Chapter 3

Kailee

" W ho can tell me what this is?" I ask, holding up a red instrument that, truth be told, looks like a butt plug.

I legit don't have a clue what this instrument is. I thought it would be best to ask the students in a voice that sounds like I'm quizzing them. One hand is in my pocket with my fingers crossed, desperately hoping a student knows what it is so I don't look like an ass when it comes time to explain it.

Thankfully, one mousy young lady at the second prep table raises her hand. I point at her, and she adjusts her tortoise-shell glasses before she answers. "It's a strawberry huller. My mom uses them for chocolate-filled strawberries. "

I look closer at the object and squint. There's a pointed tip and a round button at the base. When I click it, the pointed tip retracts.

Huh. Interesting.

"Wonderful. What else could we make with hulled strawberries?"

A few hands go up, and I call on them, mentally heaving a sigh of relief.

I am way over my head here. I work in a baking food truck, but I'm learning that I have no idea about the correct way to do things in baking. I put ingredients in a mixer, pop stuff in the oven, and take it out when I work with Lorelei on the truck. I wash my hands before I touch anything. I keep my hair out of the food. Simple.

Apparently, making pretty pastry requires knowing a bunch of methods I've never heard of. I had to Google what it meant to fold an ingredient into dough. Don't get me started on finding the best method to separate egg whites. We don't work with many egg whites on the truck because cannabutter has a greenish tint that makes white batter appear green. Most of our food requires the entire egg and is chocolate or in bread form.

This gig is only for a few months until Janice Corbitt, baking teacher extraordinaire, can recover from a knee replacement. The high school needed a sub, and they couldn't find a single person with a Family and Consumer Science certification to take the gig. Technically, it's subbing and only temporary. It's also education. There's not a line out the door for taking this job.

The district requires that a long-term substitute be a certified teacher with any type of certificate. I have an early childhood certificate I don't use. It's not exactly a great fit here, and I'm still intimidated by students who are the size of professional athletes. I've also never dealt with students who have the facial hair of a middle-aged man.

At least the kids are potty-trained at this level.

Mostly.

I have seniors that couldn't give a shit about anything. Most of them have their graduation requirements and their college acceptance letters in hand. Any senior in this class, except for the one student who mentioned he's going to culinary school when he graduates, is simply biding their time. I should let him teach on days I don't feel like it.

I divide the group into cooking teams of four and go through the ingredients necessary to make strawberry shortcake from scratch, including whipped cream, and then have the mousy student demonstrate the strawberry huller for decorative strawberries on the top. They go to work without much direction other than the recipe card at each table that one person on each team reads aloud to their group members. That's another perk of seniors. They're mostly self-sufficient.

Ms. Corbitt had lesson plans already in place because she's taught this class for almost thirty years. It's a dream gig to come in every day, set out ingredients and recipe cards, remind the students of cooking safety, take attendance, and make sure no students get hurt and no furniture gets broken. She also teaches sewing, but it's not on my schedule this quarter. That's a relief since I can't even sew a button.

I do a cursory walk around the room, oohing and ahhing over the students' hard work. Then, I walk to the teacher's desk and sit, resisting the urge to put my head on the desk and take a nap. I'm used to being on my feet and circling the room as a sub, but I can't work up the energy with this gig.

I chalk up my lack of energy to the window situation in the room. Windows are required for ventilation in any class that uses stoves, but they don't get sun at any point. I'm used to taking elementary kids out for recess or stepping out of Lorelei's truck for some sun and fresh air when I'm at work. Even when I can't step out, the back door of the truck can be opened. This place is a dungeon with a nice hint of vanilla.

My eyes almost droop closed until a knock at the classroom door startles me, forcing my eyes open. The students turn to the person in the window, always curious, and I get up to unlock the door I always keep locked for safety.

I know it's a man, but I can't see his face because of the small window. Hopefully, it's not Principal Richter. I was almost asleep on the desk and don't want to get in trouble .

I swing the door open and find Leo Paulson in front of me with a smile on his face. "Hi, Kailee." He clears his throat and looks at the students behind me. "Um, Ms. Lipshitz."

A student behind me laughs like at least one of them does every time someone says my last name. I tell them to use Ms. L. when they need me. I did that on my second day here since I was already tired of them calling me Ms. Shits.

