COHEN

Now she changes into some hot little number.

Now that she’s over there doing stretches and cartwheels and who knows what else with the old lady squad, she’s decided not to wear the strangest swimsuit on earth.

What the hell are they doing, anyway? I squint, trying to make out some sort of routine, or dance, or... something. I’d overheard Annie telling Leigh that her grandmother had signed her up for synchronized swimming lessons.

One problem. There is nothing synchronized about these ladies. One of them has her hands in the air, another one’s floating on her back, and a third is sitting on the edge of the pool.

Meanwhile, Annie, sexy as hell in her new black bikini, is patiently helping one of the women twirl around like a ballerina. In the water.

“Cohen!” One of the mother’s in my infant class calls me, her voice sharp. “I dropped Thomas into the water. Is he okay?”

I look at the baby—I’m not great with babies. This little man is somewhere between three months and three years old. When my PR lady got me the class, I went through some training before teaching, and they said I wouldn’t be doing the holding of babies. Just singing songs and splashing around.

Which is why I’m completely unprepared when Mrs. Erickson thrusts her kid at me. He’s somewhere between the size of a watermelon and a yardstick. He doesn’t talk yet, just gurgles and smiles and farts.

“Oh, hello there,” I say, wrapping my arms around Thomas. “You’re a tough kid, aren’t you?”

Thomas blinks water out of his eyes, looking a little confused.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m confused about what we’re supposed to do with you, too.”

I hold him out at arm’s length, my fingers getting a little sweaty. He’s heavier than he looks, and I don’t want to drop him. What comes next? It’s like all the training I took before teaching just flies out of my head and is replaced by blankness.

Am I supposed to cuddle him? Plop him in the water? I know I’m not supposed to dunk him underneath, but the rest seems to be fair game. What’s the song about the wheels and the bus?

Thomas kicks his feet and squeals, and I take that as a good sign. I lower him ever so slowly until his feet hit the water, and he begins to splash. The smile on his face splits even wider, and then this bubbly little laugh comes from his throat that makes me laugh right along with him.

“I think he likes it,” I say, surprised to feel a tiny sense of accomplishment. “Well, look at that, you punk.”

Mrs. Erickson is smiling now too. “He won’t splash for anybody except me!”

“Way to go, buddy.”

“So that means he’s okay?”

“Kids are tough,” I tell her, handing Thomas back. “A little water in the eyes won’t hurt anyone.”

I do my rounds with the class, realizing sometime later that thirty minutes have passed in a whirl. I haven’t even checked out Annie once. Before ending the class, I take Thomas for another spin around the pool, surprised to find myself wanting to earn another laugh.

That’s when I catch Annie’s eye. She’s watching me with this look of amusement mixed with curiosity on her face in the middle of her routine. I shrug when our eyes meet, and she snaps to attention, making an effort to ignore me.

I take no small amount of pleasure in the fact that the back of Annie’s neck is bright red. Music pumps from her side of the pool, some old song from Grease. She’s clearly distracted, wildly off the beat. Even her Gran is keeping pace with the song.

Her class runs fifteen minutes longer than mine, so I take the opportunity to say goodbye to my miniature students before hitting the showers. I’m clean, and dressed by the time Annie’s class is done, so I dawdle in the front lobby for ten extra minutes.

I help myself to the godawful coffee, chat with the receptionist—whose voice is as thrilling as a paper towel—and listen as she recounts the medical mishaps of her seven cats. I’m debating putting myself out of my misery when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman I’ve been waiting for.

Annie’s deep in conversation with her grandmother as the pair climbs the stairs, and it’s Grannie Plymouth who sees me first.

“Hey, Mr. Teacher,” she calls. “You were looking good out there.”

“Thank you, Mrs...”

“Call me Lucy.”

Annie swivels her head to face her grandmother. “Your name is not Lucy.”

“Nah, you’re right.” The older woman sticks her hand out. “My name is Margaret. But don’t you think I’m more of a Lucy? Or, why don’t you just call me Gran?”

I glance between the two, a smile frozen on my face.

“Her friends call her Maggie,” Annie clarifies, her cheeks filling with a new shade of pink. “Feel free to do the same.”

“Maggie.” I extend a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Caught a glimpse of your synchronized swimming moves and, let me tell you, they are something else.”

Gran shakes my hand, the blush on her face matching that of her granddaughter’s. “Well, thank you, my friend. I pride myself on my flexibility. Did you see me doing the splits out there?”

“Alrighty, then.” Annie gently guides her grandmother through the front doors. “Keep this up, Gran, and we’ll put you in that home you’ve been eyeing.”

“Oh, relax.” Gran pats Annie’s arm. “Aren’t I charming, Mr. Teacher?”

“Call me Cohen.”

“Cohen, aren’t I charming?”

“Sure are, Maggie.”

“Great,” she says. “You have a good day now, Cohen. It was fun watching you with them babies. You’ve got a knack for teaching the little tykes.”

Her comment is surprisingly sweet, but I don’t tell her so. Instead, I do the next worst thing and turn to Annie. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

“What?” Annie looks up, eyes wild. “Fine, sure, whatever. You can say it right here.”

I give a look at her grandmother, but it’s not enough to deter me. I haven’t sat around listening to the receptionist talk about her cats for fun, and I’m not giving up this easily.

“Okay, then,” I say, lowering my voice so the entire bridge club upstairs can’t here. “Is there any chance I can get your phone number?”

“No.”

“You can have mine,” Gran says, fluttering her eyelashes. “But it’s a landline, so don’t try to text. I’ve tried texting from the landline before, and things get a little wonky.”

“I’ll bet,” I say, holding a straight face. “What about it, Annie?”

“I said I’m not interested in dating.”

“This isn’t about a date.”

“What’s it about?”

“Since when is it against the law for a handsome man to ask a beautiful women for her number?” Gran turns to Annie and gives her a poke to the chest. “Tell him yes, kiddo. You can always tell him no to a date over the phone.”

Annie’s jaw sets in a firm line, and I’m sure she’s going to tell her grandmother off first, and then round on me.

But she’s full of surprises. “Don’t you already have it?”

“Have what?” I ask.

“My number.” She shifts her purse higher on her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure it’s on the roster, along with my address.”

“You don’t mind if I call you sometime?”

I watch Annie’s face flash through a rainbow of emotions. From the outside, it looks like she wants to say yes, but is stopped by something resembling pride. I should know, I have plenty of it, along with the stubbornness to back it up.

“Whatever,” she says. “See you next week.”

She leaves with her grandmother, and I pull my backpack closer. Inside, I’ve got my wet swimsuit there, wrapped in a plastic bag, along with the gift from Annie. That Superman robe is the most thoughtful gift I’ve received in the last five years.

Annie might not know it, but that’s the reason I can’t find it in me to give up on her yet. Even if it’d been in jest, there was meaning behind it. A certain thoughtfulness. She’d done her research, and she’d been thinking about me.

In fact, I have one idea left. It’s a gamble, and it’s risky, but Annie’s already proven that it’ll take extraordinary measures to get her to trust me. To let me take her out to dinner. To wiggle my way into her life.

I’ll have to wait until the right moment to follow up on my plan. For now, I’ll be patient and wait. The only thing that I can guarantee for certain is this: chasing after Annie Plymouth will either be the stupidest stunt I’ve ever pulled, or just maybe, it’ll be the very best thing.