Enemies Abroad Page 21

  “What about you?”

  “Sort of. Actually…not at all.” She laughs. “I’ll probably toss everything into my suitcase in the morning and cross my fingers that it fits.”

  I try not to look absolutely horrified.

  “The end of the trip just kind of snuck up on me. The last few days have been a blur, haven’t they?”

  I nod. “Are things with you and Lorenzo…”

  I haven’t heard much about their relationship and I haven’t really seen them together, but admittedly I’ve been a little distracted by Noah. Things could be heating up between them and I just didn’t realize it.

  She shrugs. “Eh, it’s casual. He’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but we’re just friends. Like we haven’t even kissed or anything. He asked me to stay on after the program ends, which I thought was sweet. Something about camping with motorcycles?”

  Better her than me.

  “I can’t, of course. I have to help Ashley get the kids back to New York.”

  “You could always fly back after. Do you have the time before school starts up again?”

  She makes a face like the idea doesn’t sound all that compelling. “Sure. I could. But there’s a guy back home, actually…a friend who’s been texting me since I’ve been over here. He wants to take me out when I get back to the city.”

  She’s grinning like a fool now. It’s obvious where her heart lies.

  “Oh! You really like him!”

  “Don’t! Don’t make me nervous. I’m already overthinking everything. He and I have been friends for a while. Ashley knows him. In fact, I met him through her fiancé. They’re friends too.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  She takes a sip of her sparkling soda and nods. “And you and Noah?”

  I look out at the river and the setting sun. Rome is a swirling mess of pinks and oranges. The clouds look like cotton candy.

  She bumps her hip against mine. “Is it love, do you think?”

  The word makes me practically choke.

  “Love?”

  Sheesh.

  “It’s not crazy to imagine,” she says, sounding defensive. “I’ve seen you two. God, it’s like you guys have this magnetic connection. Even when we first arrived, it was undeniable. All that tension between you when you thought you hated each other…” She shivers. “It was intense to say the least.”

  “We’re taking it slow,” I assure her.

  Which is actually a bald-faced lie.

  Noah and I are careening down a racetrack at breakneck speeds. We’ve slept together every night this week. When we’re not with the kids, we’re holed up in one of our rooms in various states of undress. I miss him when we’re not together. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?

  I can’t get enough of him and he seems to feel the same. At moments like this, when we’re with the whole group, it’s hard to play it cool.

  He’s so handsome tonight, so distracting on the other side of the boat where he’s talking to some of the Lindale boys. He’s dressed up too. Navy slacks and a white shirt, brown belt and coordinating shoes. If not for the kids surrounding him, it’d look like he was on a movie set.

  Just a few minutes ago, I went down to use the bathroom below deck and he came after me.

  I stepped into the small room and he slipped through the door behind me after confirming the coast was clear.

  We were only in there alone for a second, just long enough to share a kiss pressed up against the sink counter. His fingers laced through mine. The faint scent of his body wash still clings to my skin.

  Is it love?

  Of course it is.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Noah and I are on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, flying home. Everything is an exact replica of the flight we took to get to Italy three weeks ago. I’m in the window seat, Noah’s by the aisle. He’s reading that book by the French economist and I’m finishing up Where the Red Fern Grows. I’ve looked over my shoulder and counted the kids’ heads a dozen times. I’ve checked that no one is near the emergency exit door. I’ve told the flight attendants to skip the peanuts after I heard Zach double-dog-dare Isaiah to see if he could shove four up his nose. I’m a tight end two yards from the end zone; I’m not dropping the ball now. I’m going to deliver these nine kids back to their parents in one piece, I’m going to get my bonus money, and I’m going to celebrate with a long bath, a glass of wine, and something greasy delivered right to my front door.

  “Want to stay at my place tonight?” Noah asks, turning the page on his book.

