by Kira Blakely
I couldn’t tell when the explosion would happen, and that made it even worse.
“I—you did? Melissa, that wasn’t necessary. Your son is well looked after here. Daisy Oaks has a history of excellence.” Only the best for the richest of the rich in Summit Springs, Utah.
The momster advanced, dragging her blond boy with her. “That’s right. Daisy Oaks has a history of excellence, but you don’t. We don’t know you. You’d do well to remember that.”
Melissa released poor Chadley, spun on her Gucci heels, and clip-clopped out of the classroom.
Well, that went well. My popularity’s on the rise, at last.
I’d only started at Daisy Oaks at the beginning of the term, and I’d already learned two things: first, the children adored me, and, second, the moms would rather see me strung up by my ankles from the big oak in the center of the playground than have me teaching their kids.
Good thing my entire livelihood and my future dreams didn’t depend on this job.
“Miss Stinson?” Chadley tugged on my sleeve. “Are you OK, Miss Stinson?”
I dropped to a crouch in front of the five-year-old, the poor cutie who’d endured cucumber sticks, carrots, and couscous, and watched in envy as his spoiled buddies decimated Twinkies during morning snack time. “I’m just fine, Chad,” I said. “How about you?”
He shrugged his little shoulders. “I heard dinosaurs lay big eggs. Do they lay big eggs?”
“They used to. They’re not alive anymore,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because they’re extinct. They died out.”
“Why?” Chadley asked.
“Because a huge rock hit the earth, exploded and…” I trailed off and ruffled his hair.
“They’re toast?” Chadley’s expression morphed into one of wonder.
“Sounds about right.” Just like I’ll be toast if your mom really spoke to Principal Henrietta. “Why don’t you head outside and play with your friends, Chad? Class starts in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, Miss Stinson.” The reply came in the automated kindergartener whine that’d been drilled into them at this school.
Chadley scooted off and out the door, and I straightened from the crouch.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let the fatigue wash over me. For the umpteenth time this month, I doubted my choice to move to Summit Springs.
Sure, my aunt—technically, my second mom—lived here, and I had a roof over my head and a great opportunity thanks to her recommendation, but still, this was hardly the happening spot for women my age.
Then again, I wasn’t anything like other women my age. I didn’t go out partying, and I preferred Netflix and chill—albeit without any of the chill—to glasses of wine and dates.
Not that it didn’t get lonely. It got super lonely, and that was exactly why I’d gone to the doctor’s this morning and wound up embarrassing myself. God, what a screw up.
Houston Pope.
Doctor Houston Pope. I’d never see him again, right? I’d never run into him and accidentally fall into his arms.
What the hell was wrong with me? I’d spent all of ten minutes in the man’s presence and I’d melted into a mushy pile of nothingness. Thankfully, the school day had kept me distracted. It was almost over, though, and after that, I’d have all the time in the world to obsess over my stupidity at lunch.
“I’m an idiot,” I muttered.
“Pardon?” Principal Henrietta’s voice whip-cracked through the classroom.
I yelped, and my eyes snapped open. “Principal,” I said and brushed off my light, cotton dress—duck’s egg blue and modest enough to appease the fussiest of the clucking mother clan. “I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s because you’re not paying attention, Charlie,” said the principal, who glared down her long hooked nose at me.
She reminded me of Nanny McPhee without the wart on her nose or the general air of well-meaning.
“I was just—”
“Jeopardizing your position at Daisy Oaks,” Principal Henrietta said, floating into the room on a cloud of expensive perfume.
The only difference between her and the momsters was the fact that she didn’t have any children. A blessing from the heavens. I shudder to think what her children would have to go through. Some sort of vetting process, no doubt.
“Melissa spoke to you about—”
“The banana, yes,” Henrietta said and halted in front of me. “Is it true that you allowed her child to eat the fruit?”
