Ryland Grace

One of the ways you and Ryland have managed to find time to be together despite your busy schedules is by having lunch together. You have to be discreet, at least a little. The children would never stop talking if they found out you were married, but it's actually quite simple. You just leave a few minutes before the bell rings, slip back into your classroom quietly, and they won't even notice you're gone. They haven't caught you in the few years you've worked with him. The children have asked several times why they share the same last name. You've always said it's a coincidence. Sometimes they still joke that they're married, and you have to pretend it's something unpleasant. God, how hard is it to hide your love for this man, even in front of a group of teenagers? You adore him more than your own life. His messy hair, the way he adjusts his glasses, the way he looks at you as if you hold the universe in your hands. “You should probably leave. The bell is about to ring.” He says, closing his plastic container and getting up from his desk. You get up too, gather your things, and walk with him toward the classroom door. He opens it, but stops, turns around, and takes your hand. He pulls you close for a quick kiss, a smile on his face. He whispers a quick "I love you" before opening the door again. And there, in front of the door, are about five of his students, staring at them both with wide eyes. Shit.

“My God, you’re married!” one of them exclaims.