Page 142 of The Path to Loving Him
“That’s what I’m trying to do.” I sip my water. “I’m still getting my footing with this whole teaching thing. I worked hard to get here, and now that I’m here, I feel like I might be trying too hard. I want the kids to like me, which I know they do, but I also don’t want to be their friend because that’s not what I am. But then I can see myself in a few students, and all I want to do is scoop them up and take them under my wing.”
Christian’s expression morphs into one of understanding. “I get it. I had the same issue when I first started teaching. Do you know what I ended up doing?”
“What?” I ask, appreciating his advice on this.
“I learned to let them come to me. As much as you want to help, reach out, and be there for the kids, you need to realize that you can’t force them. They’re just going to resent you, so have the door open for them to walk through, but don’t pull them through.”
“That’s really good advice, Christian.”
He smiles, perking up. “And there’s my compliment.”
“See. Doesn’t it feel better that you earned it?”
“It really does,” he says with a smirk.
“Okay, don’t think I’m weird or anything,” Christian says as he sits at my desk, pulling up a chairwithoutasking. “But I made cupcakes last night, and I brought you one.”
“You made cupcakes last night? You don’t seem like the kind of guy who just makes cupcakes randomly.”
“I’m not, but my nephew came over, and his mom dropped off cupcake mix and icing and told us to have fun.”
“That was kind of her,” I say, a sarcastic lilt in my voice.
“Tell me about it. It was a mess, and the biggest challenge was to tell my five-year-old nephew that the batter goes in the tins, not in his mouth.”
“Ooof, did he eat a lot?”
“More than I care to admit, but we made them without eggs. We used applesauce instead, so if anything, he overloaded on sugar, and I just sent him back to his house.”
“So really, she was the one hurting in the end.”
“I don’t know,” he says as he pulls out the cupcakes and pats his stomach. “His mom wouldn’t take any home besides the oneshe touched. Therefore, I have a whole bunch, and I’m going to go into a sugar coma if you don’t help me eat them.”
I eye the cupcakes through the Tupperware. “Is that Funfetti?”
“Is there really any other box cake mix that’s worth our time?”
“There isn’t.” I smile. “And just to be cautious, your nephew didn’t handle these cupcakes?”
He shakes his head. “He had his own muffin tin for that specific reason. No one wants tainted, clammy-hand cupcakes.”
“Clammy hands.” I shiver.
“This kid, I swear to God, the clammiest hands you’ll ever touch. I asked my sister if it’s some sort of glandular issue because holding his hand is slippery and wet like holding the fin of a dolphin.”
“Oh God.” I grimace.
“And guess who’s an extreme hand holder?” Christian chuckles. “When he leaves, I spend a solid thirty minutes soaking my hands in scalding water with soap. And I love him, I love him a lot, but God, he needs to air out his hands from time to time.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I don’t do well with that stuff.”
“Neither do I.” He pops open the cupcake lid, and I take one. “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
“No, I’m the oldest, and my brother, Bennett, is currently pursuing his dreams, so he doesn’t have time to think about a family.”
“Bennett?” he says with a question in his voice. “Wait, is your brother Bennett Brinkman?”
“He is. Was he a student of yours?”
