See Me After Class(54)

The sentiment is too much for me to handle. It’s a sweet gesture, a kind one . . . a detrimental one. Because now, instead of hating him like I’ve been doing all week, he’s cracked a hole in my heart.

He’s making me think sweet things about him.

He’s causing me to . . . oh dear lord . . . he’s causing me to swoon.

I take his hand in mine, and I softly say, “Thank you, Arlo.”

Clearing his throat, he steps away and says, “Don’t think I’ll do it again. You’re lucky I had this tux in my closet.”

“I wouldn’t dare ask you to expose your true, nerdy self ever again.”

Backing away some more, he looks me up and down and says, “You make a great Elizabeth Bennet. Your prideful personality is a rare match.”

“Maybe you should have dressed up as Mr. Darcy. Your prejudice would have been quite fitting.”

He straightens his tux and says, “Have a good day . . . Miss Gibson.”

“You, too, Arlo,” I say, breathless as he retreats from my classroom.

Turning to my desk, I grip the edges and take a deep breath. I was not expecting that at all. I was expecting a cardigan-clad man next door, not a devil in a tux, looking positively stunning with his scruff and slicked-back hair.

Look out, Leonardo, there’s a new Jay Gatsby in town, and he’s stealing hearts with every devastating glare.





“I still can’t believe he dressed up,” Stella says as we walk up Arlo’s driveway, cookies in hand, and freshly showered after practice. Thankfully, my hair has a natural wave to it, so I’m letting it air-dry, and since Cora said to come casual, I dressed in a pair of leggings and a tank top.

“I can’t believe it either,” I say, trying to hide just how much it meant to me. “The students were talking about it all day.”

“I even got wind of it. The entire school was buzzing. There was an excitement in the air. It was a good day.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Arlo Turner has a reputation for being serious and, frankly, a scary teacher, so seeing him dressed up, playing along, the students were buzzing, loving it. He thinks it doesn’t make a difference, but it does. It makes a huge difference.”

And as we step up to his door to ring the doorbell, my stomach flips around from the knowledge that he’s on the other side of the door. Will he talk about the day? Will he mention how much the students loved him dressed up? Or the monologue he memorized for every start of class?

Oh yeah, I heard about it all. He didn’t just dress up, he went all out.

Then again, I don’t think I’d expect anything less from Arlo Turner. He’s not the one to half-ass something. If he goes in, he goes all in.

Stella rings the doorbell, and the door is quickly opened by Cora, who looks relieved. “Thank God you guys are here,” she says quietly. “Keeks is telling me all about her bunion and I’m pretty sure I’m dying a slow death inside.”

“Did she tell you its name?”

“Baptista. Beautiful name for a hideous thing.”

We chuckle and walk inside Arlo’s grand house. The entryway alone gives you a rich, homey vibe, but when you walk into the grand living room and kitchen, it’s impossible not to gawk and fall in love with the space. The back wall of the house is covered in windows, giving you a beautiful view of the lake, and the kitchen, with its large island and marble countertops, is absolutely to die for. If I were a cook, I’d be drooling to get in there and make something.

“Good evening,” Keeks says, greeting us with a nod. Dressed in a pair of sweatpants that cinch at her ankles and a T-shirt with the Periodic Table of Elements on it, Keiko looks the part of relaxed chemistry teacher, despite the stiff set of her shoulders.

“Hey Keeks,” Stella says. “What did we say about sharing your bunion story?”

“I was short of conversation. It was what came to mind at the time.”

Stella takes a seat next to her. “Weather is always a safe topic.”

“I spoke about the weather patterns. Cora struggled with input, so I changed topics.”

“You asked me if I knew the variables that fluctuate the jet stream.”

“An integral part of the conversation when speaking of weather patterns,” Keeks says, confused why Cora doesn’t get it.

Cora holds up her glass of wine. “Needless to say, I started drinking early.”

I take a seat on a large, comfy chair and take in the spread on the coffee table. A bowl of Nilla Wafers is directly in front of Keiko, while the rest of the table is covered in appetizers ranging from mini sliders to pizza to fries. It’s a decadent smorgasbord, perfect to delight in with good friends.

“Wow, this spread is incredible,” I say. “Arlo doesn’t mind that we’re going to eat in the living room?”

Cora waves her hand. “He doesn’t get a say in the matter because he’s not here. Out with the boys doing lord knows what.”

“Darts,” Stella mumbles while shoving a mini quiche in her mouth. When we all look at her with questioning expressions, she says, “Romeo asked if I wanted to be his partner. Told him I had book club, which then resulted in him asking a million questions I didn’t feel like answering.”

“Very well, no ill-mannered masculine assumptions to dishearten our intentions of pursuing literary comradery,” Keeks says, shoving a Nilla Wafer into her mouth.