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“I just came down to grab my mail since I didn’t have a chance to do it this morning before classes started,” I keep my voice light and breezy as I smile and move to where the cubbies are that act as mail and communication boxes for the teachers here.
“Considering the way you’re glowing, I don’t need to ask if you had a good weekend,” Mrs. Bisby says from behind me, and I keep my back to her, so she won’t see the smile that lights up my face or the slight blush on my cheeks.
Yeah, a very good weekend, but my coworker—and a woman old enough to be my mother—doesn’t need to know exactly how good or why. Nope. Not going there with her.
“Yup,” I agree brightly as I grab the items in my little cubby. “And the best part was that I just stayed in.”
Not a lie.
“That’s good, dear.” She pauses as I start to look through the few things in my box, not wanting to take anything that might be junk back to my classroom. “How are you feeling? How is PT?” I can hear a bit of scorn in her voice as she adds on, “Is Devin still pushing you too hard?”
When I turn back around, Mrs. Bisby is giving me a knowing look. Well, that is after my eyes immediately go to the flowers and I force myself to look away.
I sigh and admonish her, “He never pushed me too hard. I was just being a whiny baby about it all. He’s pushed me just the right amount and it was what I needed him to do.” She scowls slightly, but before she can curse Devin, again, I add on, “I have an appointment with my doctor this week and he should be signing off on my full recovery which means I’ll be done with physical therapy.”
The happy dance that she does in her seat has me grinning from ear to ear. My heart swells with gratitude for this woman. She claps her hands, her voice pure fucking joy, “That’s wonderful!”
I swear if she had pom-poms she would be shaking them right now. And doesn’t everyone need someone like that in their corner? More than one, preferably.
I glance back at the flowers and then look away quickly. Amusement dances in her words as she asks, “Aren’t you curious about who they’re for?”
I shake my head, not wanting to deal with feelings of jealousy over any of my coworkers getting such a beautiful bouquet. One that has me dreaming of steamy New Orleans nights infused with the history and grandeur of a city that has always been my home.
I clear my throat and give her a cheeky grin. “I figured they were for you,” I tease her.
With a slight blush on her cheeks, she shakes her head slowly. “Oh, no dear. They aren’t for me. Honestly, they were delivered just minutes before you walked in, and I didn’t have the chance to call down to the teacher who received them.”
My heart starts to pound in my chest. They were sent to a teacher.
But that doesn’t mean they’re for me. Even if I wish they were.
“I have to say that I’m glad you stopped in because it saved me from having to send word to you that you got some flowers waiting for you in the office,” her tone turns sly.
I rush toward the bouquet, barely stopping myself from jumping up and down. “Are you serious? They’re so gorgeous,” I gush.
“They really are,” she agrees. “I was tempted not to let you know of their arrival until the end of the day so I could enjoy them for a little while longer,” she teases me.
I grin at her before I spot the card and pull it free from the mass of flowers and greenery. My heart knows who they’re from before I even open the card, but I want to see what he said anyway.
Just to see you smile, Firefly.
~ C
I press the card to my chest and find myself falling a little bit more in love with the man who has stood by my side during some of the darkest days of my life. How could I not?
“Good card?”
My eyes snap to Mrs. Brisby, and I nod like a bobble head on the dashboard of a car finding all the potholes. “The best,” I whisper.
“Ah, young love.” Her eyes soften as she looks at me and gives a decisive nod. “You deserve it. You make sure to hold tight.”
“I will,” I vow and realize just how true the words are as they slip past my lips.
I straighten up and glance back at the card, smiling again with his simple message. Crosby is a man of action, not necessarily words, but he still has a knack for saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.
“I’m going to leave these here for now,” I tell her. She starts to shake her head in protest, but I hold my hand up, not wanting to hear it. “I want you to enjoy them for the rest of the day and it’ll be easier for me to carry them out to my car from here than my classroom anyway.”
I give her a wave and am out the door before she can say anything to the contrary. I float the entire way down the hallway too.
