Nessa’s now boyfriend, but then crush, asked me to prom sophomore year.

His expression doesn’t change. He’s simply listening. Although I wonder how he does it. I probably sound girly and annoying to someone like him.

And you’re a ... junior?

Senior.

She’s been bullying you for that long?

I look away from his concerned gaze. What are you doing out here?

That’s a yes, he says, running a hand through his thick brown hair. Let’s go to my classroom. He stands and looks at me.

You go to your classroom. I hug myself tighter. I’m perfectly fine right here.

He looks down at me reproachfully. I look up at him defiantly. Together we stare, refusing to back down from the other. Our silent struggle feels uncomfortable. I don’t know him, but I lose enough as it is, and refuse to give him this victory.

I’ll have to inform the principal you’re being bullied. What’s your name?

I smile condescendingly, looking away, hiding my eyes and my name. Through the gap in my legs, I can see his shins and shoes, still standing there, still bugging me.

I look up and seethe. Leave me alone. You want to be here now? Where were you when they were beating me up in front of my locker last month? Or fifteen minutes ago, when Nessa elbowed me? You can’t do anything for me now, so just leave.

Pain and acceptance fill his eyes. He holds my gaze, brave enough to do so. Most would’ve looked away. Most barely bother to look in the first place.

You’re right, but I can do something for you now. I can patch you up. He holds out his hand. Lunch is almost over. Please, he begs quietly. I want to help.

I narrow my eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s going to leave anytime soon, and as aggravating as this is, I sense he can make it worse. Fine, I relent, taking his hand.

We walk to the side door, fingers clasped. The heat of his hand in mine feels strange and foreign. I want to yank free and run, be by myself like I intended.

As if sensing my thoughts, he tightens his grip. Now that he’s standing, he’s extremely taller than me. I’m rather short, coming in at 5’3; I’m not growing anymore at eighteen. Mr. Ean towers over me, easily over six feet.

When we get to the door, he drops my hand and opens it, standing aside so I can enter first.

The halls are empty; it’s lunch time. Lockers adorn the walls, and posters for an upcoming rally I will undoubtedly skip, hang from the ceiling. It’s quiet; our feet create a disrupting whisper. I fall into step a few behind him. His untucked dress shirt trails after him. We pass an open classroom door as a student is coming out, holding a roll call sheet. She’s a teacher’s assistant judging by the pass pinned to her shirt. Her lunch consists of brown-nosing the staff and doing their biddings. When she sees Mr. Ean, she skids to a halt and smiles, like she’s looking at something she’s been waiting for all day.

Mr. Ean, she squeaks, cheeks flushing.

He smiles back nicely. Carmen. Let me guess? I’m next?

She takes a second to answer, staring blankly up at him. Next for what?

Roll call, he replies patiently.

Oh, she huffs. You’re next if you want to be.

Whatever’s easier? He shrugs, seeming to remember I’m standing right there. Actually, I’ve got something to take care of, make me last.

Her behavior makes me question why I remembered who Mr. Ean is out of all the teachers at South Rebel High. He’s extremely good-looking. And Carmen knows it. He’s not as old as the other teachers. I think it makes him seem more available to the girls at school. I’ve heard them on more than one occasion talking about these blue slacks he wears that show off his ass, and how sometimes when he wears white t-shirts they can see his abs.

Last but not least, she teases, giggling.

I roll my eyes at the lockers.

He doesn’t seem to notice her giggle as he looks at me. Let’s go.

I bite my lip to hide my smile and then hiss in pain when the action bothers my cut. I fall into step beside him. When we get to his classroom, he takes his key out from the front pocket of his jeans and unlocks it, holding the door open for me.

I enter his class as he flips on the lights. Cheeky motivational posters decorate the walls and pre-calculus formulas paint the whiteboard.

‘Number 1 isn’t the loneliest number. Negative one is one less one.’

I can’t believe how bad they are. He opens a door and disappears inside while I sit at a desk.

