Lessons In Butterflies ｡ ｡ ｡ (StudentxTeacher Romance)

Chapter 27: He's Very.... Helpful.

Mr Caldwell's POV:

- After School- 

I needed a break. After school care was getting a little... complicated. 

Well, it wasn't the care itself. It was Shella. My thoughts about her weren't exactly... professional anymore, and I could feel it.

 I couldn't just be around her without my mind wandering to the wrong places—like the way she'd bite her lip when she was frustrated, her fingers fidgeting with her shirt collar. 

And those glasses, every time she'd push them up her nose, all determined and serious...

I shook my head, forcing myself to refocus. This was ridiculous. 

The whole leg thing, too—since when did a bruised knee make anyone look cute? And yet, there she was, managing to pull it off.

A cough snapped me back to reality. 

Mrs. Thompson and Trey were standing just across the room, engaged in a very animated conversation about... markers? 

And judging by her pointed glance, Mrs. Thompson had noticed my dazed look. I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool.

"Mr. Caldwell," she called, waving me over.

Great. I'd been caught. "Yes, Mrs. Thompson?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral as I walked over.

"Trey's wondering if he can take the leftover markers from craft time. He's got big plans, you know," she said with a knowing smile.

"Big plans, huh?" I raised an eyebrow, forcing myself to pay attention to Trey's eager nod. I could do this—just think about markers, not Shella's smile.

But Mrs. Thompson's smirk told me she'd picked up on something.

 I shifted my weight, trying to keep my face neutral, but the corner of her mouth quirked up even more. 

Great. She was looking at me like she knew all my thoughts—thoughts I was clearly failing to shove down.

She cleared her throat, a little too loudly. 

"Mr. Caldwell, could I get your help organizing the after-school event flyers? You know, all the kids love seeing your...artistic touch." She emphasized the last words like she was letting me in on a joke, and I nearly flinched.

"Oh, uh, sure, Mrs. Thompson," I replied, as casually as I could manage. 

I walked over, focusing hard on the stack of flyers she was waving around. 

Flyers for some fundraiser bake sale, nothing interesting, and certainly not enough to explain the heated flush that was spreading up my neck.

She set the stack down and glanced over her shoulder, one brow raised as if daring me to say something. "Taking a break from after-school care, are we?"

"Yeah, just... taking a step back. Figured the kids could use a bit of space from me." I laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. 

She nodded, though she didn't look convinced. And then I couldn't help it—my mind drifted, totally unhelpfully, back to Shella. 

To how she'd looked up at me, her cheeks flushed, her knee bruised, her lips a little too glossed...

I swallowed, mentally wrestling my thoughts back into line. This wasn't professional. But there it was, a tugging in my chest every time I saw her. 

And there'd been something so trusting about the way she'd looked up at me earlier, her fingers clinging to my sleeve as I'd cleaned her knee. I'd barely held it together.