  Okay the bath might have to wait…

  He asks this question like it’s oh so simple, but the truth is, it’s a big deal. Our relationship is days old and we’re trying to pack it up and ship it to a new continent. Things will change. There’s no way around it. He won’t be sleeping across the hall from me anymore. We won’t have 24/7 access to each other. I sort of expected that after spending every day together for the last three weeks, Noah might need a little space from me, some time to unwind and regroup. Apparently not.

  The answer to his question is obviously, a thousand times yes. I would love to spend the night at his place, in his bed (we’ve never been in a proper-sized bed!), but I can’t resist the urge to toy with him a little.

  “Hmm…I don’t know. What would we do?”

  He glances up from his book and responds flatly, “I thought you could organize my sock drawer.”

  “You’re kidding, but that’d be really fun for me.”

  He shakes his head in admonishment. “I’m going to get you an appropriate hobby.”

  People still have hobbies? No way. The closest thing I have to a hobby is once a month, I do a deep dive into tiny house culture and convince myself I could live that way. I research tricked-out Winnebagos and daydream about Tetris-ing all of my earthly possessions into 125 square feet. Then I remember my current closet is like a pressure cooker but for shoes, and I let the dream slip away.

  “Okay sure. Sleepover,” I say. “But let me go home first and shower and unpack. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I have all these dirty clothes in my hamper.”

  He nods, turning back to his book. “Sounds good. I’ll make us dinner.”

  Noah rents a small white bungalow just a few blocks away from Lindale Middle School in a neighborhood filled with picket fences and golden retrievers and roving bicycle gangs. His Jeep is parked in the driveway, and later that evening, I pull up right behind it and kill my engine.

  It’s odd. I pictured hell a certain way—a lot of black and red, fire and brimstone—but this is positively delightful.

  Noah has flowers planted in his front beds. His mailbox is painted a happy pale blue that coordinates with his front door. It’s entirely too cheerful.

  Maybe I sit in the driveway too long or maybe Noah was anxiously awaiting my arrival because the front door opens and here he comes, walking right up to my car and tapping on the glass with his pointer finger.

  “Planning to sit out here all night?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled through the door.

  I roll down my window. “For a little while longer, I think. I haven’t worked up the courage to go in.” I point. “Did you plant those flowers?”

  “Yeah. From seeds. My neighbor was watering them for me while I was in Rome.”

  I picture Noah on his hands and knees, carefully sprinkling wildflower seeds into freshly tilled soil, and it almost makes me want to cry.

  Sensing that I might need a little encouragement, Noah opens my door and takes my hand, gently tugging me out of the car. Up we go, along the front walk, him behind me, prodding me along like a captive hostage. Noah waves at a neighbor. Nothing to see here, Bob. Keep pruning your azaleas.

  At the front door, I peer inside warily.

  Noah laughs and thrusts us both through.

  “I thought the only time I’d step foot in your house was in the event of a kidnapping situation.”

  “Charming. Can I get your bag?” />
  “Oh sure. Yeah. I packed light.”

  He takes it from me and immediately his arm sags with its unexpected weight.

  “Light?”

  “Yeah, well…I tossed in a sweatshirt last minute in case you keep your thermostat at a glacial temp, and I did pack my house slippers too because I wasn’t sure what kind of floor I’d be working with. Hardwood—nice. Pine? Or oak?”

  He doesn’t reply. He’s too busy inspecting the other stuff sticking out of the top of my bag, curious about what other odds and ends I deemed important enough to bring along with me.

  “Oh, that’s a board game, Sequence. It’s fun. And yeah, I put my blender in there too in case we needed to…blend things.”

  “I have a blender.”

  The thought never even occurred to me.

  Noah sets my bag down near the door and looks over at me. His expression is gentle and loving. He walks over and wraps his hand around the back of my neck, gathering me up and tugging me close so he can press a kiss to my cheek. I close my eyes and inhale him.

  “Do you want a tour?” he asks quietly, keeping me near. “Or do you want to come into the kitchen with me and help me finish dinner?”

  “Dinner, please. I’m starved.”