When he returns, he has a first-aid kit. He pulls the neighboring chair over and sits backward on it next to me. He rolls up the sleeves on his dark blue dress shirt and starts ripping open gauze and rubbing alcohol.

Our eyes connect as he pours some onto a swath of gauze. This is going to sting.

No worse than getting an elbow to the mouth.

I guess so, he says, frowning. He reaches over, hesitating with his hand between us, before he goes for it, and grabs my chin. He positions my face so he can dab at my lips with his other hand. I flinch slightly, but don’t overly react. I wish you’d let me help you. He pours more alcohol onto the gauze. When he meets my eyes again, his look sad. At least tell me your name.

I blink in irritation, and beyond that, I feel a stirring of guilt over the sadness I put in his eyes. My name is Kaelyn.

It’s nice to meet you, Kaelyn. He smiles at the alcohol as he caps it. Next, he grabs some ointment and squeezes some onto his finger. Taking my chin again, he tilts it down, running the tip of his finger over my bottom lip. You know I have to say something to the principal, don’t you? What kind of teacher would I be if I let you walk out of here knowing you’re getting bullied?

The smart kind. If you say something they’ll make it worse for me. School barely started. I have the rest of the year to deal with them. Please don’t say anything, Mr. Ean. It’s not that bad.

His lips turn down disapprovingly. I have to.

I reach between us and grab his hand where it rests on the desk, giving it a desperate squeeze. The principal will call my foster parents and they’ll kick me out. I’m already on thin ice since I turned eighteen and the state isn’t paying them anymore.

His eyes widen and he sits back, taking my hand with him. But you haven’t done anything wrong.

Nothing anyone could prove. It doesn’t matter. They’re not good people. Any attention brought to them is negative. When his fingers tangle absentmindedly with mine, I release him, frowning at his hand as it falls into his lap.

He clears his throat. Sorry.

Please don’t say anything. I have nowhere else to go.

He groans, eyes suddenly churning. Kaelyn, don’t look at me like that. How about I try talking to the girls myself? I won’t involve the principal.

I push away from the desk, but he grabs my elbow, stopping me.

All right, all right. I won’t say anything. But I’ll be watching you from now on, and if I see anything amiss I’m dragging you to the principal. Got it?

I ease back down in relief. Thank you. I’d have to avoid him now. Nessa and Riley aren’t going to stop torturing me anytime soon. If they hadn’t stopped since sophomore year, they weren’t going to now.

He looks tired as he puts everything back in the first-aid kit. I’d feel better if I knew you were safe.

So would I, I mumble.

He looks up sharply. It’s talk like that, that makes me want to say something.

But you won’t?

If I see anything else wrong, I will. He pushes away and marches the first-aid kit back to the closet. When he emerges, he walks over to a mini-fridge in the corner of the classroom and pulls out a brown paper bag. Did you miss lunch?

I’m not hungry.

That isn’t what I asked. His eyes tighten sternly. Did you eat?

No.

He pulls out plastic containers and walks around to set one on my desk. You get the pasta. I’ll take the meatballs. He tears open a plastic silverware bundle, handing me the fork. He takes the spoon.

You’re so pushy.

He shrugs, taking a seat at his desk. Maybe. He pops a meatball into his mouth and he glances at me. Why do you let it go on?

I sigh and open the plastic container. The smell of marinara sauce and basil waft up. It smells so good I dig in, taking a huge bite of penne pasta. The same reason you got me into your classroom. The same reason I’m eating half your lunch. I’m a pushover.

He eyes me intently. You’re no pushover. I think when we resign ourselves to something, fighting it doesn’t seem like a viable option anymore. But it is. It always is. Anytime you don’t like something the way it is, you can change it. I can help you, Kaelyn. One word and those girls will leave you alone.

He didn’t get it. Sometimes, neither did I. How old are you?

Twenty-four.

Then you were in high school not that long ago. You know what it’s like. Unless you’re popular, you’re nobody. Unless you’re somebody, nobody cares. What can anyone really do about people like Nessa and Riley? Sometimes it isn’t about doing anything. It’s about dealing with it until it’s over.

