See Me After Class(91)

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, I spent extra time with him, made sure he was getting the food he needed, and then we worked on his college applications. When he got early acceptance into Stanford, the boys and I took him out to get some ice cream.”

“Seriously?” I ask, turning toward him.

“Yeah, nothing wrong with that. Gunner loves Blizzards.”

Something I just learned.

“I know, but . . . God, I guess I—”

“Judged me before you got to know me?”

“Hey.” I point my finger at him as we reach my car. “You judged me, too. Probably even worse.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s my job to make sure you have what it takes to work in our department. At our school. We might live in the suburbs of Chicago, but we still have a lot of struggling families who choose the school because of the advanced placement classes we offer. Nyema has been monumental in making sure we’re able to offer seats in our school for everyone. It’s why I love working here so much and why it’s highly sought after for teachers.”

“When I got an interview, I was intimidated. Happy, but intimidated. I still can’t believe Nyema hired me.”

“She’s a good judge of character. Sometimes I don’t see it at first, but usually she proves me wrong.”

I lean against the passenger side of my car and ask, “Did she prove you wrong with me?”

“Jury is still out.” He smirks and says, “I have some cookies in my car and some drinks, if you want to sit for a second.”

My brow lifts. “You just happen to have cookies and drinks in your car?”

He shrugs and goes to his car, which is parked next to mine. He opens the trunk and offers me a seat on the edge.

From behind me, he pulls forward a cooler and a box. Freshly made cookies from Crumbl. I very well might die and go to heaven in the back of Arlo’s SUV.

“You’re trying to kill me with these Crumbl cookies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think I’ve met a person who doesn’t like them. I got two chilled sugar cookies and two chocolate chips. Kept it simple.” He opens the box, and I pick up a giant chilled sugar cookie. Just having it in my hands is making my mouth water.

“I have some water and seltzer water, too.”

“Oh, what flavor?”

He holds up a can. “Uh . . . coconut pineapple. Cora bought them.”

I chuckle. “I’ll take one of those, please.”

He cracks it open and hands me one.

Joking, I say, “Between the donuts and cookies, you might be in for some trouble.”

“My running shoes have been lighting up the streets lately. It’s helped, though. Helps me think.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking about?” I ask, taking a bite of my cookie. Dear God, these are good.

Turning toward me, chocolate chip cookie in hand, Arlo says, “You.”

I chew the cookie, swallow, and then say, “Me?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Oh.” I set my cookie on a napkin, and then on my lap, and try to act as calm as possible. “What, uh, have you been thinking about?”

He sighs and looks toward the parking lot. I can practically hear his mind hunting for the right words.

“I didn’t handle things right with you and I regret that. I regret not treating you with more respect.”

“Arlo, it’s not like you were a horrible tyrant.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His eyes connect with mine. “I wasn’t fair and I let my body speak for my mind.”

“So, you regret . . . the kitchen counter . . .”

His eyes turn dark as the corner of his lip turns up. “No. I don’t regret that. But I regret how I handled things after. If I could do it over again, I would.”

“Yeah? And what would you do differently?” I ask.

His head tilts ever so slightly to the left when he answers, her eyes trained on mine. “Ask you out on a date. Hold your hand . . . kiss you on the mouth. Treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“I see.” I take a big bite of my cookie. Honestly, what do I even say to that? Everything I said I wanted from him, he’s saying he wished he had given me.

This entire night has put me into a perplexed state of emotions. Arlo is not entirely the man I built him up to be in my head. He is arrogant, self-absorbed, and self-righteous. But in reality, he’s more than that. He’s loyal, he cares; he doesn’t just see black and white, he sees all the gray in between. And he has the capacity to look at the long-term with the goal of making decisions now that make that long-term better. In other words, he can be empathetic. Judgmental, but somehow thoughtful, too.

And right now, sitting with him in the back of his SUV, sharing cookies and drinks—something he clearly planned ahead of time—it feels sweet, and caring, and thrilling. It lowers my defenses. It causes me to want more.

To yearn for more.

“But I guess I lost my shot, huh?” he says, glancing at his lap.

Oh God.

What do I say?

No, you didn’t. Please ask me out. Please, please, please, ask me out?

That doesn’t read too desperate.

But that’s how I feel.