This is ridiculous.

In Boston, I’m a lesbian. In Hollywood, I’m an actress. I’m married in 3 countries. I’m a confident and graceful assassin in Zaire. In Thailand, I’m a prostitute well-versed in the arts of giving and receiving pleasure.

But in Alaska, under the warmth of Matt Cooper’s brown eyes, I melt like snow. I blush and stammer a response. All he did was ask about my weekend.

He walks from my left, where the hallway lies, to my right, where the staircase begins. In between, he is three inches from me. I smell Aqua Di Gio in his wake. As if I’m not melting already.

At the top of the stairs, he looks back at me, transfixed in the same place since he said “Hello”. He smiles tenderly and says, “See you later.”

“Sounds good,” I manage. Smile, idiot!

He goes on to his sixth-grade classroom and, without his eyes to hold me in place, I move to the left, down the hallway to my fifth-grade classroom. I’m still blushing, my heart is racing, but I feel giddy and unburdened by gravity.