“Mr. Cross,” I said, getting his attention. “What is your favourite colour?” I timidly enquired.

I felt self-conscious as he scanned his eyes towards me and let out a chuckle.

“Don’t laugh at me.” I let out a heavy sigh and scolded myself silently.

Could we all just take a minute to acknowledge how dumb my question was? But what else was I supposed to ask? My thoughts were already driving me crazy, and the car ride was taking way longer than expected.

"I have noticed that when you get embarrassed, your facial expressions are quite amusing,” Mr. Cross informed me.

I had serious mixed feelings about such a statement.

“I am not sure how to feel about that,” I admitted. “Is it a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Oh, it is a good thing. It shows that you have a sense of humour and can laugh at yourself."

“Mr. Cross, I don't like the idea of people finding my embarrassment amusing.” 

I know my words might have come off as a bit rude, but could you blame me? It seemed like people just loved to make jokes at my expense, like it was some kind of daily routine for them.

“I understand where you are coming from, but trust me, it's endearing.”

When he said those words, I swear I turned into a freaking overripe tomato. My face was legit on fire. It was so obvious that Mr. Cross knew exactly how to get to me with his words and actions, but his fine ass certainly did not give a damn. Like, not even a little bit.

“My favourite colour?” He pondered. “That is a tough one. To be honest, I have never really thought about it. Maybe because it is such a basic question that no one has ever asked before."

Although he held the title of teacher, his demeanour suggested a detachment from regular society. Mr. Cross conveyed himself with such superiority that it appeared he had never engaged with ordinary individuals. One could argue that his tone of voice reflected someone of distinguished status.

“Red,” Mr. Cross finally decided. "It's bold, vibrant, and unapologetically eye-catching. It demands to be noticed. Additionally, its association with love and strength further adds to its appeal.” His words were deliberate and articulate. 

Red truly was a colour that exuded confidence and power. I understood why he was so drawn to it. I felt a tinge of sadness though. The woman who stands alongside him must have confidence, strength, and beauty. I was lacking in all of those qualities and more. What a tough pill to swallow.

“Won’t you tell me what your favourite colour is?” enquired Mr. Cross with such gentleness that my stomach fluttered.

“I don't have a favourite colour,” I confessed. “I like different ones for different things.”

He chuckled. “That is a diplomatic answer. Tell me. What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for example, I like blue for the ocean and the sky, but I prefer green for nature and plants. I like red for passion and energy.”

“But if you had to choose one right now, which one would it be?"

I thought for a moment. “Maybe green.”

“Green? That's an interesting choice. Do you have a particular reason for choosing it as your favourite colour?"

I blushed at that question. "It is the colour of your eyes. That is why I choose green.”

He was seriously giving me some intense vibes. I could tell Mr. Cross had his eyes locked on me the whole damn time, even when I was looking out the car window. After all the bold words I just uttered, I would not even dare glance his way. 

"I find it quite bothersome, Miss Evans, when individuals fail to maintain eye contact with me," Mr. Cross expressed. “You just said the most beautiful words to me, yet you won't even look at me when you say them.”

“I don't understand why that matters,” I said. My gaze was still averted from him.

“It matters because it feels like you are not being genuine. If you cannot even look at me while saying those words, how can I believe that you mean them?”

“That is not fair,” I complained. “Just because I cannot make eye contact doesn't mean I don't mean what I say.”

“Eye contact shows sincerity and connection. It is hard for me to feel that when you won't even look at me. Must I make you look at me?”

This damn man! I let out an exasperated sigh as I nervously looked at him. He was just so charming and confident, it was almost suffocating. And now, I felt completely trapped by his gaze. Those beautiful eyes were so mesmerising.

“You like my eyes, huh?” He asked.

Once again, he tipped my chin, and my heart skipped a beat. Our eyes locked in a moment that seemed to last too long. But I could not for the life of me figure out what was going on in his head.

“I do,” I replied. “They are like emeralds.”

He smirked. “Maybe I should consider green another favourite, too.”

“You should.” I agreed. “It’s a beautiful colour. Just like your eyes.”

“So, do you have a least favourite colour?” Mr. Cross enquired as his thumb traced circular patterns on my chin.

“Hmm. Probably brown,” I said. “It's just not very exciting to me.”

"That’s understandable. I am the same when it comes to the colour grey," he said with a charming smile as he playfully bopped my nose.

As soon as the car pulled up, I could not believe my eyes. We arrived at a swanky hotel on the posh side of the city. The grand building stood tall with a fancy fountain in the front and valet attendants in crisp suits waiting to open the car doors. I felt like I was in some kind of time loop, like I had accidentally stepped into a fancy 1920s movie.

Mr. Cross gracefully stepped out of the vehicle, and I followed suit. "Charles..." He called out to the driver, who had kindly opened the door for us.

Before exiting the car, I pulled my hoodie over my head. The last thing I wanted was for anyone—besides my hot substitute teacher—to see my face. Thanks to my deep hoodie, Mr. Cross driver was unable to get a good look at me. But I could sense his curiosity had peaked. 

The driver replied, "Yes, sir," in a calm voice.

I was pretty caught off guard by his voice. It was just so... mellow. 

"Have Claire call me." Mr. Cross instructed. 

"I will relay the message, sir."

“Also..." Mr. Cross paused. He appeared deep in contemplation. "Never mind, Charles. I will take care of this issue myself."

My readers, your girl was puzzled. My teacher was giving out instructions like a drug lord. I swear I wanted to cry because I wonder if Mr. Cross was more than just a mere substitute. Honestly, the last thing I needed was to get caught up in some crazy shit like my mother did.

"Tomorrow, will we be meeting at our usual time?" Charles enquired, and I could not help but detect the inquisitive look he gave me.

Mr. Cross let out a deep sigh as his hand extended towards me. I was taken aback and barely had time to process the unexpected gesture before his arm was wrapped around my waist and pulling me towards him. I gasped in surprise. My hand instinctively pressed against his firm abdomen to steady myself. If I thought he smelt good before, I was seriously mistaken. He smelt better than sin. I was literally underneath his arm right now, and I just wanted to stay forever. Forget about living anywhere else. I want to camp out right here for the rest of my life. I took a big whiff and let out a deep breath. I never wanted to forget his smell. But then I heard a little laugh and peeked up to see Mr. Cross looking at me. I started to blush. His expression was so wholesome. It left me confused. Weren't we complete strangers this morning? Look at us now!

"Make sure to arrive at ten o'clock tomorrow," Mr. Cross instructed Charles. "It's going to be a packed day."

Charles gave a slight nod before uttering a soft, "Good night, sir." He then made his way back to the waiting car. This left Mr. Cross and me standing alone in front of the hotel. 

“Let’s go.” He grasped my hand and confidently led the path.