Unfortunately, Travis was out of town for two whole weeks, and so my date had to be moved to Friday.

I wasn’t greatly upset by that. I had never been one of those casual sex people, but it had been two whole years for me in this dry spell and that was probably why I got so riled up by a man’s casual touch. So, it was a decision that I made.

One that Scarlett supported wholeheartedly.

“I don’t know why you changed your mind about doing this, but I’m so proud of you!” Scarlett hugs me and dances away.

I watch her leave the room. Unlike me, my best friend was completely secure in her sexuality. She had no problem with juggling multiple partners at the same time or going through long stretches without a man in her life.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t do that.

I stare at my reflection in the hallway mirror. Lifting a few strands of my hair, I watch them fall back down. I wasn’t ugly by any means. But I was more reserved. I wasn’t the type of person who would sleep with a guy on the fifth date. Tim and I had dated for three months before we slept together.

Of course, the reason he had been so relaxed about the whole thing was because he had had two girls on the side.

There was no bitterness in my thoughts, as I tie my hair up in a ponytail. I hadn’t felt a very deep connection to Tim. He had been funny and smart, but we didn’t have much in common.

No, I wanted to build a deeper connection with someone.

I wanted passion, romance.

I sigh, heavily. I wanted to be swept-off my feet.

Leaning on the balls of my feet, I look at the soft snow outside. Christmas was nearly here. This was the season for romance.

“Do you think if I wrote to Santa, he would gift me a boyfriend this Christmas?” I muse loudly.

Scarlett, who had just walked back into the room, chugging some eggnog, grins, “Honey, tell him to send me two.”

I chuckle at that and then look at her, “Do you think I should dress slutty for this date? Like, I don’t want him to think I’m too easy, but I also want him to think that I would be up for a little action in the sheets.”

Scarlett flops onto the couch, “Maybe, flash your cleavage a little. You’ve got some nice boobs. Use them. Maybe – You know what, let me worry about your wardrobe. He hasn’t even decided the place yet.”

“The place?” I ask, clearly surprised. “Can’t we just meet up anywhere?”

My friend grins, “You do realize Travis has a little crush on you? He wants to pick you up, take you out, the whole deal.”

I bite my lower lip, blushing, “You really think he likes me?”

Scarlett waves her hand, airily, “Definitely. He got really excited when I told him you said yes.”

I grin at myself in the mirror.

This might not be the worst date, after all.

My mood was great the next day, as I hum throughout the class. My students must have caught on to my mood, because they kept grinning.

“Miss Johnson!”

I sigh at the familiar voice. Pasting a forced smile on my face, I turn around, “Mr. Davis.”

“I heard you often stay late to work on some class projects,” Collin looks down his nose at me, and not for the last time, I wish Scarlett was here to knock this man down a peg or two.

I cross my arms over my chest, “Since when is that a crime?”

He looks slightly startled at my defensive stance, and blink, “Well, I didn’t say it was. I only asked because there is some paperwork left that you have to go through and I wanted to know if you could do that when you were done. I usually stay late.”

Feeling a little lame, I lower my arms, and nod, “Uh, yeah. I could do that.”

Eyeing me like one would eye a dangerous, unpredictable animal, Collin backs away, and I kind of feel bad.

When the bell rang indicating the end of the last class, students swarmed around me as they rushed to their lockers. One child rushed toward the other end and I see Aaron park himself next to my classroom door, an expectant look on his face.

I don’t know what was more adorable, the fact that he took his punishment with such seriousness, or the way his face would light up every time he saw me during the day.

“Miss Abby!” He jumps up and down, when he sees me in the distance, his hand raised in the air.

I laugh, “I see you, Aaron. Stay there. I have to get some stuff, first.”

Picking up the Tupperware filled with cookies that I baked last night, I walk to my classroom.

Aaron was chewing on a sandwich which didn’t really look very appetizing.

“Where did you get that?” I ask, as I unlock the classroom door, and let him in first.

“Dad made it. I didn’t eat lunch and he says I can only bring back an empty lunchbox.”

I couldn’t imagine the man I had met yesterday, slaving over a sandwich. For some reason, I really wanted to know what his cooking tasted like.

I held out a cookie, “Do you want to trade? A cookie for a bite of your sandwich?”

Aaron didn’t even hesitate, grabbing the cookie, and throwing the sandwich in my lap. Hesitantly, I pick it up and bite into it.

I wheeze.

It was absolutely terrible.

I felt bad for Aaron that he was being forced to eat this, but I also felt a hint of satisfaction, at knowing that while Steven Turner may be a billionaire, he couldn’t cook worth a damn.

