Teach Me Tonight: Chapter One

 When Lena walks into her favorite café on a quiet Saturday morning, the last thing she expects is to run into the man she used to know only as Coach Walker—the single dad whose kitchen table she once turned into a tutoring station.

Ten years later, he’s older, broader, and still just as off-limits. But one chance encounter and a forgotten notebook might be all it takes to remind them both that some lessons aren’t learned in the classroom.

What starts as a reunion might just turn into a crash course in temptation.

Chapter 1

Lena

The Reunion

Saturday’s are my favorite.

I tell myself I’m stopping in for the caffeine, but really, it’s the quiet that keeps me coming back.

The bookstore café sits at the corner of Main and Maple, tucked between a boutique that’s never open on time and a flower shop that always smells like sugar cookies. It’s the kind of place no one rushes through. A soft hum of jazz filters through the speakers, and the old floorboards creak like they’re in on every secret shared here.

I slide into my usual corner seat with a latte that’s already too cold and a grading folder I’ll probably ignore. The week’s been long, parent conferences, lesson plans, one too many ‘my dog ate the homework’ excuses. Teaching high school English means juggling chaos with charm, and lately, my charm’s been running on fumes.

I flip open the folder anyway. Red pen in hand, I make it through two essays before giving up and letting the page blur. The couple at the counter laughs softly; someone drops a spoon. Normal sounds. Easy ones.

This is my reset button—thirty minutes of pretending I’m not tired, not single, not the woman who’s been asked one too many times if she’s ever thought about ‘putting herself out there again.’

My phone buzzes with a text from a coworker: Wine night still on?

I smile and type back, Maybe. If I survive caffeine withdrawal.

When I look up again, the café’s gotten busier, a low hum threading through the shelves of used paperbacks and glass display cases. Dust motes float like snow in the warm light. For a second, everything feels suspended, calm, safe, unremarkable.

The smell of espresso and old books might be my favorite combination on earth. Some places are supposed to stay untouched by the past.

Fridays are for caffeine, not curveballs.

I stop in every week—part habit, part therapy—and I’ve never once run into someone I know.

Until now.  At least, until a voice I haven’t heard in almost a decade says my name. And my heart forgets the rules.

“Lena?”

The sound of my name freezes me mid–sugar pour. It’s deeper than I remember, rougher, like it’s been sanded down over time.

I turn, and there he is.

Evan Walker.

Same gray unreadable eyes. Same jawline that used to flex whenever his daughter rolled her eyes at me. But he’s older now, more worn in, like he traded clean-shaven coach vibes for scruff and a work shirt that fits way too well.

“Wow,” I manage. “Hey. Hi.”

He smiles, slow and amused. “Didn’t think that was you for a second. Guess you finally stopped hiding behind those glasses.”

I laugh, adjusting the strap of my bag. “Guess your memory’s better than mine. I didn’t think you’d remember me at all.”

“Are you kidding? You practically lived at my kitchen table for a year. I still can’t look at geometry without thinking of you.”

“Poor you.”

“Poor me,” he agrees, eyes dropping for just a second before flicking back up. There’s a pause there long enough to feel it.

I clear my throat. “How’s Mia? She must be what? Twenty-one now?”

“Graduated last spring,” he says, a little pride sneaking into his grin. “Full scholarship. I owe you for that.”

“Hardly. She did the work.”

He shakes his head. “She did the work because you made her believe she could. That mattered to me.”

For a second, it’s like the years fold in on themselves. The kitchen table, the laughter, the late-night coffee refills. And him, leaning against the counter while pretending not to listen.

“Sounds like you’ve done a good job too,” I say, trying to sound casual.

He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave mine. “Maybe. But I’m realizing I should’ve asked for your number back then. Would’ve made keeping in touch easier.”

The way he says it isn’t teasing, not really. It lands heavy, sitting somewhere between flirty and sincere.

I blink. “You mean that in a friendly way, right?”

He tilts his head, a ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Sure. Friendly.”

