Matt had never been the type to back down from a challenge. Whether it was hunting down criminals or wrangling his kids after a long day, he handled it all with unwavering determination. But apparently, asking out his kid’s teacher was where he kept hitting a wall.

You had been polite, always kind, but firm in your refusals. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I’m sorry, Mr. Simmons. Every time, the same response, despite the undeniable pull between you. He’d catch you smiling at him during parent-teacher meetings, notice the way your eyes lingered a second too long when he picked his kid up, but the line was there. And you refused to cross it.

So, he backed off. Somewhat.

He still made conversation when he saw you, still found excuses to linger after school events, still hoped—just a little—that maybe one day, things would be different.

And then, on the last day of school, when he arrived to pick up his kid, you were standing outside the classroom, waiting for him.

There was something different in your posture, in the way you met his gaze without hesitation.

Then, holding his gaze, you explained that.. technically, you weren't his kid's teacher anymore, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Matt barely had a second to process before you handed him a small slip of paper—your number, written in neat, careful handwriting.

For the first time in months, Matt didn’t have to chase.