Epilogue

"Nice job, builders."

A swarm of second graders shove the last of the straws into plastic tubs on each table and race for the line by the door. They know better than to push, but they each want to be as close to the front as possible. Kent says there's no award for being first, but they don't seem to understand.

"Next week, we're going to build bridges out of snap cubes that span from one table to another. Be thinking about how that might look," I explain as their teacher arrives at the door to retrieve them.

I have ten minutes to reset for the next group and my special helper scoots across the floor, retrieving the few rogue pieces, and swiftly returning them to their bins.

"Thank you, Brodie." I peek at him under one of the tables. He's stretched out, his entire front splayed on the tile floor, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Got it!" his raspy voice calls and he holds up a dust-covered white straw.

Today's activity, building towers. Using only simple plastic straws, groups of students collaborated to build a structure. To add a little competitiveness to the mix, I asked them to see who could build the tallest tower.

"Brodie, I'm not sure what I'd do without you." Certainly not lie on the filthy floor and retrieve them myself.

Brodie's an amazing helper. He's quiet, listens, and waits to jump in with any task. He's like one of those ball boys at tennis matches, eagerly standing by to jump into action. Mrs. Barton, Brodie's special education teacher, designed a new plan for him. I'm not exactly sure of the details, but he now earns small chunks of time with both Theo and me for staying on task. It's win-win, really.

"Well, buddy, it's almost time for you to go back." And like clockwork, Theo appears.

"Mr. Manda," Theo says with a nod.

"Mr. Berenson."

With no prompting, Brodie jets over, wraps his arms around my waist, and squeezes. Hard. I'm used to it now and breathe through the pressure.

"Come on," Theo calls and Brodie releases me from his grip and runs to take Theo's hand.

And they're off. I have seven minutes until the next class arrives, and I quickly head to the staff bathroom to scrub down.

Over the summer, in the span of two weeks, Shreya's video game went live, then viral, and one of the big gaming companies snatched it up. She quickly resigned and moved to Silicon Valley to begin her new role as a video-game mogul.

With a sudden opening for a STEM teacher, Kent suggested I consider. After the Hopscotch fiasco, I was ready for a change and, with Kent's support and conditional certification from the state, I applied and got the job. Kent assured me that the committee's decision had nothing to do with the fact that I'm sleeping with the principal. He actually recused himself, which made me more comfortable taking the job. And as a STEM teacher, I report to the district technology director, not Kent, so there's no conflict of interest.

I open the door after drying my hands, and Kent's face greets me. He looks both ways down the empty hallway and pushes me back inside the bathroom.

His lips gently press against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. The cool spearmint from the toothpaste and toothbrush he now keeps in his office greets me and I immediately grab his waist and pull him close.

"How?" I mutter into his mouth.

"I know everyone's schedules." He raises his eyebrows mischievously. "And I had an inkling you'd be washing up."

I press my lips against his, savoring the way he always knows the perfect moment for a stolen kiss.

"I should go," I whisper. My body remains frozen, captivated by the warmth and softness of his beard, making it difficult to leave the surprise moment and go back to my classroom.

"I'll see you at home?" he asks.

Over the summer, I sold my place and moved in with Kent. His place is bigger. I had less stuff to pack. It just made sense.

"Yes. I'll grab takeout."

"Say hi to Val for me," he says and with one last kiss, we head back to finish our days.

Later that evening, snuggled on the sofa, Sweetums takes up most of Kent's lap. I lean on his side and the cat's tail gently taps my thigh, making sure I know he's there. Sweetums and I have come to an understanding. He doesn't smother me, and I don't scream in horror at his existence. My cleaning crew migrated here, and they do a pretty good job of keeping the pet hair to a minimum. Kent also bought me one of those robot vacuums to assist in between visits. I came home one day to find Sweetums riding the contraption like a horse around the living room. I took a video and texted Kent and he suggested we buy Sweetums a cowboy hat. Giddyup!

"Ah, my boys," Kent murmurs, with his feet up on the coffee table. Between the cat and me, we really are blanketing him.

I snuggle in and, somehow sensing my closeness, Sweetums does the same. What a bugger.

"You know, Ruth was asking me about something today," Kent says.

"Oh lord. What now?"

"She asked if we'd talked about getting married."

The words make my chest tight. Marriage? Leave it to Ruth to complicate things.

"Married? Um, I, well, what." The words fumble out, but make little sense.

"Relax. I'm thrilled with this," he says, leaning down and kissing the top of my head. "I've been married. And honestly, I don't need it. I want you. Here with me. And I have that."

I huddle into his chest, kissing his ratty sweatshirt right where his heart beats.

"But if you wanted to get married, I'd do it," he says. "Whatever my handsome boy wants."

"I want you." My hand squeezes his. I have no desire to experience the wedding planning chaos Marvin and Olan are faced with.

"Well, you've got me." His beard rests on my head, the familiar tickle of his whiskers comforting my soul as he squeezes me. "Forever."

As we cuddle and kiss, I can't help but smile at the way Sweetums adjusts underneath us. As he shifts his enormous furry body, I realize how many people are eager to accommodate me. It only took me allowing them in. Being here with Kent, and yes, even the cat, safe and cozy, I've found my true home—extra napkins included.