Meet Me After Class

Chapter 11: Just Choosing to Do the Right Thing

Saturday rolled around in Pinecrest, and hallelujah, I was ready for it. Woke up late, head pounding like a drum solo at a metal concert. By the time I dragged myself out of bed and decided to grace work with my presence, it was basically brunch time.

Adam blew up my phone with two missed calls. He would never really call you twice unless it's important, or he needed to speak to you a.s.a.p. Debated calling him back but ditched the idea. I was en route to Brown's anyway.

As I cruised my bike into our little town hub, a grin slipped onto my face. The Crest Town Center was lowkey more special to me than I'd admit. It was like a tight-knit crew – everyone who worked or owned a spot there was practically family.

Back in the day, Dad used to drag me to Cup and Saucer. While he was slaving away in the kitchen, I was off doing my own thing – checking out the random shops where all the owners knew Dad, hitting up the candy stores that became my post-dentist treat spots, and not forgetting Brews Café, now a chill spot for both tourists and locals.

Then, when I landed a job at Brown's, Crest Town Center basically became my second home. That gazebo in the middle? That was my reading nook, where I devoured book after book.

Rolling up to the bike rack by Brown's, I'm already counting down the minutes until my shift is over. I was tired from lack of sleep and overthinking. Megan's little bet with her friends got me all twisted up this week, and I'm still stuck on whether I tell Mr. Scott or just zip it and hope the bet crashes and burns.

But why does it bug me so much? I could easily brush it off and not give a damn. It's not like it's my job to play guardian for our sub and shield him from admirers or Megan's drama.

"Ms. Greene."

My heart raced into turbo mode, and my bike practically tripped me up when I heard that familiar voice calling my name. I slammed on the brakes, and there, chilling on the Brews Cafe patio, was Mr. Scott himself, book in hand and some tea in front of him.

I threw him a half-awkward, half-beauty-pageant-wave as I blurted out, "Hey, Mr. Scott."

Before he could say anything, I scrambled on my bike, crossed the street, and practically sprinted to the rack. My heart was doing a marathon, and sweat was turning my face into a waterfall.

Smooth moves, Wendy.

I locked up the bike and hauled butt to Brown's, questioning my life choices. "Hey, Mr. Scott?" Ugh, seriously? What was that? I mentally facepalmed.

Adam, behind the counter, didn't waste a beat as I walked in. "Look who decided to show up." Of course, the shop was as empty as my luck, so his comment ground my gears instantly.

I joined him, mustering, "Wasn't feeling great this morning." Technically true, lack of sleep had me feeling like a zombie. "So, how many eager book buyers graced us with their presence today? One? Two?"

He shot me a glare, doing the wounded drama. "Ouch! Three, actually. The third one? Mr. Pretty Boy."

"Mr. Pretty Boy?" I kind of knew who he meant, but playing clueless was my move. Adam knew that, flashing me the "I know you know" look.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Come on, Wendy. You know who I'm talking about." He smirked, like he had the scoop.

"Mr. Scott? Seriously?" I couldn't help but tease, pretending I was clueless.

"Well, he strolled in and asked for James Garner's Politically Correct Bedtime Stories." Adam said, and I was left wondering why Mr. Scott had dived into politically correct fairytales.