“No,” I replied. “It’s not true. I’m sorry he felt sick, but it wasn’t anything to do with bananas. I wouldn’t go against dietary regulations, Principal.” My palms were slick with sweat, which was ridiculous. I hadn’t given the kid anything that went against his mother’s instructions.
It was super difficult to keep track of every child’s requirements, but I had my head above water here.
Principal Henrietta gave me a onceover that burned through to my soul. “You know, you’re only here by recommendation,” she whispered. It was tight and filled with mistrust.
“I know,” I said.
“If it wasn’t for Pamela, I wouldn’t have considered you for the position. You’re too young. Too inexperienced, and some of the mothers have taken exception to how you dress in front of their children.”
My jaw dropped. The dress I’d chosen was loose, not form-fitting and cut off just at the knee. “I—Principal, you can surely see that I’m not wearing anything immodest.”
“It doesn’t matter what I can see,” she replied and didn’t shift focus from my face. “It matters what makes the parents and children comfortable. Daisy Oaks has a sterling reputation, and I won’t have it thrown away by recklessness.”
“I don’t plan on throwing anything away. Least of all this opportunity. I’m very grateful for it.” And that was true. I loved working with kids, and I was happy here, for the most part, but this was crazy—I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Good,” Henrietta said. “I’m glad to hear it. And you’d do well to keep that front of mind. That and how transient life is.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Things can change, Charlotte.” She raised her thumb and index finger, then clicked. “Like that.”
“I understand.”
The principal lingered for another minute, the silence, punctuated by the happy sounds of running feet and laughter outside, building between us. Finally, she gave a tiny, curt nod, then spun on her heel and click-clacked off.
I sagged.
This was hell in a handbasket. Every day it was something new—from dietary issues to one kid pushing another kid and the parents blaming me for the disagreement. The moms and dads here expected the best. They expected royal treatment for their little ones. This was what came of working at the most exclusive kindergarten in town.
“Shake it off,” I muttered, then did exactly that. One arm, two arm, ready to go, then headed out the classroom door. The rest of the afternoon passed relatively quickly: one vomiting incident, a mini-fight on the playground, and a tantrum. So, just a regular Friday afternoon.
By the end of it, I was pretty much done.
I traipsed out to meet my aunt, Pammy, in the parking lot, the dress I’d tossed on this morning seriously worse for the wear. I slipped into the passenger seat of her VW Bug and exhaled.
“You look like you need a drink,” she said, and fluffed my hair for me. Pammy was the fiery-haired equivalent of middle-aged fun. Everything in her life revolved around men, drinks, and food. She was like if all the characters from Sex in the City had been rolled into one, with a dash of sweetness and spice a piece.
“I look like I need a shower. A long, cold one after today,” I said, and fanned my face.
The heat of summer hadn’t hit yet, but it was still way hotter than what I was used to. I rested my head on the seat and squeezed my eyes shut. “Take me home, driver.”
Pammy pinched my arm. “Don’t push it, gorg
eous. Just because I love you doesn’t mean you can take me for granted. That’s what Dr. Phil says, anyway.” She started the car and the engine’s put-put-growl separated us. “Is everything OK?” She asked, above the noise.
I shrugged. “Henrietta gave me trouble today,” I said, and opened my eyes. That wasn’t the only thing that’d bothered me.
Doctor Pope had bothered me a lot more than Henrietta’s pep talk.
“She did?” Pammy and Henrietta went way back, to when dinosaurs roamed the earth—her words, not mine. “Well, we’ll just have to have a chat about that, won’t we?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I can fight my own battles.”
My aunt hesitated, looking back up at the front of Daisy Oaks, the glass doors, the mural on the wall. Finally, she exhaled and put her foot down, focused on the lot and the exit which led out into the road. “All right,” Pammy said, at last. “But when we get home, you’re telling me all about it. And then we’re going for a drink.”
Arguing that point would be futile. Once Pammy got an idea in her head she went with it. She’d milk me for information, and I’d give it to her. Except for one tiny detail I’d keep to myself. That the doctor hadn’t just bothered me, this morning, he’d made me hot all over, and that it was the first time I’d reacted to anyone that way. Ever.
