Page 101 of You Again

“Yeah. Um, showering.”

Her brows pinch. “You don’t look like you were showering.”

I swallow and realize that lying is not how I’m going to get my girl back. “Actually—I wasn’t showering. I was on the phone. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

She huffs, those fists now on her hips. “Yeah. Well, me too.” Her jaw clenches. “If I’m interrupting⁠—”

“No. Never. Come in.” I step back, the door wide open, beckoning her inside.

“I just had a few questions and…” Her cheeks puff and her breath comes out shaky. “And for some reason, you are the person I want to ask.”

“Great. That’s… great. Ask away.”

She steps inside, her arms crossed protectively over herself. “But if this is too difficult for you, I can go.”

Difficult or not, that’s the last thing that I want.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said to Robert.”

“To Robert?” My voice hitches. I want her here. I want to talk. I want her to ask everything—but why does it have to be Robert? He’s the one topic I hoped we were over. For good.

“Yes. You told him that elementary teachers are the foundation. That, without them, kids will struggle throughout all of high school.”

My nerves jumble inside my body. I walk over to the sofa—with any luck, she’ll follow—hoping she can sit and stay a while. “Yes. I said that.”

She steps closer, but she’s still not in seating range. Maybe she needs an invitation.

“Please, sit,” I say, nodding to the couch and taking a seat, hoping she will, too.

But Rosalie’s fingers clench into fists at her sides—like whenever she’s a little frustrated or thinking too hard about something. “Did you mean all that? About teaching—” She waves away the couch. “Not the sitting part.”

I get to my feet. If she’s standing, so am I. “Yeah. I did. We’ve had dozens of talks about education, Rosalie. Things I never really thought about until I met you. And yes, I am now a big believer in giving children a strong foundation. That’s one of the reasons you switched to elementary.”

Her brows narrow, thinking, and she steps around to the seat of my couch, plopping herself down. “We had dozens of conversations about education?”

Careful, I sit next to her, keeping two feet of space between us. “Yes. It’s important to you.”

She blinks, her nose wrinkling, and I wonder if she’s holding back emotion. “It is,” she whispers.

Then she’s up again, pacing over my carpet and in front of my couch. “It’s just, in my efforts to not think about you or the accident, I end up thinking about my degree. The one that I got, you know? Not the one that I thought I’d get.” She shakes her pretty blonde head. “It’s confusing.” She presses one hand to her forehead. “And it gives me a headache.”

“I’m sure it does.” My heart thumps inside my chest and I watch her, waiting for more.

“You saw me teach?” She laces her fingers, wringing her hands together.

“I did. A few times, actually.”

Her throat wobbles with a swallow. “And what did you think?”

“You were born to teach, Rosalie. I’ve never seen anything like you in a classroom.”

Her cheeks flood pink and she gives one small nod before pacing again. “I thought I wouldn’t know what to do with young kids. I thought I’d be lost—but I’ve spent a little time with Partida⁠—”

“You’ve seen her again?”

She pauses her pace and nods. “Yes. She asked about you.”

“She’s a sweet kid.”