“So. First week. How you feeling?” Emery asks as she sits across from me, swinging back and forth in her hammock. I’d like to tell you we were having this conversation at some exotic tropical locale with drinks in umbrellas and taut cabana boys sauntering around, but no. Hammock’s at school. Turns out the teachers’ lounge took a page out of the 19^th century navy and replaced our sofas and chairs with hammocks. One of them you have to climb a ladder to reach, and you better be supple. José, the alternative chemistry teacher, fell out of it on Wednesday.

Then again, I’m pretty sure he was dabbling in some alternative chemistry, if you know what I mean, and I mean pot.

“It’s wild. Kind of crazy, but also kind of lovely? The kids are a dream.” They really are, too. I’ve always loved kids—you’re a masochist to get in this job if you don’t—but these are among the cutest I’ve taught. And so conscious of things like the environment, child labor laws, and the history of the Tibetan conflict.

Okay, those parts are a little creepy in a Lake Woebegone sort of way, but these kids also have the most pinchable cheeks and happy giggles. That makes up for the socialist stuff.

“I just wish Willow would lay off Amelia a little bit,” I say, taking a sip of my all natural, high symbiote Macha green tea. I make a face, and not just at the hedge clippings in my mug. “It’s not the kid’s fault she’s energetic. And likes animal protein.”

This entire week, I’ve put Mr. Surly Munroe out of my mind and have focused entirely on his perfect angel of a daughter. Amelia’s the bounciest, most excited kid in the class. Anytime I’ve got a scene to read out or an activity to demonstrate, she nearly falls off her beanbag chair to be allowed up. But apparently that much energy is distracting from the natural rhythms of the class, or whatever it was Willow said.

It’s starting to irk me, actually.

Emery rolls down her sweatpants leg and falls out of the hammock, somersaulting before she lands on the floor. She teaches karmic hockey and other physical activities over at the gymnasium, which is really just a nice term for a small patch of lawn to the west end of campus. Bay of Dreams isn’t exactly the place to send your competitive athletes, in case you were wondering.

Still, it’s because of Emery I’m here at all in the first place.

She flips her dreads over her shoulder and walks out with me into the hall. Ah, the gong sounds. Time for my afternoon munchkins.

“Let’s get some actual coffee this weekend and discuss more. My treat,” she calls, walking backwards to wave at me before running to class.

God. Coffee, and maybe some processed sugar. Life never tasted so good.

The kids are already running in a circle when I get there, warming their little bodies up. I spot Amelia right away; she’s the one who insists on always wearing a hoodie with mouse ears.

Could I bottle her cuteness? Is that allowed?

“Okay, center and circle,” I call, clapping my hands. I lay out a few purple gym mats, and everyone scampers to a seat at once. Amelia’s sitting Indian style first, rocking back and forth with enthusiasm. “So we have an announcement. Our spring musical is going to be…” I do a little drum roll, banging on the mat, then throw my hands in the air. “Oliver!”

It’s true, in order to get the Dickensian tale of porridge-deprived urchins and Victorian haves and have-nots past the faculty, I had to take a few liberties. Like we’re setting the play in a Koreatown sweatshop now, not London. And Oliver needs to have one song at least about saving the whales. Beyond that, though, the sky’s the limit.

Amelia squeals, and the rest of the kids get excited as well. Kids loving theater; is there anything better?

“We’re going to have auditions real soon, but first I need you to talk to your parents this weekend and see who might be happy to volunteer.” I look over the sea of silent ten-year-old faces now. Can you blame them? Who wants their mom or dad hanging around with their teacher for weeks on end? “I only need one for right now, and you can tell Mom and Dad it’s going to be basic stuff. Help with picking out sets, help with costumes, help with snacks.” I widen my eyes dramatically. “Snacks are the most important part.”

They all start laughing at that. Amelia starts bouncing up and down, waving her hand in the air.

“My dad can! He can do it!” She stretches as far as she can into the air without actually standing up. She’s so adorable that I almost forget that her dad is probably the last man on earth who wants to pick out attractive yet affordable urchin costumes. In fact, if he’d been alive in Charles Dickens’s day, he might’ve been one of the guys who told Oliver Twist to stop asking for luxury items, like food.

So I do my hem and haw routine, hoping to throw her enthusiasm off track. “Oh, well, we don’t need an answer right now. Go ahead and ask this weekend, and—”

“But he wants to do it! He told me.” She gets the saddest, most stricken expression. “He told me how you’re a really good teacher for me.”

I am not impervious to a little flattery, especially not from an adorable little girl with a super hot dad. It’s all I can do not to start twirling my hair around my finger like a teenager asking about her damn crush.

Focus, Chelle!

“Your dad said he wanted to work on the school play?” I’m not quite buying this, but Amelia looks pretty serious.

“He said he never cared about anything as much as I care about acting. He told me he wants to support me.”

Amelia’s now getting some ten-year-old side eye, probably because she’s being enthusiastic and passionate and generally happy. Still, I don’t want to set her up for a lot of teasing, so I quickly say, “Well, let’s see what your dad says after school. That sure would be a ton of fun!”

“He’ll say yes.” She looks proud enough to get up and take off flying around the room. “He used to not do anything with me at school, but he told me that he’s done being a jerk and is, uh, ready to be present. Or something. I don’t know.” She giggles again, but what she says pierces my heart a little. Doesn’t shock me Will Munroe used to not be the world’s most attentive dad.

It also softens me a little toward the guy. Going through that divorce probably made him more sensitive. But sensitive in a John Wayne learning to love way, not a guy who wears a sleep mask and spends a lot of money on facials way.

