Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Beauty everywhere.
I glance over my shoulder and catch him looking at me.
Not just looking. Full on checking me out, eyes glued to my ass before they flick down my legs and back up again.
The pressure in my core becomes acute. I grab onto the nearby banister with my free hand in an effort to remain upright.
Just because Tuck checked me out doesn’t mean he’s interested. There’s a big difference between being attracted to someone and being interested in them.
Besides, it’s really dark out here. I could be imagining things. It’s wishful thinking that Tuck feels the pull between us too.
Ignoring the tug of disappointment in my middle, I turn back to the stars.
five
. . .
Tuck
Teddy Bear
“Pretty.” I nod at the sky.
Maren, eyes lifted to the glittering show of stars and a bright moon, rocks back on her heels. “Breathtaking. Something about the stars makes me feel better. Like they’re a reminder of how small we are.” She shrugs. “How ultimately small our problems are.”
I try not to stare at the way the light of the moon catches on her nose and lips. Despite the darkness, she’s glowing.
The stars are pretty.
Maren, though, is downright beautiful. Summer girl—that ray of fucking sunshine—ain’t afraid of the dark. In fact, she seems captivated by it. A warm, salty breeze makes her hair dance around her face, her forehead creased like she’s deep in thought.
She’s young. Innocent. Maybe that’s why she puts herself out there like this. Why she allows herself to be vulnerable in front of me, a virtual stranger. The world hasn’t kicked in her teeth yet.
Being around her makes me wish I was still whole like that. Still hopeful.
“Nothing new under the sun. Or stars, in this case,” I say.
Maren turns her head to look at me. “I like that.”
“Bible verse. One of the few that stuck with me from Sunday school.”
She looks back at the stars. Lets out a breath. “I’m worried I’m on the wrong path.”
Talk about not being afraid to put herself out there.
I should say goodnight and go back inside. I have no business talking to my nanny in the dark about life and love and purpose. But I can’t make my feet move.
Something in me is dying for this. Real conversation. No bullshit, no small talk. She’s going for the heart of things.
“Why do you say that?”
“I’ve never struggled in school before. I’ve never hated it like I hate it now.”
“So this is new.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Kind of. It’s always been the plan for me to become a teacher. So after I graduated from college, I went right into a master’s program to get my degree in early education.”
I step forward so I’m standing beside her. Her eyes dart to my bare torso. There’s hunger in the way they stay there, raking over my stomach, chest, shoulders. Maren is polite. Professional. She wouldn’t check me out like this if she could help it.
The space between us buzzes.
I need to go the fuck inside. Put on a shirt at least.
Instead I ask, “It was?”
Maren blinks. Her throat works as she swallows and quickly looks away. “For me, yeah. My parents pushed me to do well in school. They loved the idea of me getting a graduate degree. I knew it would make them proud, so I enrolled. But then I assisted a fifth-grade teacher in the classroom last semester to gain some experience. Turns out I kind of hated it?”
Crossing my arms, I wait for her to continue.
“I mean, it’s important work, and I see how it’s the right path for some people. But teaching didn’t feel right for me.”
“What about it didn’t feel right?”
A pause. I dig how thoughtful she is in her replies. Again, no bullshit. No empty words just to fill the silence.
“I couldn’t get excited about the material. I liked the teaching part. Interacting with kids. But I didn’t love the environment. The days are really long, and the pay is shit. Well, at least it is in North Carolina. Dealing with parents and principals can be an absolute nightmare. And the homes some of these kids come from . . . it gets heavy. I can’t tell you how many teachers I met who were burnt out. They were young too. One was in her first year of teaching full-time, and she was ready to quit. Doesn’t take long for that kind of work to chew you up and spit you out.”
“Total crime how we treat our teachers in this country.” I shake my head. “Y’all do God’s work, caring for our kids like you do. But no one thinks to care for y’all in return.”
She’s looking at me again, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. “I couldn’t agree more. So now I’m getting this degree in a field I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be in anymore. I have student loans to prove it.” Her eyes glitter. Tears? She blinks and looks away before I can be sure. “My gut is telling me to quit. But everyone else is telling me to keep going.”