He’s already shaking his head before I finish. No. That’s wrong. That’s the victim talking. A lot can be done about Nessa and Riley. Everyone thinks bullying is this deep-rooted issue that’ll go on until we get to the root. It doesn’t. There’s no root, no magic cure. It must be stopped at the source. Unfortunately, there are too many sources out there to find them all. Like with you, he continues, growing more agitated. You’ve resigned yourself to this, and it’s like they’re punishing you for it. You’re letting them punish you. And for what? Over a date, that happened years ago? He snorts. It’s bullshit. I had a student last year beg me to give him detention after school just so he didn’t have to run into his bullies. Detention, Kaelyn. He looks at the door and leans forward. You want to know the worst part?

You gave him detention? I guess quietly.

I gave him detention. He shakes his head regretfully. He was so thankful I punished him.

You didn’t punish him. I think that’s cool of you. You shouldn’t feel bad. What if you saved him from it?

What if the next time he needs saving I’m not there because I gave someone else detention? He looks to be waiting for an answer we both know I don’t have.

You can’t save everyone. I shrug and take a bite, watching the way his face falls.

"I promise you. If I see anything else going on, I’ll have your ass in the principal’s so fast you’ll never know what hit you. I can’t keep giving into you guys. Detention, he scoffs. What kind of person am I turning into?"

I look him right in the eye. The kind of person who takes care of people. You took care of him when you gave him detention, and you took care of me today. That’s a good person if I’ve ever met one. Not that I ever had. Look, Mr. Ean. Not everyone wants to be saved. Some people want to keep going until they can save themselves. Maybe because of you he has the strength to keep going. Maybe he’ll save himself.

He swallows hard and looks down. Or he’ll give up and never save anything.

If you want to see it that way, fine. But I don’t. If we’re victims, then you’re guilty. We’re all something. Or we’re nothing, and we just haven’t figured it out yet. The bell rings, and I am so relieved I jump up, handing him my empty container. Thank you for taking care of me, and for lunch.

Hmm. He takes the container and eyes me warily. I’ll be seeing you.

No, you won’t. I smile, subdued. Sure, Mr. Ean. Bye.

Goodbye, Kaelyn. My door’s always open. If you ever need anything, I’m here.

This time my smile is more heartfelt. Thank you.

He gives me a worried look right before I leave.

I’ll have to make myself scarce from now on. All he sees is a victim. I suppose some part of me could defend myself, but they’re the ones with the problem. Fighting them off every single day only made tomorrow harder. Defending myself in the past only made it worse. Sometimes saying ‘stop’ further spurs them on. It’s a challenge they don’t mind rising to. ‘No’ could come from either side, and unfortunately, my side doesn’t exist.

I want to get through my senior year without any more hiccups. Hiccups were common for me. An interruption that existed because I breathed too deeply, or not deep enough, or wanted to breathe at all. I had to avoid any more moments that left me gasping for air.

For the remainder of the day, I keep my head down and finish the rest of my classes. I don’t want to risk anyone else asking about my wound. All I need is for another hero to patch me up. After school, I’m overcome with relief. I stop by my locker. For the first time, I notice how I can see Mr. Ean’s classroom perfectly from where I stand. I’m some ways down the hall, but even from here I can see him leaning against the wall as his calculus student’s filter out of the room.

He smiles easily at a student and says something that makes the boy laugh. His demeanor is outwardly easygoing, but there was a sense this afternoon something unpleasant is brewing inside of him. He starts to turn his head, gazing down my end of the hall. When he notices me, his easy smile falls and he cocks his head to the side, studying me the way I’m studying him.

He makes a move to come to me.

I quickly stuff my things in my backpack and take off in the other direction. We don’t need to talk anymore. I rarely speak to anyone at this school, or anywhere for that matter, but that I’d spoken to him at all, and I’d revealed a secret that could make my time in Nessa’s target worse, had me anxious.

