Page 30 of The Write Place

“I said,” Daniel’s voice cuts into the noise, “that good writers do it on purpose. Bad writers sometimes make happy accidents.”

“Hmm,” I hum, and then because I can’t help myself, I add, “and which type are you, Mr. Evans? Were you making us feel all those feelings yesterday on purpose?”

He gives me a wry smile, then glances at Justin and back at me. “Can’t I be both?”

The bell rings and the students start hurriedly grabbing their things. “We are going to finish this close reading tomorrow, everyone! Bring everything back with you!” I call as they shuffle out of the room.

As the door closes after the last student, I sigh deeply and cross the room to my desk. Daniel stays perched on my stool, following me with his eyes but not saying anything. I start to pack up, but when he hasn’t moved or spoken, I drop into my chair and look at him.

“What?” I ask when I see him studying me. He purses his lips and vaguely shakes his head.

“You okay?” he finally asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. “Haze is having some relationship issues, and the poem triggered some emotions. I walked them to their counselor, and I’m sure she’ll help.”

He studies me for a moment longer. “It can’t be easy to deal with that, especially with no warning,” he offers.

I let out a breath, shaking my head. “It’s not,” I admit, “but it’s part of the job. It’s the worst part of the job, but when you work with so many other human beings, it happens.”

He tilts his head, still regarding at me. “I want to take you to dinner tonight.”

My eyes widen and I sit up straight. “What? What for?”

“I was going to ask anyway, as a thank you for yesterday, and for all of this, really, but this feels like good timing. No one should end their day with tears.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t end my day with tears. I came back here, and we laughed. At you, mostly, which I consider the best kind of laughter.”

“Ha ha ha,” he mocks. “Come on. Let me take you out.”

“It’s just the job.” I purse my lips and study him skeptically. “And you’re just looking for an excuse to take me to dinner.”

He smirks wryly. “Maybe. But you do all this for everyone, including me. Let me do something nice for you.” There’s a beat of silence before he leans slightly forward. Because he’s sitting on my stool next to my desk instead of in his usual spot across the room, I can smell his sweet scent and suddenly, I want nothing more than to go to dinner with him tonight.

Not wanting to seem over-eager, I ask, “Are you going to take no for an answer?”

He smiles widely. “No, I’m not. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”

Chapter 14

Wear something nice, indeed. I’m not sure if I should take it as an insult that he doesn’t think my school clothes are dinner-worthy, but I call Jenny on my way home, and when I pull in, she’s already exiting her car holding several pieces of clothing on hangers. I should have expected this, but I groan internally.

We walk inside and she hangs her clothes on the hall closet door. I flick through four different dresses, all black and slinky. “It’s dinner with Daniel, Jenny. It’s not a date, and he already knows what I look like. This is a little overboard.”

“You might be in denial about this, but he said he wanted to kiss you the first night you met, and he’s been seeking you out everywhere else, like you’re some kind of magnet or something.” I balk slightly that she’s noticed the same thing I have. “Personally, I wouldn’t mind seeing him sweat a bit when he sees you flaunt what you’ve got going on.”

“This isn’t going to be anything, and you’re not going to be anywhere near here when he gets here,” I warn. She gives me a dubious look.

“Of course I’m going to be here when he gets here,” she chastises. “And you can tell yourself whatever you want about what this is or isn’t between you two, but why not have a little fun with it for now? Dressing up is fun, Mac. Or, at least, it’s supposed to be.” She looks at me pointedly, and I give in, realizing there is no point in arguing. She shoves a dress at me and tells me to change.

I go into my bedroom and pull the dress on. I check myself in the mirror before leaving the room, and I’m really impressed by her choice. It’s a short, sleeveless dress with a high collar and a tulip hem that makes my legs look really fantastic, if I’m being honest with myself. The material is casual enough that the dress isn’t overly dressy, but it hugs my curves in really nice ways and makes my coppery hair stand out. The scar on my arm is clearly visible, and I briefly consider grabbing a cardigan to cover it up, but I ultimately decide against it. He’s seen it already, anyway.

When I walk out of the bedroom, Jenny gives me an I-told-you-so look and I roll my eyes. She adds some jewelry and strappy, high-heeled sandals. We curl my hair in loose waves, and I touch up my makeup. It’s five minutes to seven before I’m finished and standing in front of her.

She lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Mac. You clean up nice.” I swallow hard and wipe my hands on the sides of the dress. Jenny reads my expression and reminds me, “It’s nothing, remember?”

“It’s trouble, is what it is,” I mumble.

The doorbell buzzes and my heart leaps into my throat. Jenny senses it and reassuringly rubs my arm. “Just have fun,” she says without an ounce of sarcasm. “You deserve it.”