My pulse jumps. “You always this smooth now, or is this just a coffee thing?”

I lift the cup already in my hand, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Already have one.”

He tips his head, eyes glinting. “Then maybe I’ll owe you a real drink sometime.”

“That so?” I ask, pretending I’m not intrigued.

He steps a little closer, voice dropping just enough to make my pulse trip. “Yeah. Something stronger than caffeine.”

I should say no. I should pretend I’m late for something. Instead, I nod.

“Maybe,” I say. “If you’re lucky.”

His grin turns slow and deliberate. “Trust me, Lena. I make my own luck.”

He glances toward the counter, but I can already feel the pull of the exit. I gather my folder and slide out of the booth, pretending the sudden rush of energy is caffeine, and not him

Our shoulders brush as I move past him to leave, light, accidental, and not accidental at all.

I don’t look back, but I’m already smiling into my coffee. Maybe I’ll take him up on that drink after all.

---

By the time I step outside, the air’s cooler than I expected, a thin bite sneaking under my jacket. The street hums with low traffic and faint music from somewhere down the block. I take a sip of my coffee, mostly for something to do, and feel that ridiculous flutter in my chest all over again.

What the hell just happened in there?

It’s been years since anyone managed to catch me that off guard. And Evan Walker of all people? The man who used to leave sticky notes on the counter reminding his daughter to ‘study before TikTok’?

I laugh under my breath and shake my head, trying to walk it off. Except the more I replay it, the warmer my face feels.

When I reach my car, I drop my coffee into the cup holder and set my folder on the passenger seat. My phone buzzes before I can even start the engine, Evelyn, one of the other English teachers.

“Hey, you alive?” she says the second I answer. “Principal sent another all-staff email about lesson plan deadlines.”

I groan, leaning back against the headrest. “Tell him to take it up with the caffeine gods. I’m officially out of charm for the week.”

She laughs, launching into a story about her last-period class staging a mini mutiny over vocabulary quizzes. I listen, half-smiling, letting the sound of her voice settle me back into something normal.

By the time we hang up, the coffee’s gone lukewarm and the lot’s starting to fill again. I reach for my folder to toss it in the backseat and freeze. It feels too light.

“No, no, no…” I flip it open, scanning the inside pocket. Empty. My grade book isn’t there.

Panic flares. It’s not just a notebook, it’s the notebook. Attendance, grades, notes on students who still can’t tell the difference between their and there.

I check the floorboard. The backseat. Under my jacket. Nothing.

Of course I’d leave it behind. Probably sitting right on that damn table where my brain short-circuited the second Evan smiled at me.

I glance toward the café. The after-work crowd’s in full swing now, a low hum of conversation spilling through the open door. Tables are full, a new barista behind the counter.

Perfect.

I consider waiting until tomorrow, but that grade book isn’t just paperwork, it’s my entire week. So I grab my keys, slide out of the car, and head back toward the café.

Inside, the crowd’s shifted. The after-work rush is filling the space, laughter and the hiss of the espresso machine replacing the calm that used to live here. I spot a woman wiping down my old table and weave through the narrow aisle toward her.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” I say, raising a hand. “I was sitting there little bit ago and think I left a small notebook behind. Have you seen it?”

She shakes her head, glancing at the clean tabletop. “Nothing was here when I started.”

My stomach dips. “Okay, thanks.”

I scan the counter, the floor, even the trash can beside the condiment station, nothing.

Outside again, I pause on the sidewalk, trying to convince myself it’s just a mix-up, that maybe it slid somewhere and I’ll find it tomorrow. But the thought creeps in before I can stop it.

What if he found it first?

I can practically picture it, Evan spotting the slim, spiral-bound book, flipping it open, realizing it’s mine. Maybe he’d notice the red pen marks or the notes scrawled in the margins. Maybe he’d even remember the way I used to tap my pen against his kitchen table when I was thinking.

I press a hand to my chest, trying not to smile again.

If he did find it, at least it means I’ll have to see him again.

And for once, I don’t mind the idea of a little extra credit.