Feeling like I’d dodged a bullet, I walk quickly to the parking lot and crawl into my beat-up PT Cruiser. The only reason I can afford it is because the back end is smashed in and it has 185,000 miles. I don’t make a lot of money working at Bella’s Italian Restaurant as a waitress after school, but enough to make the payments. It’s my first car. I bought it the day I turned eighteen before school started in August. My foster parents celebrated by demanding rent. After my car note, they’d own the rest of my check, leaving me practically penniless.

Thinking about my foster parents makes me livid. I pull out of the parking lot and almost run into a red convertible. The driver gives me a dirty look and backs out, cutting in front of me. As I’m easing behind it, I notice Nessa walking out of the school.

It wasn’t that I was afraid of her. I knew there was no way around her anger. I did this to myself. I opened myself up to her abuse the day I let Brady in. She couldn’t stand that he wanted me before her. He walks behind her, all blond and perfect. I sigh longingly, and almost hit the person in front of me again. I know the real reason Nessa elbowed me. I’d been drooling over Brady as he walked past me in the hall after calculus. That’s why she tortures me.

Not because I’m a victim.

But because I’m in love with her boyfriend.

Consuming-can’t-eat-or-sleep-love.

And she knows it. She knew it the second I said ‘yes’ to Brady McAlister sophomore year.

He catches up to her and grabs her hand, kissing the back of it. I almost want to run them over with my car. On accident, of course. It would totally be an accident ...

She’s the opposite of me. Black hair, dark green eyes, and a mean elbow. Her skirt is so short she keeps tugging it down, drawing Brady’s attention to her legs. Which, I think bitterly, might’ve been the point. I guess they’re nice legs, if you like that whole perfect long tanned leg thing ...

I roll my eyes and look away before I put another dent in my car, driving away from school. I’ll have to come back tomorrow, but that’s not something I’m thinking about until I have to.

My shift at Bella’s doesn’t start until five. I stop at the library to do my homework before then. Bruce and Mandy aren’t exactly appreciative of my presence. I try and steer clear of them as much as possible. The less I’m there, the fewer chances they have to kick me out.

I think briefly about the day they do. I know it’s coming. Having been around people like them my entire life, I can smell the boot coming from a mile away. Bruce and Mandy had me since I was thirteen, and before them, it was Bruce’s sister Haddie. She won a settlement and moved to Florida and didn’t want anything to do with me after that, so Bruce took me in, the wonderful guy he is.

I hope my sarcastic glare doesn’t scare the librarian.

When I arrive at Bella’s, I slip into the breakroom and change into my uniform. My black pants and white shirt look far more put-together than I feel. Smoothing my dark red hair back, I put it in a ponytail. Then I find my makeup. I can barely see the cut on my lip thanks to my red lipstick, and my eyes gleam instead of look empty, thanks to my smoky eyeshadow. When I’m done, I look passable.

Lies come in all forms.

As I’m tying my shoes, Avery, one of the other waitresses, comes in. Oh, good. You’re here, she says in a rush. It’s crazy out here tonight. Come on, girlie.

Coming. I smile at her and slip onto the main floor, going over to the head waitress, Tamryn, so I can get my tables.

She looks me over like she does before every shift. You look cute today. Why?

Are you implying I’m not cute every other day?

I’m implying you’re a lot more made up. What are you hiding? Have you been out drinking?

No. I’m only eighteen. I can’t drink. I frown at her hawk-like eyes. I may as well come out and say it before she accuses me of doing drugs next. I got into another fight.

She sighs and reaches over to hand me my apron. You need to start speaking up for yourself. No man is worth the shit you have to deal with.

I ignore her last statement. What tables do I get tonight?

I’ll give you five through ten.

She fills me in on my tables before I throw myself to the sharks. I refill table five’s wine and take ten’s order. Bella’s is indeed crazy tonight, but the craziness makes me feel good. For four hours, I am needed. I am wanted. Two things I rarely feel. I rush around, emptying my tables as fast as I fill them so I can make as much in tips as possible. I’m on a roll until eight when Avery passes by to tell me she put a new couple at table six.

I approach table six like I would any other. Fake smile in place, specials on the tip of my tongue. But unlike every table, where there should be unfamiliar faces, I stop abruptly and stare in shock.