Chapter 3
Charlie
Pamela’s car rattled up to the outside of the Clear Springs Bar off the main road. The beat up VW Beetle had served my aunt well for years, and she’d refused to get rid of it, despite the fact that it was two rattle-clicks away from collapse.
“We don’t have to do this,” I said and peered at the bar through the windshield. Its wooden walls and the twinkling lights that spelled out its name gave off a warm atmosphere, but I still wasn’t one hundred percent. “Really, Pammy, I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” Pamela dragged her purse over from the back seat and tugged it onto her lap. Her red hair, dyed, of course, fell in front of her face, and she huffed and tucked it behind a pixie-pointed ear. “You know, when I got you that job, I thought it would be all sunshine and rainbows for everyone. I had no idea Henrietta had turned into el mondo bitchero.”
“That’s not a saying.”
“Whatever,” she replied and dug a compact out of her purse. She clicked it open and grimaced. “Look at that. Older every day.” She tugged at the fine wrinkles around her mouth. “Be honest with me, what age am I giving off?”
“You look my age.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
I chuckled. “Thirty-three, then?”
“A liar, but I do love your style.” Pammy clicked her compact shut, then dumped it into the cavernous tote on her lap. “Listen, we’re here to blow off some steam. Just relax and enjoy the local wildlife.”
“All right, but I don’t think I should drink anything. If Henrietta finds out—”
My aunt—my mom’s best friend from high school—grasped my chin and wiggled my head from side-to-side. “Fuck Henrietta. I asked her to help you out, and that school’s caused you nothing but stress. Tonight, you’re going to have fun. You don’t have to get drunk, darling. I’m here to look out for you.”
But Pammy’s “looking out” had always involved more vodka and less sobriety.
“Come on, pumpkin,” she said and patted my cheek, her silvery eyes aglow. “It’s going to be fun.” She thunked open her door, slipped out into the evening air, and then thwacked it closed behind her.
I sat for a second longer, anxiety burning in my gut.
I’d had a small-town upbringing, not Summit Springs, but a much friendlier version in Ohio. My parents had been happy and so had I, and I’d been the apple of their eye. I’d never been into parties or men. This was way out of my comfort zone.
Today had been way out of my comfort zone. The handsome doctor, Houston, had stunned me.
The way he’d talked, the pure power that had radiated from him with every step, had blown my damn mind, and I’d spent the rest of my day caught between anger at what’d happened—at how he’d spoken to me—and lust. Actual lust.
I’d never lusted after anyone before.
Pamela rapped her knuckles on my window. “Christmas is coming.”
I sighed and opened the car door. “All right, all right, all right.”
“You sound like Matthew McConaughey when you do that,” Pammy said. “Has anyone ever told you?”
“Yes,” I replied and dusted off my less than modest, but still sweet, denim skirt. “You. Every time I do it.”
Pamela led us toward the entrance—a plate-glass door with an OPEN sign in red fluorescent lights. My cowboy boots crunched over the gravel and I swallowed, hard.
Don’t be a coward, Charlie. It’s just a bar. A social place. With normal, social people. This happened every time I went somewhere new. Anxiety would kick in and nerves fluttered like crazy in my belly, but, ultimately, they’d wane within a couple minutes of sitting down. I should’ve been accustomed to the reaction by now.
Pamela winked at me then pushed into the bar.
The inside was as cozy as the outside had seemed. The scent of wood smoke from a fireplace against the wall drifted through the small space. Booths lined the walls, and a pool table had been positioned next to the long polished bar, gleaming beneath muted down lights.
It was blessedly empty—that might’ve been because it was only just past eight, though—with a couple at the far end of the room and one other patron at the bar. Old-school rock trickled through the speakers affixed to the wall.
