Page 19 of A Lesson For the Grump

“Well, let’s get going. There are vendors just waiting for you to give them all your money.”

She squeals and runs up to me, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tight. “That’s the spirit!” Her hand drops to mine as she starts pulling me toward the door. “Let’s go!”

CHAPTER 12

The wagon is nearly full, and we’ve only made it halfway through the vendors. Miles walks beside me, a permanent scowl set in his mouth as he pulls the gray monstrosity beside him.

“This thing is getting fucking heavy, Sonnet.”

I laugh and turn to look at him. “I told you I could pull it.”

He waves me off and huffs out a breath. “That’s ridiculous. This thing is heavier than you are.”

The smell of fried food reaches my nose, making me turn towards the food court set up in the middle of the Fest. “How about we stop for lunch?”

Miles uses both hands to turn the wagon as we make our way to the food vendors. “You mean stop for funnel cake?”

“Precisely.”

We make our way to the food court and quickly find an empty picnic table. Miles leaves me with the wagon and makes his way up to a food truck, putting in our order before walking back and joining me on the wooden bench.

“Funnel cake and a soda coming right up.”

I lean across the table and place a soft kiss on his nose. “Thank you.” Looking around, I see a few of my students and their families walking around the Fest.

The city really outdid themselves this year. There are more vendors than ever, some coming from states away, and there are more activities for the kids to do. Of course, there are the normal booths from the cafe and the bookstore down the street. It looks like the school even did one this year, leaving the football team to man the table.

The sound of a phone going off has me looking back towards Miles. He brings his phone to his ear and nods at whatever is being said. “I’ll be there tomorrow to put it on. Just leave it there and come out to the Fest, Otto. You deserve it.”

He hangs up the phone and looks up, giving me a smile. “The last part just came in. Betsy will be done by this time tomorrow.”

“Yes!” I slam my hands down on the table, drumming a soft little beat. “Thank you! I love your truck, Miles, but I am so ready to drive her again. It’s been too long.”

He waves his hand, “Yeah, well, remember our deal. You have to –”

“Miles! And Sonnet! Good to see you guys!”

Our heads turn to see Mr. Jackson coming our way with his wife, Oliva, holding onto his arm.

“Mr. Jackson, good to see you, too.” Miles and I stand, and Miles closes the distance between him and Mr. Jackson, taking the older man's hand in his.

They shake hands as I greet Oliva, giving her a soft hug. Mr. Jackson may have been my principal when I was in school, but his wife was the best teacher I’ve ever had. She’s the one who got me into art, showing me at a young age what the subject could be used to do for a child feeling too many strong emotions.

“Did you think about my offer?” Mr. Jackson’s question has me turning back towards Miles, watching as he nods.

“I’ll do it. I want to sit down and talk logistics for the class, though. We’re going to need a lot more than textbooks to make this class a full-time thing.”

A full-time thing? A smile breaks across my face as Mr. and Mrs. Jackson say their goodbyes, heading towards the school booth.

Miles turns to me with a grin, “Guess I’m your new co-worker, Sonnet.”

A scream tears through my lips as I jump into his arms, wrapping my own around his neck and squeezing him to me. I would have hated having to leave him every morning, and now, I get to see him all day.

“Wait.” I pull away from him, but he keeps his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. “You’re not just doing this for me, are you?”

Miles shakes his head. “I love you, Sonnet, but I love the job, too. I never would have imagined spending the days with sarcastic teenagers is how I would want to spend my time, but I really do enjoy it.”

The words catch me off guard. Not the ones about teenagers, because that I can understand - it’s the I love you part of that sentence.