Leave Him Loved_Harloe Rae

Monday. Should we read a short book before you go?”
“Yes!” The collective force of the shout rings in my ears.
I grab the fan favorite stashed between my thigh and the armrest of my chair. Squeals and gasps shatter the momentary silence. With raised brows, I press a finger to my lips. I crack open the first page and hold it up for all to see. The class scoots forward in one wave of motion.
“If you give a horse a carrot, she’ll probably—Caroline! Stop poking Johnny,” I scold.
Properly chastised, the little girl folds her hands and sends me an expression fit for an angel.
Just give it thirty seconds.
“If you give a horse a carrot,” I begin again. “She’ll probably want an apple to go with it. And if you give her an apple, she will probably ask for a bucket of oats.”
All is well for approximately six pages. Then a loud rip shreds through my animated retelling. I set the book on my lap, exhaling to the count of three. Lord, please grant me patience.
“I farted.” Jimmy giggles.
The entire class erupts in a chorus of rowdy cackles.
It’s hard not to laugh, really hard, but I manage to school my expression. They’re testing me, and I can’t show an inkling of weakness. “And what do you say?”
He bites his bottom lip. “Excuse me?”
“Good job.” I glance at the clock with a sigh. This group of youngsters is a bottomless pit for knowledge, but sitting for longer than five minutes takes a Herculean effort.
Speed-reading the second half isn’t my preferred method. Time has escaped me, though. I ditch the goofy voices and extra pauses, hurrying the story along so we can finish. When I recite the telltale the end, twelve bodies rocket up off the floor and zoom toward their cubbies.
I take the opportunity to enjoy a precious moment of reflection. My first week on the job went better than I could’ve predicted. The kids are a dream, albeit more rambunctious than a litter of puppies. Our classroom is what I imagine every young teacher envisions when choosing this profession.
Rainbows made out of construction paper decorate an entire wall. An array of other vibrant craft projects adorns the other three. Glitter is permanently embedded in the carpet. Any surface I grant a cursory sweep reveals globs of glue. I wouldn’t choose to have our space any other way. This environment inspires learning, regardless of the cluttered mess.
An overly sweet hint of strawberry frosting from Carter’s birthday cupcakes still lingers. A special treat was provided each day this week, for some occasion or another. I wonder if the adults responsible laugh while choosing the highest sugar content items. Because that’s exactly what these kids need more of. Lemon zest from my diffuser puffs into the air for some added freshness. Thank goodness body odor isn’t a concern yet.
The hum of barely contained chaos pulses through the small room. The children’s tiny motors, running nonstop, are about to make the mad dash homeward bound. That level of excitement is infectious. I stride to the exit leading outside and peek through the tinted window. The parents, nothing if not prompt, already line the playground fence. I shove the door, releasing my students into the extremely well-monitored wild.
Peals of laughter explode into the early-afternoon warmth. Another cloudless sky allows the sunshine to bathe us with glorious rays. The exposed skin on my arms soaks in the vitamin D with prickling goosebumps. I greet each mom, dad, or trusted relative with a wave. Some want to chat longer than others, which I happily accommodate. Sharing snippets and witnessing their genuine enthusiasm for each morsel solidifies my decision in choosing this career.
Once the final kid is buckled in their seat and officially out of my hands, I slump against the brick wall with a groan. A dull throb attacks my temples. I rub at the strain in my nape while turning to go inside. My feet ache regardless of the comfortable sandals I wear. Every muscle in my legs screams in agony with each shuffling step. All those makeshift squats will get me ripped by summer’s end. But most noticeable, above all my ailments, is the growing smile threatening to split my face.
“Hey, girl. I could use a drink. How about you?” Bea—my wall neighbor and bubbly co-worker—hangs just over the threshold, propping the office entrance open for me.
“Desperately,” I moan.
“That bad?”
“No, just… challenging.”
She tuts and shakes her head of bouncy curls. “That’s a nice word for disastrous.”
“Challenge can be a good thing,” I defend.
Bea’s mouth curls in a manner I recognize as appeasing. “Yes, of course. Especially while working with kids. Anyhoo, have you been to the Salt Lick?”
“No, but I’ve heard of it.” The name instantly reminds me of Reeve, who I haven’t seen since my first day in town. That was almost a week ago. I can’t help wondering if he’ll be there. Would that be a deciding factor either way?
“Keep your expectations low, and we’ll be golden.”
“Hole in the wall?”
Her hand teeters back and forth. “It’s not that shabby, but there’s definitely room for improvement. Let’s just say you won’t find a line wrapping around the block to get in this joint. Bam doesn’t have many local barflies anyway. Cross your fingers that we get a spot on the patio.”
That’s probably different from the stool Reeve suggested. “Is the interior that rough?”
“Eh, it’s mostly the ripe man sweat and stale popcorn I prefer to avoid. I can eat three bowls of that salty crap before regret sets in. They don’t allow you to bring it outside, so that saves the calories for liquor.”
“I’ve probably seen, and smelled, worse. The snacks always do me in too.” My stomach gives a quiet grumble in warning—surprise, surprise.
Bea sounds her agreement. “Oh, for sure. The other two watering holes off Main Street are total dives. I’ll take you to one if desperation ever calls.”
“So long as there’s booze, I’ll be a happy camper.”
“That I can guarantee.” She gathers her belongings stashed in one of the