  He takes my hand and wraps it up in his then down the hallway we go, toward a messy little kitchen where it looks like he’s pulled out every ingredient in his possession to prepare dinner.

  “I’m making us grilled salmon and twice-baked potatoes.”

  “My mom has a good recipe for twice-baked potatoes.”

  “Well we’ll have to meet and compare notes.”

  “Do you want me to start clearing the dishes and tidying up while you finish?” I’m already moving toward the sink, where a cutting board is stacked alongside plates and knives and measuring cups. I’m a magnet for messes.

  “You don’t have to—” he starts to say, but I’m already soaping up a scrub brush. It’s my pleasure, and he knows it.

  By the time we’re sitting down at his table to eat, the kitchen is spick and span. The sink is empty. The countertops are sparkling. A candle I found in a cabinet is lit on the island. My anxiety is back to zero.

  “I like cooking,” he tells me as we cut into our salmon.

  “I don’t. I order in or make a salad most nights. But I’m happy to clean up.”

  He nods, like it’s settled.

  We’ll make a good team.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Noah and I play Wealthy Retirees for a few weeks in between returning from Rome and the start of the school year. We have no bedtime and no alarms set. We take long walks to get coffee in the mornings. We make a sourdough starter from scratch. We binge-watch Netflix and stay in our pajamas all day. We fall into a routine, and in that routine, our love grows like a little sapling.

  The first night I stay at Noah’s, we don’t sleep a wink. We put his king-sized bed to good use. The next day, when I try to leave, he suggests I stay just one more night. We’d been talking about trying to recreate one of our favorite pasta dishes from Italy anyway. It didn’t make sense for me to go home.

  Since then, I’ve been back to my apartment only a handful of times.

  Noah suggests casually that I let my lease go in a few months when it’s time to renew, and that’s that.

  But, there’s no getting around a tough task we have ahead of us. Now that school’s starting in a week and we’re due at Lindale for teacher in-service in the morning, Noah and I need to have a meeting with Principal O’Malley to update him about our relationship status.

  We’ve reviewed Lindale’s HR policies and think we have most of our bases covered. When discussing our relationship, we’re going to keep things vague and leave out any extraneous details that could land us in hot water. Over Thai takeout the night before, we work through every possible scenario.

  What if Principal O’Malley’s upset that our relationship started while we were on the school trip?

  We’ll appeal to his emotional side. What couple wouldn’t fall for each other in the Eternal City?

  What if he says we can’t stay in our classrooms side by side anymore?

  We’ll chain ourselves to the chalkboards.

  What if he threatens us with our jobs?

  We’ll fight tooth and nail. We’ll never give up.

  To the meeting on Monday, Noah brings Principal O’Malley some Italian roasted coffee beans, and I bring some of the chocolates I got at the farmer’s market in Rome. Noah didn’t like that, of course.

  “Can’t we save those for ourselves and just buy him a Hershey’s bar on the way?”

  “No. We need to butter him up. Haven’t you heard of bribery?”

  When Principal O’Malley opens his door and ushers us inside, we immediately bestow the gifts and then I start in with our pre-approved compliments.

  “Principal O’Malley! We’ve missed you! Have you been working out this summer?”

  “Oh, a little here and there, I suppose. Bought one of those fancy watches that counts my steps.”

  “I can really tell, and wow, that suit looks custom. Did you get it at Armani?”

  “Kohl’s, off the rack,” he boasts.

  Here’s where I start to go off script.

  “Well the cut is just perfect on you. And navy? That’s definitely your color.”

  Noah clears his throat, a clear sign to tone it down a bit.

  But Principal O’Malley is eating it up. I’ve never seen him smile so wide.

  “Take a seat, take a seat. I can’t say I’m surprised the two of you wanted to have this meeting. Rome must have been difficult, to say the least. So what is it this time? Who thinks who should be fired? Moved to the other side of the school? Docked pay?”

