“Miss Hall.”
My eyes snap up to meet his, as my cheeks blush. Again.
I’d been trying to see what was in the bag, but it probably looked like I was staring at his junk.
“Yes?” I croak out.
“Come here,” his eyes hold mine as he waits a beat, “please.”
A shudder rolls through my body.
Beckett Stoleman commanding me around? Yes, fucking please.
“Coming!” I call out, and I swear I hear Rebecca choke on a laugh.
I pick my way through the seated kids, praying that my face doesn’t look like a tomato by the time I reach Beckett’s side.
“Thank you for volunteering,” Beckett jokes, making some of the parents laugh.
Gathering my courage, I step up beside him and give him my best smile. “Happy to help.”
“I had a feeling,” he smirks.
A heavy arm drapes over my shoulders and I force myself to stay still, rather than lean into his side.
“Miss Hall is gonna help me show you how to properly treat a laceration.” When the kids continue to stare, he clarifies, “A cut.” Using his grip on my shoulder, he turns me towards him. “Would you please pull up the sleeve of your sweatshirt?”
He lets go of me, then taps my right forearm.
“Oh, um, okay.” I stammer, at a loss for something better to say.
The sun came out earlier, warming up the day, so I took off my jacket a while ago.
A moment later I have both layers of shirt sleeves scrunched up around my elbow.
“Perfect.”
Beckett leans down to his pack and one of the younger boys lets out a scream. “He’s going to cut her!” And I recognize him as one of the kids that witnessed Beckett using the knife on the pencil.
I might not know Beckett well, but I’m quite certain he’s not going to slice my arm open.
Beckett holds up a purple marker in his hand, “I promise I’m not going to hurt your Miss Hall.” He holds his other hand out to me. “Trust me.”
I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement, but I answer as I place my palm in his. “I do.”
It’s a simple thing. And easy admission. But something about this moment feels big. Bigger than a first aid demonstration.
It feels like… a new chapter.