Page 15 of My Single Dad Biker

He looks at me for a long moment and something shifts in his expression. He takes a step closer and now there's maybe two feet between us and I can smell him, soap and something underneath that's just him.

"Katherine," he says, and the way he says my name makes my stomach tighten.

A door opens down the hall.

The sound cuts through everything. Holt steps back immediately. I turn toward the piano like I was just standing here looking at sheet music. Jenny's voice calls out a cheerful good morning from somewhere near the front office.

Holt and I look at each other.

His jaw is still tight and his eyes are dark and I know exactly what would have happened if that door hadn't opened.

"I should go," he says.

"Okay."

He doesn't move for another second. Then he turns and walks out of my classroom and I hear his footsteps in the hallway and then the back door opening and closing.

I sit down on the piano bench because my legs don't feel steady.

Jenny appears in my doorway thirty seconds later, holding her coffee mug and looking bright-eyed despite the early hour. "You're here early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Same. I have parent conferences all day and I'm dreading it." She leans against the doorframe. "Was that Louis Fischer's dad I saw leaving?"

My face feels warm. "He was dropping off Louis's backpack."

"Huh. He's not usually the early drop-off type."

"Louis left it in his truck last night."

"Right." She takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me with the specific attention of someone who has known me for two years and can tell when something is different. "You okay? You look flushed."

"I'm fine. Just warm from playing."

She accepts this even though the classroom is not warm. "Well, I've got to prep for the conferences. Let me know if you need anything."

She leaves and I sit at the piano for another five minutes trying to get my heartbeat to slow down.

The rest of the morning is a blur. I teach kindergarten at eight, first grade at nine, second grade at ten.

The kids are loud and energetic and I go through the motions while replaying the moment in my classroom when Holt was standing two feet away from me and the only thing that stopped whatever was about to happen was Jenny's door opening down the hall.

Third grade is at eleven. Louis is in this class.

He comes in with the rest of the students and waves at me like he always does, completely himself, and I smile back and try not to think about the fact that his father was in this room three hours ago looking at me like he wanted something he wasn't sure he should take.

We work on rhythm patterns.

Louis is good at this, precise and focused, tapping out the beats with the same careful attention his father brings to everything.

I help a girl named Emma who keeps getting confused on the sixteenth notes. I keep the class moving and on task and I do not think about Holt.

Except I do think about Holt. The whole time.

Lunch is at noon.

I eat in my classroom like I always do and check my phone for the first time since this morning. There's a text from an unknown number sent fifteen minutes ago.