“You don’t like the sandwich, Miss Abby?” Aaron studies me, crumbs of the cookies all over his mouth.

I open my mouth to say something, and then recalculate, “It’s your lunch. I wouldn’t want to finish all of it.”

“It’s okay,” He tells me, without batting an eye. “Dad is very bad at cooking. I don’t like his food. He can’t even follow a recipe right.”

I blink, trying not to laugh, “So, what do you guys eat at home?”

Aaron shrugs, “Lily comes twice a week and she makes a lot of food for us.”

“Do you like her cooking?” I ask, wondering who Lily was.

Aaron shrugs again, “It’s okay. It’s better than Dad’s.”

I reach out and ruffle his hair from where he sat on my desk, “Don’t let your father hear that. It might hurt his feelings.”

“Dad knows he can’t cook,” The child informs me, nonchalantly. “He says he can’t be good at everything.”

I bite my tongue, and decide to change the subject, “I have some more cookies in my bag and half a sandwich, if you want. Then, we can move onto painting those canvases.”

“Do you like cookies, too, Miss Abby?” Aaron asks as he munched on yet another cookie, making me wonder if I was ruining his appetite for dinner.

“Hmm,” I comment, offhandedly. “I’m more of a blueberry muffin kind of person.”

“So, you like blueberry muffins?” He was a very inquisitive child, and I grin, “Just eat the sandwich.”

Aaron liked the sandwich I had made for myself this morning and once he was done, I had to force him into an apron so as to not dirty his clothes. Most of the painting involved using hands, and being at his age, he loved it.

At one point, I had to chastise him, “Aaron, the paint goes on the blanks sheet. Not on me.”

He looked guilty, and went back to work, but he kept getting paint on my hair because every time I would lean over and tell him to use a specific colour, he would deliberately touch the falling strands of my hair to get paint on them.

What I realized about this young child was that if he felt comfortable enough around you, his mischief knew no bounds. And for some reason, he had become quite attached to me.

Not that I minded the childish pranks.

I raise my hands which were covered in paint, and said threateningly, “If you don’t stop painting on me, I’m going to paint your whole face green and orange.”

Aaron giggles, “No, you won’t!”

I lean toward him, a glint in my eye, “You think I won’t? They’ll call you the green and yellow little monster of Woodside Public School.”

Aaron squealed with laughter as I attempted to grab him. Scrambling onto his feet, he rushes away from me.

Just at that moment, the door opens, and he collides with his father’s legs.

Steven raises a brow at his paint splattered son, and then at me. The corner of his lips curl up.

I was a sight to behold.

I was on my knees, the strands of my hair painted different colours, and specks of paint on my face. My hands were completely covered in paint.

This was not the cool and disdainful way I had intended to greet him if I saw him today.

“Mr. Tanner,” I say, in a choked voice.

He walks over and looks down at me with a gleam in his eyes. He was so close to me that I was at the level with his – Oh, hell no!

I was about to stand up, when he crouched down.

“You’ve got paint on your cheeks, Miss Abby.” His thumb reaches out to clean the wet smudge from my face, and when my face turned red at the caressing way his thumb moved over my cheek, he grins, smugly.

Just what was he trying to prove?

I pull my head away and quickly get to my feet.

I realize that, standing next to him, I just reach his chest. Not wanting to have to look up at him when talking to him, I take a few steps back.

“You’re early, Mr. Tanner.”

He takes a step forward, “My meetings ended early.”

Another step backwards.

The look in his eyes is making my lower abdomen clench, and my jaw is taut, “How’s your car?”

“Still in the shop. Aaron, go wait outside.”

“Okay,” Aaron pipes up, and then glances at the two of us, “Can I take the cookies, Miss Abby?”

My eyes were still on his father’s gray ones, and I say weakly, “Sure.”

My back hits the wall and Steven stood a mere centimetre away, his chest not touching mine by a hair’s length. His hands are in his pockets.

“You look nervous, Abby.”

I grit my teeth, forcing myself out of whatever this haze was, “You’re in my freaking personal space. Get out.”

He smiles, a full, gorgeous smile that makes my stomach plummet, “And if I refuse?”

I bare my teeth at him, “I’ll make you.”

He leans forward, and I can feel his hot breath against my lips, “Then do it.”

My heart stutters, and I can smell his very unique cologne from the lessened distance between us. I can almost taste him on my tongue.

I bite my lips and feel, more than see, his smirk, and then I whisper, adrenaline pumping through my veins, “You have two seconds to step back before I knee you in the crotch, Mr. Tanner. And I have very good aim.”