Now, I had my beautiful, ramshackle little cabin in a lovely town with a teaching position at one of the best schools on the west coast. I should have been content; I should have been the happiest person in the world. Yet, as I sat by the fire and delved into one of my countless paperback romances, I found myself crying silently as Loneliness sat beside me, my only companion. At one point, I imagined the throaty thrum of a motorcycle moving past the mouth of my long driveway and thought about a future I could never have with King, and the tears feel a little harder.
“Go out with me.”
It was a chilly but bright late winter day in Entrance. The sun filtered through the thin layer of clouds like silver, falling across the blossoms that burst forth early on the west coast, as soon as the last of the snow melted. The air was cold and clean, so fragrant I kept dragging in deep breaths that made my lungs tingle with cold. I was still bundled up in an old white suede coat with a fur collar that I’d bought at a vintage store in Vancouver for a steal, pale pink gloves on my hands and toque on my head. I was also holding a coffee from Honey Bear Café. It was a dirty Chai latte, my favorite. How King had known that, I couldn’t be sure, but it was sitting on my desk after third period, which I knew he had free (because I’d used my teacher’s authority unethically and printed off a copy of his schedule).
I knew it was from him because instead of my name written on the side of the cardboard, it said ‘babe.’
I hadn’t had any interactions with him outside of class and those crazy beautiful apple poems in two weeks and he was still trying to get to me. I was terrified that it was working.
“Cressida?”
I jerked out of my thoughts and finally tuned to Warren, who had been sitting beside me at the picnic table while we ate our lunches. Ostensibly, we were meant to keep an eye on the kids as they loitered about the soccer field, the tiny copse of trees to the left and the ultra-cool outdoor gym to the right. Many of the students lay on the grass drinking sodas and enjoying the sunshine even though it was still uncomfortably cold out.
At some point, Rainbow and Tay had been with us but evidently, they’d left sometime during my daydreams about King.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “What did you say?”
Warren smiled winningly at me, his Ken doll face fixing into a perfectly symmetrical grin. “Go out with me.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised by the invitation; Warren hadn’t exactly been subtle in his admiration of me since he’d formally introduced himself two weeks ago. Still, I’d been dreading this moment, tried to delay it by being friendly but coolly disinterested in him. Maybe the Cressida I’d been at eighteen, desperate for love and completely naïve, would have enjoyed Warren’s attention. As it was now, I found him kind of annoying. He wore Axe body spray, for one. What grown man wore Axe body spray?
“Oh, yes, or oh, no?” Warren joked.
I opened my mouth to respond when I felt eyes on me. It didn’t make any sense but I knew the texture of the gaze, the way they fell hot on my skin then slid possessively through my hair over my cheeks and neck like a physical caress. There were words in that gaze, ones that spoke of deviant plans for my body, promises that they would one day come true.
King’s eyes on my skin spoke to me more eloquently than any man ever had before, excepting him. It made me wonder what his hands would say on my skin if given the chance.
Now, I could feel their jealousy heavy and hot as I leaned into Warren.
“Oh, no,” I said softly to my colleague. “I’m sorry, but I’m not even technically divorced yet. It’s too soon.”
Warren was already nodding, leaning towards me with an accepting smile. “Of course, I knew you’d say that. I can wait.”
“Really, I wouldn’t. I was married for eight years, it will take a while to get over that.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re not old enough to have been married that long.”
Irritation prickled through me. “Well, I was.”
“You must have been a child bride,” he joked. “No wonder it didn’t work out.
I winced because his words hit a little too close to home. Eighteen was too early to get married and my parents should have known that instead of cultivating it. They’d practically handed me over to William the minute the ink was dry on my high school diploma.
My phone pinged loudly in my pocket. I checked the screen, thankful for the reprieve until I saw the message there.