It reminded me of an old-timey tavern. I pictured walking up to the bartender—an old dude with tufty gray hair surrounding his bald crown—and asking for a room for the night.
“Pick your poison, gorgeous,” Pammy said.
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” I followed her to the bar and took a seat.
Pammy rat-tatted her knuckles on the bar. “Heya, Harold. How’s about you get us two Vodka Cranberries with extra cranberry?” she asked and winked at the graying dude.
“As the lady wishes,” he replied and set to fixing the drinks. “Who’s your friend? Wait, is she your sister?”
Pammy rolled her eyes. “You try far too hard, old man. You don’t really think I’ll fall for that one, do you?”
“Worth a short,” he grunted and brought a silver mixer.
“She’s my niece, kind of. My best friend’s gorgeous baby girl,” Pammy said and brushed my hair from my forehead. I inwardly cringed. “Although, she’s not a baby anymore, is she? She’s a gorgeous full-grown woman.”
I still didn’t feel full-grown. “Let’s ease up on the humiliation, Pammy.”
She patted my cheek again. “Oh, honey, you’ll always be your mommy’s precious gift to me.”
“You’re doing it on purpose, now,” I said.
“Never.” But the sparkle in her eyes told a different tale.
We took our drinks from the bartender and slurped on them. Elvis Presley’s “Jailhouse Rock” came on, and I let out a yelp. “I love this song!” I downed my drink and jived from side to side. Before I could think of ordering another, it was in front of me.
Already, the effects of the alcohol had mellowed whatever nerves I’d had. I rocked to the music, grinning like an idiot.
This was good. Better than being crapped on by Princess Henrietta and her liege ladies at Daisy Oaks. And certainly better than sweating it out in a doctor’s office because I just couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on my body.
Oh ho, don’t go there. Don’t even think about it.
I’d never had a man’s hands on my body. Never had one between my thighs. I licked my lips and focused on my drink instead of the tingling in my core. What would it be like to have that? To have an experience with a guy who wanted me for me? To let loose?
Pammy tapped my on the forearm. “Sweetheart, I’m going to the little girls’ room. I’ll be right back. Keep your peepers on my drink, ‘kay?
”
“Sure,” I said.
She slipped off her barstool and marched off, her red locks catching the light. Pamela the Confident and the Brave. If not for her, I wouldn’t even be in Summit Springs. I loved my mom dearly, but Pammy had always been my role model.
She didn’t take shit from anybody, and she was carefree. Naturally, it was pretty difficult to be carefree after what’d happened over the course of the past two years.
Don’t think about that either.
“Is this seat taken?” The voice was rich, smooth as cream or chocolate or something else I’d love to eat. God, the vodka had gone straight to my brain.
“Sorry,” I said and turned. “My friend—” The words died on my lips.
It was him.
Doctor Pope. Houston. His steel-gray eyes glittered, set either side of that strong nose. He ran fingers through his wavy, walnut-colored hair and stared at me, a sexy smile tugging the corners of his lips upward.
“Heylo,” he said.
“Hey—oh, ha, that’s funny.” I gulped twice in a row, but it did nothing to bring moisture back into my mouth.
The doctor wore a pair of faded jeans that pulled taut around his muscular thighs. His short shirt sleeves wrinkled around his biceps. A tattoo crawled down his arm—images of animals, and a tribal design of what looked to be the letter C.
He cleared his throat, and I snapped my gaze back to his face. Oh god, I was staring. I was actually staring, and he saw me staring. I nudged my vodka aside—never drinking that again—and shook my head. “The seat’s taken. My friend’s just in the bathroom.”
“That one’s free,” he said and nodded to the seat on my other side.
I picked up Pammy’s tote bag and plopped it down next to me. “Nope. It’s saved.”
“For whom?”
“For this bag,” I replied.
“You’re angry about today.” He stepped closer, and I was overwhelmed by the scent of him, the pressure of his presence. My pulse thudded, then raced. “You shouldn’t be. It was said from a professional standpoint.”