Page 48 of My Single Dad Biker

He leaves with Louis and I sit in my empty classroom feeling completely rearranged.

Mrs. Patterson spent fifteen minutes trying to convince me I'm not good enough. Holt spent two minutes telling me I am and somehow his two minutes matter more than her fifteen.

I pack up my things and drive home and make dinner I actually eat this time. Sit on my couch with my book and actually read it. At seven-thirty my phone rings.

Holt.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi. How are you?"

"Better than I was."

"Good."

We're quiet for a moment. Then I say, "Thank you for today. For what you said after that parent left."

"I meant it."

"I know. That's why it mattered."

"Katherine."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Last night. This morning. Breakfast with Louis. Was that okay? Was it too much too fast?"

I think about Louis showing me his rock collection. About making pancakes in Holt's kitchen. About the three of us sitting at the table eating breakfast like we'd done it a hundred times before.

"It wasn't too much," I say. "It was perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I want to do it again."

"Next weekend?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Good."

We talk for another twenty minutes about nothing important. He tells me about a bike rebuild at Ray's shop. I tell him about the book I'm reading. It's ordinary conversation between two people who like each other and it feels significant because we're choosing to have it instead of saying goodnight and hanging up.

When we finally say goodbye it's almost nine. I get ready for bed and lie in the dark thinking about Holt's kitchen and Louis's rock collection and the way Holt looked at me when he told me I'm good at my job.

A week ago I didn't know Holt existed. Now he's in my bed and in my head and in my life in ways that should terrify me but don't.

I think about the way he holds my hand. The way he kisses me like I'm the only thing that matters. The way he showed up at my door Saturday morning to tell me I'm his. The way Louis's face lit up when he saw me this morning. The way the three of us fit together over breakfast.

I think about Marrow and the danger that's still out there and the fact that Holt made sure I understood the club protects me now. That I'm not alone in this.

I think about all of it and I realize what this feeling is.

The one that's been building in my chest for a week. The one that made breakfast feel significant and hand-holding feel like a promise and Holt's two minutes in my classroom matter more than anyone else's opinion.