Still Not Over You(79)

“Yes, Ms. Derby. Yes, I do. Thanks!” He takes his pencil back and continues filling in the outline.

“Light strokes, remember. They'll flesh it out even more.”

Barely touching the paper with the edge of his pencil, he nods bashfully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Tad. Keep it up. You're off to an awesome start.”

He pushes his thick glasses up his nose. “I really like this class, Ms. Derby.”

Such a sweet boy. How could I do anything but smile? “We all do.”

The door squeaks again. This time, it’s Ester Oden’s mother. She works as a custodian at the school and stays late in order to drive Ester home after class. I smile at her as I make my way around the room, checking on the progress of each student, offering a helpful hint and words of encouragement.

It feels good to do my job. And to find a perfect distraction from the man I shouldn't be staring at.

“Five more minutes,” I say, once I'm back at my desk.

There are no audible groans, but I can sense each student’s disappointment, knowing this week’s class is almost over. I’m honored they don't want to leave.

This, right here, is the reason I sunk a lot of time and money into getting my credentials. It's why I spent years doing every part time job in the known universe. It's what I've dreamed about, working at the most prestigious academy in the Phoenix area.

“Ms. Derby?”

“Yeah, Ben?” I reply. Ben Pritchard is a typical teenager. Tall, thin, and a bad case of acne.

“Is it all right if I snap a picture of your drawing at the end of class so I can work on mine later?” he asks, holding up his cell phone.

“Go for it! But no Snapchat filters on me, and you'd better believe I'm watching. Only warning I'll give.” I bite my lip and shake my finger, making them laugh.

I nod towards the others in the class and step out of the way, assuring them they can all take pictures. I hear the digital click-click-click of their phones and a few snickers.

Then my gaze, all on its own, drifts to the back of the room. Brent's head is down this time, thankfully.

He's sketching again. Furiously.

I have a different reason to bite my lip. This time, not so playfully.

There's something admirable in his focus. Something sexy.

I'm waiting for him to look up, after the older kids are done taking pics. At ten, I doubt Natalie has a cell phone. I assume he’ll want to get a picture for her.

He never looks up, though. Never throws his eyes my way. Even though I sense him wanting to behind his determined, subtle smirk.

I suck a deep breath and hold it, hoping it eases the heat coursing through my system. I glance at the clock and then smile at my students. “Okay, guys and gals! Time to start putting your stuff away. Please bring your completed drawing back to class next week.”

Every student, except Natalie, finishes taking pictures of my drawing, either before or after they’ve packed up their belongings. While saying goodbye to each of them, I start gathering my things, too, but leave the drawing on the easel.

What gives? Why isn't Brent getting her a picture?

He’s still lost in his own world. Sketching quickly. Frantically. Like he's desperate to finish something before leaving. My curiosity turns into pure adrenaline.

I can’t stop myself. “Mr. Eden? Would you like a picture?”

When he looks up, his gaze is so intense my heart nearly stops mid-beat.

“Oh, I'd like that! Please, can you, Daddy?” Natalie asks, turning to him.

I'm glad she doesn't witness me melting into a puddle of nerves.

His bright eyes shift. The smile transforming Brent's face is for his daughter, but it steals my breath.

I’ve watched lots of men smile. I've seen it, sketched it, noted how a thin quirk of the lips can change a full appearance.

But this man, this beast, goes from hardcore army badass to giant teddy bear in the blink of an eye.

He can't hide the adoration lighting up his eyes the second Natalie calls him Daddy.

At least I've learned one thing tonight: this man lives for his daughter.

Guilt twists in my guts again when I remember my earlier worries about him being overbearing. Not now. It just doesn't seem likely.

“Sure, sweets. One second,” he says, closing his notebook.

My heart starts working again. It beats harder with every step he takes toward the front of the room.

I’ve been this close to him before. Once. The first night, when he’d dropped Natalie off and introduced himself.

I tried like crazy not to freeze up, and failed miserably, barely muttering my name.

Can't let that happen again. I won't embarrass myself a second time, no matter how many feels this handsome enigma shoots through me.

Pretending I'm unfazed by his presence, I say goodbye to Ester and her mother before they walk out the side door. Then, in my scattered state of mind, I accidentally knock a stack of papers off the corner of my desk.

“Oh, f – fiddlesticks!” I say, catching myself.

God. I'd nearly dropped an f-bomb in my flustered state. My tongue is my biggest vice sometimes. I'm still sanding away the rough language I picked up too much of in college.

Natalie shoots forward. “I’ll help, Ms. Derby!”