THIN ICE |BOOK I |BWWM|

•ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1•

▪️Five Years Later▪️

•SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA•

Julia's POV

"Ms. Rivers! I can't find my umbrella!" a high-pitched youthful voice cried from across the elementary school classroom.

"Did you check your cubby Liliana?" I hurriedly fumbled over the last button on one of my student's pea-coat and tossed a glance to Liliana who was ripping all the contents out of her book bag.

The young boy in front of me stood patiently as I undid a crossed button and paired it with its matching loop.

"I can't find it! My mom just bought it for me!" she stomped her feet and crossed her arms.

We peeked in the girl's book bag. "We'll find it, sweetheart. C'mon, calm down."

I held Liliana's chin gently before strolling over to the student's cubbies only to come up short.

"Liliana Penning to the car lane," the classroom intercom announced as I searched around the last table.

We threw the scattered items back into her book bag and I grabbed a sticky note from my desk.

"Here, honey, give this to your mother. We'll try to find it when you come back, okay?"

Liliana's hand clasped around mine as we walked to the door, the little girl still tirelessly scanning before walking out defeated.

As I reached for the doorknob one last little boy buzzed past me and out of the room.

"Bye Ms. Rivers!" he yelled, his Captain America bookbag bouncing on his back.

"Bye, sweety." I chuckled and closed the door.

Slowly, pieces of residual green and yellow construction paper disappeared from my floor, and I made my way to the leather desk chair.

A deep sigh escaped my slightly chapped parted lips, and my eyes slid closed. Another week down—sixteen to go. My limbs had just gotten comfortable—almost asleep—when there was a brisk knock on the door. My eyes shot open as I heard the bottom of the door brush against the carpet.

"-yeah. I wish they had pizza more." A small familiar voice explained.

"Any kind of pizza? Even with pineapple?" An older voice, belonging to Jacob Wimble, asked.

"Ew. Mr. Wimble. Pineapple does not go with pizza."

I pushed myself away from the desk to see one of my friends and my son, Nicolai, coming through the door, too engaged in their conversation to acknowledge me.

"What are you two talking about?" I asked, leaning on a nearby shelf.

Jacob chuckled, "The new lunch menus."

"Ah." I nodded.

"Mommy, can we have pizza tonight?" Nicolai leaned his body against my aching legs and rested his chin on my knees.

"No, Polpetta. That's the fifth night in a row," I explained while holding myself up with one hand and stroking his loose curls with the other.

Nicky has never been lacking in the hair department, and I used to keep it short. It was just more convenient. When he started school his face seemed to go through a metamorphosis, and his short haircut made him a spitting image of his father.

My hands coursed through his hair once more. I'd sacrifice convenience to have my son not look like that man any day.

"Nonno Stef lets me have it." He protested, squeezing my legs.