"Hi, Leo. What's up?" I ask, darting my eyes left and right. Why's he over here?

I look across the hall to his classroom and don't see any students, but I hear them. I'm fairly certain he has freshmen this hour. Someone works a saw or another power tool. A drill? "Shouldn't you be in the classroom if a student is using a power tool?"

"Probably," he says. He waves his hands like he can't be fucked with students and power tools. "I just wanted to say hi."

Well, this is awkward. I look back at my own students, who all look down at their shortcake mixture at the same time. Subtle.

"Uh…hi," I say.

He leans closer to me and drops his voice. "I also wanted to ask you to dinner tonight." He nods for a moment. "With me."

I move an inch or two back from him. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Yes," he says, biting his lip and wringing his hands.

Lord, have mercy on my soul. I give Leo a cursory glance. He's not bad looking. He has a job, a pension, and all of his hair. It's prematurely graying because he's salt and pepper, but he can't be older than thirty-eight or so. He's fit with a wide chest, and I swear he flexes his pecs under his golf shirt while I study him.

He's a great guy on paper.

He's also awkward as fuck, and I'm not quite sure I've ever seen him blink.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Lorelei's voice. "Kailee, you can't judge a man by one weird quirk. If he's nice and isn't a troll living in a box under a bridge, he's worth a conversation. Sometimes, the nice guys are worth getting to know."

I inhale through my nose and immediately gag on the smell of the dairy product for whipped topping. It's so thick it practically chokes me. I cover my nose with my forearm and act like I'm simply wiping my nose, trying not to retch. I should open a window.

Leo doesn't notice. He stands in front of me, his left foot tapping against the linoleum. This isn't Tinder. This is an opportunity to go out with a man that I don't have to use technology to find. Not that there's anything wrong with Tinder, but sometimes I wish I could meet men in person before deciding if I want to go out with them.

He's not ugly. He has a good job, tenure, and doesn't live at home with his mother. He talked about recently buying a house when I first met him. He's a little awkward, and I'm not sure I have a lot of chemistry with him, but that can grow, right? It's not like I even have to sleep with him. He's a date. I don't have to shave my legs or wax my lady bits. He's not even a one-night stand.

One-night stand…

I sigh and slump against the door frame, and it has nothing to do with Leo Paulson. The idea of a one-night stand isn't appealing anymore.

Not since Chase.

I can't stop thinking about him. Part of me itches to ask Lorelei to get his number from Liam. The other part of me tells me I don't have the strength of heart to play with his kind of horsepower. Keeping up with him in bed that night was exhausting. I've never been laid like that, and the fact that he's a friend of Lorelei's boyfriend threw me off. If it didn't work out between us, we'd be damned to a lifetime of Christmas parties, sharing godchildren, and summer cookouts with the two of them. Who needs to share those things with an ex-boyfriend you can never lift out of your life? It's going to be awkward enough to do all of those things knowing how hard I came on his dick.

He's also another man with a great job, albeit dangerous if Liam's injuries are any clue, and he has benefits and owns an entire house.

A whole real house! Not one of those tiny houses. Not a house he rents and shares with four other people. I don't even know what to do with that information in this housing market .

I tossed and turned in bed with him that night, worried I'm not good enough for him. I'm pretty, but he's a Viking god and a hero of the community, for fuck's sake. He literally hunts drug dealers for a living. He could have way more interesting women than a substitute teacher who scrapes to pay the bills with two jobs and has to join the government health care exchange if she wants a pap smear. If I enter into a relationship with him and it goes bad, will I fuck up my friendship with Lorelei?

I panicked and left him before he woke that morning. I slipped out of his warm bed, gathered my clothing, and dressed at the front door before calling an Uber to take me back to the bar so I could get my car.

I must have pissed him off or not impressed him at all. Lorelei hasn't mentioned him except to tell me that Chase saved Liam during a bust. My ovaries nearly exploded when she told me how Chase saved Liam's life in a bad situation, basically bringing Liam back from the dead. But I need to get over Chase Barnett. I may have to see him when I'm with Lorelei and Liam, but I'll deal with that then. I can't piss my whole youth away because of a guy with good dick game.

I startle, remembering Leo in front of me. Standing up straight, I bat my eyes and force a smile on my face. "Give me your number."