  I laugh like he’s being utterly preposterous, when in reality, a few weeks ago I would have loved if Noah’s paycheck shrank to half its usual size. In fact, some dormant sliver of hatred for Noah salivates at the idea of him being relegated to the dingy hallway next to the loading dock where they keep the spare trashcans and cleaning chemicals.

  But alas, I love him now.

  When I look at Noah, it’s like he knows my brain has swerved wildly off topic. His unimpressed expression says, Really? Can you just get on with it?

  Right. We agreed the news would sound better coming from me. I can put a sweet feminine spin on it. Bat my eyelashes if necessary.

  “We actually have some very fun news to report,” I tell Principal O’Malley, presenting it as something upbeat and positive. “After careful consideration and thought, Noah and I have entered into a mutually agreed-upon romantic relationship.”

  Either time slows to a crawl or Principal O’Malley really just sits there, frozen, for an awkwardly long amount of time. Eventually, he blinks and tilts his head closer, leading with an ear as if he wants to be perfectly clear on what I just said.

  “Come again?”

  His smile from earlier is nowhere to be found.

  Oh god. This isn’t going how I thought it would. Are we really going to have to chain ourselves to our chalkboards? I don’t think I have it in me!

  Noah puts his hand on my arm protectively and takes over. “Principal O’Malley, Audrey and I are in a relationship. It’s new, and we obviously wanted to come to you and disclose it with HR right away. We want to do the proper thing.”

  Principal O’Malley squeezes his eyes closed like he’s in pain, balls his hand into a tight fist, and bangs it down on his desk. “Dammit!”

  What?!

  Noah and I lean back and exchange a worried glance.

  “I should have listened to Vice Principal Trammell.” He stands and hustles to the door. When he opens it, he leans halfway out. “Liz, get in here, will you? And bring the pot!”

  At this point, I have no idea what’s going on.

  When he returns to his desk, he looks back and forth between us again, more assessing now than before. “Okay, here’s the thing. I’m about to be out twenty
bucks, so are you guys sure sure about this? You don’t want to maybe think it over a little more? Hey, Noah, remember how much Audrey used to annoy you? I mean, woof. Am I right?”

  I hold up my hands in defense. “All right, that’s… I didn’t annoy him per se.”

  “And Audrey, Noah can be difficult, to put it mildly. Stubborn. Actually, hey!” His eyes light up with an idea. “Have you seen the new basketball coach we hired over the summer? Real handsome guy. I can introduce you.”

  Wait…so now Principal O’Malley is trying to pimp me out? Where did this take a wrong turn?

  There’s a low thunk behind us and we turn to see Liz, Principal O’Malley’s secretary, struggling to get an oversized plastic cheese ball barrel through the doorway.

  “Turn it a little to the right, Liz. No, my right.”

  She eventually squeezes her way inside and drops the barrel onto the corner of Principal O’Malley’s desk. The cheese balls have been replaced with wrinkled twenty-dollar bills, and on the side of the plastic, scribbled in Sharpie, are the names of all our colleagues divided into two columns, headed by either Love or Hate.

  Without having to scoot closer, I can already tell one side is heavily favored. In fact, it looks like they ran out of room for bettors. Names gradually get smaller and smaller until they’re no longer legible under the Hate column.

  “As you can see, you two were the subject of debate here before summer break let out. We all got to talking in the teachers’ lounge, wondering how the trip was going to go for you, and when you really get down to it, there were only two plausible outcomes: you two were either going to duel it out and come home in body bags, or you were going to…” He wags his finger between us. “Do this.”

  “Date,” Noah reminds him.

  He purses his lips. “Right.” Then he looks over at Liz. “What’d the pot get up to? $700?”

  She consults her notes. “$820.”

  I frown, but not because I’m disappointed in my colleagues for making me the subject of a bet (that’s hilarious). I’m just confused on why there were so few willing to put their twenty dollars down on the less likely outcome (Love) on the off chance it would pay big. Something isn’t adding up, and when I ask Principal O’Malley, he nods as if this isn’t the first time he’s thought of that.