You’re sitting cross-legged on the reading rug, holding up a picture book and reading aloud while the class listens with varying degrees of focus. A few kids are completely captivated, a few are staring out the window, and one is quietly trying to balance a pencil on their upper lip.

Just as you finish the page and show the illustrations to the class, there’s a soft knock on the open door.

“Mr. Riley?” you say automatically, surprised to see him standing there. Simon leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a little smudge of chalk dust on his dark button-down.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, his voice low but warm, and the class turns in unison to look at him. A few kids giggle — they always do when another teacher pops in. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”

You hand the book to your most responsible student. “Keep reading where we left off,” you instruct, then step into the hallway.

Simon smiles when the door clicks shut. “You’ve got a good crowd today,” he says, nodding toward the muffled sound of reading coming from inside.

“They’re in a cooperative mood,” you reply, folding your arms. “What’s up?”

He hesitates for a beat, then his serious teacher expression softens into something just for you. “I was wondering if you wanted to grade papers together later. At my place.”

You grin. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “It is when we’re at work.”

For a second, the hallway feels suspended — just the two of you, away from the chatter and crayons and constant motion. He glances at the door, then at you, and says, “I could pick up dinner. Save you the trouble.”