Mr. Ean is just sitting down with a beautiful woman. He looks younger tonight, dressed easily in a black button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is styled so it’s out of his face, and he’s got his sleeves rolled up. He looks closer to my age than he did in his classroom. The woman he’s with is probably close to his age as well. She’s wearing a tight red dress and her brown hair is curly and shiny. They sit across from each other and pick up their menus.

I turn around to tell Avery I can’t do it, won’t do it, but she’s gone, and Tamryn is looking at me mouthing, Hurry up!

Shit.

He’s only a teacher who patched me up, I coax. I don’t know him and it will remain that way.

I take a deep breath, pasting my best smile on my face. It’s my fakest as well. I don’t have any other kind. I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled because my heart told me so. I turn around and approach their table, looking at the salt shakers as I set their menus down.

Welcome to Bella’s. The special tonight is Branzino in a lemon rosemary oil paired with roasted fennel. Can I start you off with something to drink?

Kaelyn? Mr. Ean asks, his tone surprised.

I reluctantly meet his eyes. My cheeks fill with heat. I’m lucky I’m wearing blush. Unfortunately.

He smiles softly. I thought that was you. I didn’t know you worked here.

I didn’t know you came here. I tap my foot impatiently. Something to drink?

He won’t stop staring at me. His eyes roam over my face and uniform, leaving me feeling hot all over. You look better.

I decide to look at his friend, hoping she’ll be of more help. But she’s looking between the two of us with her brows lowered, a suspicious glint in her eyes.

Who are you? she demands.

She’s a student at school, Mr. Ean answers harshly. So wipe that look off your face, Layla.

Hmm, Layla grunts, eyeing me shrewdly. Are you in his class?

I am mortified. No. I have Mr. Tane for Calculus. Something to drink?

I’ll have a glass of red wine, she orders.

I don’t bother writing it down. I’ll remember. I look at Mr. Ean, but he’s scowling at Layla. I clear my throat.

He looks over and his face softens. I’ll just have ice water, Kaelyn.

The way he says my name sounds so authoritative. Right away, Mr. Ean.

I quickly leave the happy couple and place the order at the bar. Shane, the bartender, smiles at me as he pours Layla’s red wine. How’s your shift going?

Busy.

Wait until this weekend. There’s a convention and we’re the closest restaurant.

I don’t work weekends.

He looks crestfallen. That’s right. You don’t. He sets the glass of red down and winks. What are you doing then?

I smile uncomfortably and take the wine. Studying. I’m in high school still. I hope that deters any further attempts and try to leave, but he calls me back. Yeah?

How about dinner Saturday night? I get off at seven.

I bite my lip and think of a way to say ‘no,’ but thankfully, Tamryn steps in just in time. Shane, she reprimands. Let the poor girl work.

I silently thank her and take Mr. Ean and his date their drinks. They’re talking heatedly amongst their selves. He looks pissed and she looks even worse, her face pinched. When I get there, I catch the tail end of their argument.

You’re so insecure.

How do I know? You’re a different man these days. Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, Julian.

Julian. For some reason knowing his first name makes him less authoritative. It’s an identifier much like my own, instead of a title. It suits him.

He sits back when I set her wine down in front of her. She immediately snatches it and takes a long swallow. I look at him when I give him his water, and he smiles softly in apology.

Have you had a chance to look your menu over or would you prefer to order appetizers?

Mr. Ean watches my mouth as if he’s trying to see the cut he knows is there. How do you feel?

I hold in my sigh. I feel great. Thank you for asking. Could you please order?

He looks to Layla, who is burning him with her fiery gaze. You know what you want?

Julian, honey, I’ve known for a long time.

Pain fills his eyes. It’s stormy and sudden, like a winter you just want to end. I feel the need to defend him, but I don’t know how.

Too bad we’re not all sure like you, Layla.

She shrugs with one shoulder. The action is in purposeful defiance to the situation. I don’t understand exactly what’s going on, but it definitely deserves more than a bitchy shrug.