I don’t know why I felt the need to make that distinction, or why all I can see now is John Wayne in a glittery sleep mask. I need to stop thinking things. Like ever.

I also need to stop thinking about how sweet Mr. Tightass Munroe is with his daughter, or that’s going to seriously compromise my ability to hate him for no reason.

“Yoga exploration time!” I say, standing up and beginning our stretches. The kids are all right with that, let me tell you.

When class is done, it’s the final gong of the day. Everyone slips into their shoes and backpacks while I tail after Amelia. My heart rate hasn’t gone up because I’m going to talk to her dad, oh no. It’s all that yoga. That’s what it is.

Will’s parked in the shade of a pine tree, leaning against his car and staring down at his phone. He’s wearing a studly, frowning expression, like he just realized the world on average is not as hot as he is. A stunning realization, that.

Okay Chelle, let’s go in nice and slow here. No need to profusely thank him or anything. A firm, diplomatic handshake ought to—

“How’d you like my first born child?”

He looks up in shock. “What?”

If I step back and get a good running start, I can maybe plummet all the way down the canyon to my end. Just keeping that in reserve.

“Sorry, it’s how I do you. Talk to you. How I do, and talk to you, I sort of combined those.” Come for me, sweet death. Take your servant now. While Will slowly slides his phone into his pocket, thus giving my insanity his full attention, I continue to try to stop fumbling the conversational ball. “I just meant first born child, like, in a ha ha way? Funny? Sort of like Rumpelstiltskin, you know? Did you ever read Amelia that story?”

Will thoughtfully nods. “Much as I love collecting infants, I still don’t think I understand why I need yours.”

Firing. On. All. Cylinders. Today. Chelle.

“I just, sorry, I thought you were a dick when we first met. Turns out you’re not. The thinking you were a dick thing, that was on me. I was raised to make quick choices and not look back, it’s how I ended up with six figures of college debt I’ll never repay. You know. It’s the exact same thing.”

Now Will is looking like maybe he needs to get me into the car so he can surreptitiously drive me to Cedars-Sinai to get them to check my frontal lobe for any possible trauma, and honestly dude? Right there with you. Thankfully, I’m saved from any further nonsense when Amelia comes skipping up to us. Truly skipping! Truly saving my ass! Love this kid.

“Daddy, you’re going to help with the play, aren’t you?”

Will’s face stretches into utter blankness, and I know right then that Amelia volunteered him out of hope, not truth. God, now this is embarrassing. At least I can go back to sulkily judging him as an Armani-wearing douchebag. Good. That’ll comfort me in the dark of the night, when I reach for my vibrator.

I…I don’t know where that last part came from.

Then, to my seemingly endless supply of shock for the day, we add this little nugget:

“You bet. Helping with plays is what I do.” He looks up at me, an eyebrow raised. “It’s how I repaid all six figures of college debt.”

Oh ho, it is to laugh.

“I don’t know if Amelia’s told you all the particulars.” I put my hands on my hips. Cock one hip a little bit. Maybe even swivel it… No, I don’t do that—there’s a child present. “It requires work on nights and weekends. Grueling decisions, last minute choices between costumes and sets. Granted, we’ve got a fantastic budget to work with.”

“A lot of money, I take it.”

“James Cameron gave us a grant of nine hundred thousand for the next three years. I could have actual lions doing Lion King if I wanted.”

“Have to keep them fed. Lions, and all that.”

“You could provide the meat.” There. Is. A. Child. I. Did. Not. Mean it. To sound like that. Thankfully, Amelia’s tapping away at her iPhone, and I recover fast. “Like, you could buy it and make choices between rump roast and filet, and it would probably need to be a lot—”

“You’re asking me to give up nights and weekends from my twelve hour a day job to help with my daughter’s school play,” he says coolly. He puts a hand on Amelia’s head. God, he’s like a hot thirtysomething Daddy Warbucks. Maybe we should’ve done Annie. Maybe he could’ve shaved his head.

No. Sacrilege.

“Yes. That’s what I’m asking.” Here’s the windup, and the pitch of inevitable refusal, which is just as well because I do not want to spend a lot of time with this man, ho boy, not a chance. Not a chance.

“I’ll do it.”

There’s a chance!

“Oh. That’s…that’s nice,” I say, hoping I’m not now drooling on myself. Amelia looks up with boundless enthusiasm shining in her eyes. She even squeals, bouncing on her little Converse clad toes before wrapping both arms around her dad. Will smiles down on her, not an ounce of cynicism in his face.

“It’s going to be my daughter’s debut? It needs to be perfect,” he says.

Okay. Look. Assholery aside, I think my ovaries just started warming up.

“Then I’ll, ah, be in touch. About. About schedules,” I say, starting to very subtly edge my way out of this perfect moment of love. Will looks up, his mouth quirking into a grin.

“I expect you to be ready. I’m a person with ideas,” he says, “and I expect excellent results.”

Oh, so it’s a challenge? Excellent.

“Well, I don’t let anyone fall down on the job.”

“Good. I’d hate to think I’m pulling dead weight.”

Of all the lousy, stupid, sexy…

“Don’t worry. I’ll be pulling you all ni—pulling you along all night.” Good save, Chelle. The World Series winning conversational catch of all time.

“Then I think we’re in business.” Do I detect a little extra glance along my body as he says it? Or am I imagining things? God, I hope I am.

God, I hope I’m not.

“Guess we are,” I say as a clever parting shot over my shoulder. I march down to get my car, and I can’t help breaking into a grin. Business never sounded so exhausting, or interesting.