Page 136 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Not the diffuser?” I teased.
I felt her cheeks twitch through my shirt, knowing she was trying to hold back a smile. “I’ll have you know that’s a personal blend.”
The back door opened, and we separated with practiced ease, slipping easily back into professional mode with set boundaries in public.
Mostly committed. We were still a work in progress.
Cheryl strode in at a pace that said she had a specific to-do list for the day and had probably already accomplished half of it by noon. She had a sound machine in one hand, a tote bag in the other, and keys jangling.
Then she stopped. Her gaze moved from Delaney to me to the distance—or lack of—between us. Her lips twitched as she faced Delaney again, her attention sharpening with quiet satisfaction, as if she’d confirmed her theory.
“Hello, Marc,” she said pleasantly. “Nice of you to take on the role of observer today. I hear that’s something you’re really good at.”
Delaney went pink from her collarbone up. “Cheryl!”
“What?” She was already moving toward the crystal table, tote bag swinging. “I’m being welcoming.”
“You—I—” Delaney sputtered.
I meant to reassure Delaney that while I was absolutely certain what Cheryl meant, I wasn’t angry. Instead, what came out was my imperfect Desi Arnaz impersonation, “Laney, you got some ‘splaining to do.”
Throughout the week, we’d been watching reruns, trying to debunk whether or not that catchphrase had actually been uttered or if it was a collective false memory.
She snorted despite herself. “Why, Marc, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Classic denial of any wrongdoing, Laney.”
She rose on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. “She wore me down. I’m sorry. I had to tell her.”
“I’m relentless in my interrogations,” Cheryl called from across the room without looking up.
“Just let’s please keep things between us during class,” I said, aiming for stern and landing somewhere in the vicinity of resignation. “My grandmother will be here.”
Cheryl burst out laughing. Delaney shook her head and went to check the supply cabinet as though she was removing herself from the situation before it got worse.
Cheryl, having finished her setup, strolled my way. “I’ve been watching you two over the past few days.” Matter-of-fact. “You seem good for her, Kingsley, but if you do anything to hurt her …” She drew one finger slowly across her throat. “I don’t care what your last name is. They’ll never find your body.”
From the supply cabinet. “Cheryl, leave him alone. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” She raised both her hands, the picture of innocence. “I’m just making sure he knows what a good friend I am.”
“I respect your position,” I said.
She gave me a single chin nod and headed back to her setup.
I went to find Theo.
He was in the small breakroom doing what Theo did best before anything important: organizing what needed to be done and talking through his concerns to whoever was closest. Today, that was Rutherford, a beagle who lay on a doggy bed, his head on his paws, with a disinterested expression showing he was providing emotional support under duress.
“Should I put Butterball on the left or right side of the room?” Theo asked the whiteboard.
The dog barked.
“Right side,” Theo decided. “He likes the sun.”
“Theo,” I called out, keeping my voice low so I didn’t startle him.
He turned. The rueful grin he gave me was the specific one he reserved for moments when he was caught talking to the animals. “Sorry. I just want tonight to go well.”
