I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(36)

“From one of the kids,” I explain. “Well, actually one of their mothers.”

With care, Chase places the smiling apple back down on the desk and continues his perusal. He walks down the middle row of desks, lifting up a couple of the tops on his way to the back.

“They’re all empty,” I tell him as I lean against the frame of the door.

Chase shrugs one shoulder, continues to the back of the room, and then returns to the front of the class. Not just the children’s desks are empty. The whole room is mostly devoid of supplies and décor, with the exception of a few drawings pinned up on the corkboard trim around the sides of the chalkboard.

The drawings have garnered Chase’s attention, so I explain, “Some of the kids chose to leave their artwork here for next year’s class.”

One particular sketch seems to have captured Chase’s attention. It’s a drawing of a teacher pointing to a chalkboard in front of a full class. The teacher is just a stick figure lady with burnt sienna crayon-colored hair. An A of lime—a dress—cloaks her stick body. The drawing is basic; a depiction created by first-grade hands. But out of all the little pictures this one is clearly the best. It stands out, a gem among mediocrity. Despite its simplicity, there’s a lot of detail—windows with a springtime view, crooked white letters on a black chalkboard, the red apple on my desk that Chase was handling just minutes ago.

“That’s supposed to be you, right?” Chase asks, glancing over his shoulder at me as he points to the stick figure lady.

“Yes.” I laugh.

He turns back to the drawing and taps the construction paper. “This is actually very good.” I nod, even though he’s still focused on the drawing and can’t see me. “For having been drawn by someone so young,” he qualifies, still turned away.

“It is really good,” I agree. “One of my students, Timmy Froehlich, drew it. I think it shows great potential. He’s got talent, that’s for sure.”

Chase nods slowly in agreement, and since I’m curious as to why badass Chase Gartner is taking such an interest in the cutesy drawings of my students, I take a chance and ask, “Are you interested in art? Do you draw?”

Gorgeous cheeks redden ever so slightly. “A little,” he says quietly, before starting back to the door, head down.

“Wait,” I say as he hurriedly walks past me. I follow him out into the hall. “Are you any good?”

Now, badass Gartner is definitely blushing, avoiding my stare.

“You are, aren’t you?” I press, laughing a little at how cute his sudden shyness is.

He stops, turns to me, and shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe. I guess I’m okay. I’ll show you some sketches sometime and you can judge for yourself.”

His eyes meet mine, and the way he looks at me—really looks at me, like he’s trying to see in me, or figure me out—makes me blush, for the second time this day.

Wondering if I’ll ever get used to this man’s unexpected moments of intensity, I softly mutter, “Come on,” and then I lead the way to the stairwell across from my classroom.

We finish off the tour with the gymnasium downstairs and then return to the hall outside Mr. Kelly’s office.

“That’s it,” I proclaim with a dramatic flourish of my arm. I frown. “Sadly, we’ve reached the end of the tour.”

Chase leans back against the wall and crosses his well-muscled arms. “Well, that took all of about…what? Ten minutes?”

I pull my cell from my purse. “Fourteen minutes, actually.” I toss my cell back in and look up at Chase. “I told you there wasn’t much to see.”

“But there was,” Chase responds softly, a smile playing at his lips. “I got to see your classroom.”

“Yeah, you did.”

I’m not sure where we should go from here. Like, should we part ways, or hang out in the school a while longer? I’ve no idea, but luckily Chase has a great suggestion.

“It looks like we still have about forty-five minutes for lunch. Would you want to grab a bite to eat?”

Spending forty-five more minutes with Chase is something I am not about to decline. I don’t tell him that exactly, but I do accept. And after a short deliberation, we decide on a diner on Market that’s only a short walk away.

The old-fashioned restaurant—known to everyone in town as simply the diner—has been a Harmony Creek staple for years, situated on the same busy corner since the fifties. I haven’t walked into the place in ages, but I’ve eaten meals there with my parents in the past, a lifetime ago.

When Chase and I walk in, I glance around. Nothing has changed; everything’s the same as I remember. Black-and-white checkered linoleum floor, an old-fashioned soda fountain along the back wall, Formica counters, and dozens of black-and-white framed photos on the walls. Grainy images of how things once were in this small town. Booths, covered in maroon vinyl, line the row of windows in the front and stretch around to a closed-in section on the side.

Chase and I ask to be seated at one of the booths with a view to the outside world.

“It smells so good in here,” I say to Chase as the hostess leads us to our booth.

“You’re not kidding,” he replies.

After we’re seated, we peruse the laminated menus and order. Chase chooses today’s special: the double-decker burger and fries. I stick with a salad.