Cole took a step away from the older woman and motioned for Charlotte to follow him. “We’ll see ya later, Joni.”
Charlotte fell into step beside him, doing her best to stifle a giggle of her own. “Was she . . .”
“Don’t say a word.”
She snapped her jaw shut. Why she found it amusing that school secretary Joni was flirting with much younger, much less friendly Cole, she didn’t know. Maybe it was the way it made him squirm.
Clearly, he did not appreciate being the center of attention.
Toward the end of the hall, he stopped outside an open door. “This is my room.”
She looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring into the large classroom. “Can I go in?”
He nodded.
The classroom was sparsely decorated—plain, she’d call it, with a big whiteboard at the front, football plaques and photos plastered to the wall in a row near the ceiling that went all the way around.
“You’ve been coaching for a while, then?”
“Some of these I inherited,” he said.
“State champions?” She stood in front of the fanciest-looking of all the plaques.
“That one’s mine.”
“That’s what they were talking about at the meeting the other night,” she said. “You must be good at your job.”
Not surprisingly, he didn’t respond.
“And you teach history?” She could tell by the other artwork that lined the classroom walls that this was a place to learn where the country came from—images of presidents and a replica of the Declaration of Independence.
He nodded.
“For some reason I thought you were just a coach,” she said.
“Most coaches also teach,” he told her. “Some teachers also coach.”
“What do you like better—coaching or teaching?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, and for the first time she noticed he still wore a whistle around his neck. “Well, most people see me as a coach.”
She frowned. He’d avoided her question. But since he’d stopped being cranky, she decided to let it slide.
A woman poked her head in the door. “I thought I saw you come in here.”
Cole gave her a nod, and Charlotte noticed he wasn’t any friendlier to this woman than he was to anyone else. It gave her hope that it wasn’t Charlotte he despised, though she wasn’t sure that should be comforting. Wasn’t despising people in general worse than simply not liking her?
She shook the thought away. Trying to figure this guy out was pointless.
“Hi,” the woman said, looking at Charlotte.
“Oh, sorry,” Cole said. “Rachel Kent, this is Charlotte Page. Rachel’s the art teacher.”
Charlotte smiled. “Nice to meet you.”
“Charlotte Page?” Rachel eyed her. “The dancer?”
Charlotte felt her face flush. “Yes.”
“I heard you’re helping plan Julianna’s recital.”
“I am,” she said. “Do you want to be a part of it?”
Rachel waved her off. “Oh, my sister is the dancer in our family. I mostly stay behind the scenes.”
Charlotte smiled. “I’m working on a few tribute numbers—for Jules. Tried to twist Cole’s arm, but—”
“You should do it,” Rachel said. “Think of what a kick Julianna would’ve gotten out of that.” Her smile was so genuine, and Cole’s was its exact opposite.
“Pass,” he said.
“Do you want a tour of the theatre?” Rachel asked. “I mean, I could open it up for you.”
“You’re—”
“Silas Kent’s daughter. He’s the owner.”
Charlotte glanced at Cole. It wasn’t likely he wanted to spend any more time with her than absolutely necessary. To her surprise, he gave her an affirmative shrug. “Do you want to check it out before we head out to Haven House?”
“It’s part of a campground, right?” Charlotte asked.
“Sort of a resort?” There was a question in her voice. “I never knew exactly how to describe Wonderland.”
“Wonderland?”
“That’s what it’s called. You’ll have to see it to understand, but you’ll also have to use your imagination because, unfortunately, my dad’s really let it go.”
“I’d love a tour,” Charlotte said. “It’ll be good for me to get my bearings.”
The other woman beamed. “Great! I’ll meet you over there, but give me a head start to give my dad fair warning.”
Cole nodded. “Will do.”
Rachel left, and Cole met Charlotte’s eyes. “Ready?”
She realized she was about to get into Cole’s truck and drive just outside of town with him. Alone. And then out to Haven House. Alone. It felt different than going on a sandwich run.
Maybe it felt different because she was horribly aware of him, of the way he moved—a cool, confident stride—of the way people responded to him, of the way he hardly seemed to notice. He was deliciously masculine in all the best ways, and though Charlotte wanted nothing