No, it can’t be. I must be hallucinating thanks to the magic brownie.
Pushing my sunglasses up my forehead, I turn slowly.
I wasn’t imagining things. It’s Alistair. He’s writing something on the whiteboard and turns around a second later. When our gazes connect, I have to lock my knees tight to avoid collapsing to the floor. My legs have turned to jelly. The scruff, the intense gaze, it’s all there, just as I remember.
Madonna Santa. Alistair is my teacher. And he now knows I’m still in high school.
I can’t move. I can barely breathe. All I’m able to do is stare at him. His lips are slightly parted as he pins me with his gaze. It’s like time has suddenly stopped. Memories of our time in Italy invade my brain, more vivid than ever. I want to do something, run into his arms, kiss him, but that’s impossible. I spent so many nights wishing he would come back into my life. But not like this. What a cruel joke.
Somebody clears his throat, snapping me out of my stupor.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I got lost,” I lie.
Without waiting for his reply, I continue my track up the steps until I reach the last row and practically collapse on the seat I had been aiming for. My neighbor fidgets next to me, but I don’t look in his direction to ask what his problem is.
“Please make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Alistair finally replies.
He returns to business as usual, going on with his lecture as if everything is fine. Maybe to him it is, but fine is the complete opposite of what I’m feeling right now. I’m a mess on steroids. Or maybe it’s just the brownie. But hell, by the end of the class, I have no fucking idea what Alistair said. I’ve missed it all.
The guy next to me taps his pencil on my desk, and I almost jump. “Shit, you scared me.”
“Sorry. I just wanted to know if you would like to pair up for next week’s assignment.”
I stare at him like a moron as if I forgot how to speak. Okay, I’m never touching a fucking brownie again.
“Sure. Only if you tell me exactly what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“Having a rough day, huh?” He smirks.
Fuck. Can he tell I’m high? My face becomes hot from embarrassment. Despite all the rumors about me, I don’t do shit like this.
“Something like that.”
He stares at me for a couple of beats without saying anything, making me hella uncomfortable. I’m tempted to put my sunglasses back on my face.
“So, the assignment?” I press.
He blinks a couple of times. “Right. It’s simple. Select three scripts of our choice and do a deep analysis.”
“Ah, that’s cool,” I say absentmindedly.
I’m still reeling from the fact that Alistair is the teacher in this semester’s elective class. I picked writer’s room thinking it’d be a fun subject. I couldn’t have foreseen my life was about to become worthy of its own screenplay.
“I’m Josh, by the way.”
“Chiara. Nice to meet you.”
He smiles, revealing small dimples on his cheeks. The pre-Alistair Chiara would have melted on the spot—dimples are my weakness—but it seems Alistair ruined all men for me.
Pulling his cell phone from his backpack, Josh asks for my number. We make plans to meet the next day to work on our assignment.
As I head toward the exit with my new partner, I avoid looking at the front of the classroom where Alistair is sitting behind his desk. I’m holding my breath as I approach the man.
Only a few more steps, Chiara.
“Miss Moretti, I’d like to have a word with you,” Alistair says, and my heart stops beating for a second, only to kick-start in the next moment with a lurch.
I should have known I wouldn’t be able to avoid talking to him. But I’m still under the effects of the damn brownie. God. What a mess.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chiara.” Josh continues toward the door.
I want to beg him to not leave me alone, but that’d be strange as hell. My stomach bottoms out when the door clicks shut and I’m suddenly alone with the man I haven’t been able to forget.
“Chiara.”
Alistair’s voice is much gentler now that we’re alone. It almost feels like a caress, and it creates havoc in my body and my mind. Taking a deep breath, I turn. My mouth is dry and my tongue is stuck there while my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.
“How can I help you, Mr. Walsh?” I force the words out.
Alistair swallows hard, but he doesn’t move from his spot.
What did you expect, Chiara?For him to sweep you off your feet? He’s your bloody teacher.
He opens and shuts his mouth several times before he finally decides on what to say. “How have you been?”
My jaw drops. Seriously? He’s asking how I am? I thought he was going to yell at me for not telling him I was a teenager. Though to be fair, we agreed to not exchange personal information.
I don’t answer for several beats until my brain is able to put words together.
