Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,9
concern.
“My classroom pets. This is Pinecone.” I point to the hedgehogs in question. “And this is Thistle, and Tumbleweed.”
“I don’t have any classroom pets, do I? No snake I failed to notice or some sort of rodent.” His tone is laid-back, as if nothing scares him.
“No, Zoe doesn’t have any pets. I have these three because a friend of mine was moving, and she wasn’t allowed pets in her new apartment. There was no way I could let them go to a shelter. Who knows what would’ve happened to them?”
“So you adopted them?”
“I figured they would make great classroom pets, and the kids love them.”
“You love animals, then?”
I grin. “I do. Pets are wonderful for reducing stress. That’s why dogs make great therapy animals and reading companions for kids who struggle with reading.”
“Do you have any? Dogs, I mean?”
“No. These three are the only pets I own. I’m not home enough to be a dog owner.”
“Have a busy social life, do you?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a social life. I volunteer several evenings and on the weekend at a local seniors’ residence.” The school bell rings, echoing through the building. “You should go into your classroom now. The herd will be stampeding in there any minute, and the last thing you want is to be in here when they do.”
He salutes me, and I watch him go, pretending it has nothing to do with the view.
He really does have a nice ass—I mean shoulders.
Nice shoulders.
5
Landon
The classroom silence dissolves into chair scraping and chatter, along with squeals and laughter, as pint-sized beings tumble in through the door from the hallway.
“Where’s Mrs. B?” one little girl asks, her long red hair in two pigtails. She’s wearing a purple sweat shirt with a sparkly pink elephant on the front.
“She’s on maternity leave, and I’m taking her place until she returns.” Or until Chloe is no longer in danger and the FBI has her cousin in custody—both of which I’m hoping happens long before Zoe’s maternity leave ends.
“What’s ma-tur-me-key leave?” a blond-haired boy with black-rimmed glasses asks.
“Ma-ter-ni-ty. It’s when the mother-to-be stops working for a few months, so she can take care of the baby.”
The two kids and several others stare at me with blank expressions. Another kid comes running into the room, his arms held out like he’s an airplane, and he’s making loud engine noises.
“You’re big,” Pigtails announces, looking up at me as though I’m a skyscraper. “You’re bigger than my daddy.”
“He’s bigger than a mountain,” someone else says. I don’t know which one because I’m too busy watching the kid pretending to be an airplane climb onto the table.
“Mister.”
I feel someone tug on my shirt sleeve. I look down to find a kid attached to it.
“Mister.” Tug. Tug. “He’s not supposed to be on the table, and I need to go to the bathroom.” Tug.
“Okay, take your bathroom buddy with you, but come right back once you’ve finished.”
He doesn’t wait for me to say anything else. He goes charging from the room, buddy in tow.
“What’s his name?” I ask Pigtails and point to the kid on the table.
“Trevor. Has Mrs. B had her baby yet?”
“No.” I walk to the table. “Trevor, we don’t climb on the table. Both feet on the floor, please.” I help him down.
A loud shriek rips through the air from the other side of the room. I turn to witness water spraying from the sink, soaking the two kids standing there.
“Is everything okay?” Chloe asks, her head poking through the adjoining doorway.
“Hi, Miss R,” the boy with glasses says. “Did you know that Mrs. B is on ma-tur-me-key?” He looks pretty proud of himself even though he mangled the word again.
“Yes, I did, Tommy.” Chloe walks over to the two shrieking kids and turns the water off. Neither had bothered to move out of its range of fire. Water drips from their clothes, forming a puddle on the floor.
“I’m wet,” the little girl whines.
Chloe smiles sweetly at them. “You certainly are. But I’m sure we can find something in my forgotten-clothes box for you to wear while your clothes dry.”
To me, she says, “There’s a mop around the corner. You can use it to dry the floor.” She points to the corner she’s referring to.
“All right, everyone,” she says to the class, her voice loud enough to be heard over the noise. “Time to take out your writing practice book and sit in your assigned seat. What letter did you learn to write on Friday?”