Too bad indeed.

So like appetizers or not? I want to run away.

Just give us both the special, Kaylen. He sounds tired and upset again.

Right away. I leave in a rush.

I wonder if she’s the reason he was upset. He has that same despondent look on his face now as he did when I found him sitting in my spot. I quickly put their order in and make my rounds, cleaning up table eight just in time for new customers. Now they’re better. A happy couple. They kiss between ordering, unable to keep their hands off each other. They make me think of Brady. If he’d just open his eyes and see that I’m right here we could be that happy couple someday.

On one of my rounds, I bring Layla a fresh glass of wine. They’re not talking, so much as glaring murderously. I leave as soon as I set down her wine and check on my order for table five. Unfortunately, Mr. Ean’s is ready; I’m not one to leave hot food to get cold. I balance both plates of fish and fennel and bring them to their table.

Do what you have to do, Mr. Ean’s in the middle of saying.

I always do, Julian.

Two fishes of the day, I announce, setting their plates down. Can I get you anything else?

Mr. Ean starts to get up. Where’s the bathroom?

That way. I point to the other side of the restaurant near the bar.

He nods at me and walks away, eyes grave. I smile with no return at Layla, who stews in her seat, before giving up and going to the kitchen. By the time I come out, table five wants a refill. I risk Shane again. Just as I’m walking around the bar, I spot Mr. Ean coming out of the bathroom. He sees me as well and makes a beeline over to me.

Damn it.

He takes a seat at the bar and stares at me with a myriad of emotions on his face. I can’t place them because I don’t know why they’re there. But I’ve felt a few. Sadness isn’t simply one emotion. It’s too many all at once.

I’m sorry about that. You just got a front row seat to the end of my relationship and you shouldn’t have.

I peek at him. Is she your girlfriend?

Since freshman year of college. He looks at the worn bar top for an uncomfortable second, and then the words seem to fall out of him in one heartbroken whisper. I don’t know what to do.

I look down too, not knowing what to say. Having no relationship to speak of, I don’t know what he’s going through.

He exhales deeply and stands. I’d better get back. He smiles weakly, leaving me at the bar.

Who is that? Tamryn asks, joining me as I watch him leave.

Mr. Ean. He’s a teacher at my school.

Her eyes widen. He’s so young.

He’s twenty-four.

"Huh. He’s so hot," she murmurs, dumbfounded.

I smile. He is kind of good-looking.

Kind of? she scoffs. Who’s he with?

His girlfriend.

Oh. Of course, he’s taken. Too old for you and taken for me. We can’t catch a break, can we? She bumps my shoulder. Get back to work, slacker.

He wasn’t that much older than me. I do the math, shocked to find maybe six years is a stretch. Coupled with the fact that he’s a teacher, and the man is completely off-limits. Why couldn’t Brady come into Bella’s? I could have an off-limits party. Gawk and drool and then go home by myself. I roll my eyes as I maneuver around Avery. Of course, he’d probably bring Nessa. That would be all kinds of messed up to have to serve the girl who tortures me every chance she gets. But all kinds of messed up is my norm.

I bring table five their drinks and then make sure everyone has what they need, bypassing Mr. Ean, who looks like he’s in a heated argument with his beautiful girlfriend. She is seething. Twice I spot him flinch. It bothers me that she’s being mean to him. He took care of me, perhaps others as well. He’s not a jerk. But then again, I don’t know him. For all I know, he is a jerk and was only being nice because he had no choice.

By the time I bring him his check, he’s already got his credit card out. I take it without looking at him and run it through the register. Upon my return, Layla’s gone.

Have a good night, I tell him. I mean it. I want him to have a good night.

He smiles, but it’s tainted in exhaustion and pain. Doubt I will, but I’ll try. You have a good night too, Kaelyn. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Before he leaves, he slips a single fifty-dollar bill inside of the checkbook.

I quickly snatch it up and gawk at his back. It’s a nice back, with a lot of muscle on top and broad shoulders that lead to a narrow waist. I stuff the fifty-dollar bill in my pocket and clean their