Every Minute

by C J Burright

Tatum bent her knees and heaved the roll into the air, shot-put style. It bounced off a higher seat and ricocheted into a lower ring. “Ten points for me!” She jumped up and down like a pogo stick. “I’m beating Uncle Garret!”

  He looked sideways at Adara. A few strands of his too-long blond hair had slipped free of the band at his nape and framed his jaw, adding to his bohemian vibe. “So you admit you like my music?”

  “I wasn’t implying your singular talent has anything to do with music.” Adara gripped her tissue roll and heaved it neatly through the thirty-pointer. She cocked a hip and tilted her chin, going for bored.

  Garret caught the second roll Bob chucked at him. “You just met me, have spoken to me only through polite necessity, yet you magically know the talents I possess?” He leaned closer, close enough his breath brushed her cheek, warm and intimate. “Do tell.”

  “Talent. Singular.”

  “If it’s not my music—which wounds me gravely, by the way—and it’s clearly not heaving TP through porcelain crowns, what do you believe it is?”

  “Harassing the innocent, obviously.”

  “I presume you speak of your innocent person.”

  “Indeed.”

  He focused on the fifty-point shot, set up and missed again. His smile dimmed to a sixty-watt. “And they expect kids to score on this?”

  “Bummer.” Adara pressed her lips together. “All I have to do is make another shot and Mr. Bingley goes solo.”

  “Mr. Bingley never surrenders. Your last throw was pure luck.”

  Tatum hurled her second roll, and it flew between two seats. She stomped a foot and glared at her dad. “You made the ropes shorter when I wasn’t looking, didn’t you?”

  “All is honorable, fair and just at Bob’s Potty Toss.” Bob twirled a roll on one finger, his mouth set to stern-father mode. “And poor sportsmanship will end your turn right now, young lady.”

  She mumbled an apology, which was enough to earn her last paper roll.

  Adara squared off with the targets, aimed and swished it. She couldn’t hold back a little smirk. “Buh-bye, Mr. Bingley.”

  Tatum planted her fists on her hips. “Nice going, Uncle Garret. I thought you were a basketb—”

  Garret muffled the rest of her sentence with one large hand. “Let’s not bore Miss Dumont with my illustrious past.”

  “Let me guess, benchwarmer of the middle school B-string?” Adara hooked a finger in the vest strap. It wasn’t hard to picture him participating in sports. She’d guess his height at six foot plus a few, and with those long limbs and lean form, he probably had some natural athleticism going on with his music. But apparently not enough to keep his shooting skills sharp.

  “My life revolved around music.” He winked, and she pretended she hadn’t been sizing him up. With any luck, her face didn’t look as warm as it felt. “I didn’t have time for other activities.”

  Sounds familiar. Tearing Joey away from his violin took force, trickery or a coconut cake—sometimes all three. Her throat tightened and she turned away.

  “Double or nothing,” Bob blurted, drawing everyone’s attention. “That was either a fluke or beginner’s luck, both bad and good. Besides, no one else is in line.” He gathered an armload of toilet paper rolls. “Up the ante. If Garret wins, he holds the honorary carnival-night-only title of Mr. Bingley, and…?” He looked pointedly at Garret.

  Garret’s smile returned. “And Adara agrees to have dinner with me.”

  Chapter Five

  Dinner with Garret Ambrose wasn’t happening. Adara slipped her hands in her jeans’ pockets. “Nope. Gotta go wrangle up a balloon weiner dog. Top-secret carnival security stuff.”

  “Good.” Garret took toilet paper rolls in each hand and looked at her, his eyes sparkling. “I expected you’d accept and make your stakes that I never harass your innocent person outside of work. Graywood is a small town. We’ll be running into each other”—he flashed all his teeth—“often.”

  He’d made a valid point. Sharing her classroom with him would be bad enough. It would be even worse having to deal with him in the feminine products aisle of the grocery aisle. She snatched one roll from his hand. “Done, with the understanding that you won’t say a word to me outside of work.”

  Had she thought he’d displayed all his teeth earlier? Nope, he had more, and they all beamed back at her, white and straight. If nothing else, he had a really nice smile. It was infectious. Dangerous. “Beginner’s luck, my sweet a—”

  Tatum watched her, alert to every word.

  “Aunt Mary’s apple pie.” As a grade school teacher, she’d had lots of practice with creative cursing. She usually didn’t get preoccupied enough to slip. Annoying musician wannabe pirate and his contagious smile.

  “Nice save,” Garret murmured, scratching his ear and gazing up at the gymnasium ceiling.

  “Shut up,” she said under her breath and focused on the toilet seats. If she made the fifty-pointer, that would almost guarantee a win, and since having dinner with him wasn’t an option, going for it seemed the thing to do. If she missed, she still had two more shots to beat him. Piece of pie. Aunt Mary’s apple, to be exact.

  Releasing a breath, Adara pitched the paper at the target. It bounced off the rim and dropped to the ground, trailing white.

  “Close.” Bob tsked, his disappointment not at all convincing.

  “Victory is so sweet. I already taste it.” Garret flexed his fingers and rolled his neck. He jumped a few times, shaking out his arms like a boxer readying for the ring.

  “Miss Dumont, it’s not polite to roll your eyes. That will cost you a sticker.” Tatum stuck out a hand, waiting for the price of rolling one’s eyes while on Miss Dumont’s time.

  Practicing what she preached in the classroom wasn’t easy around Garret Ambrose. “You’re right. That was rude, and I apologize.”

  The little hand didn’t budge, expectant.

  “I don’t have any stickers with me… Oh, wait.” She dug the pink note she’d earlier found stuck to the vest out of her pocket. “Here you go. It’s all I’ve got.”

  Tatum read the note and her face scrunched up. “Ew. You want to marry Principal Austin?”

  Garret’s warmup moves stopped cold, and even Bob paused.

  “Yeah, sure.” She performed a dreamy sigh. “Everyone wants to marry Principal Austin. He’s like a current-day Mr. Darcy.”

  Tatum looked so horrified that it took everything Adara had not to smile. Holding the note as if it contained a disease, she flicked it back to her. “I don’t want a sticker.”

  “Fine.” She slapped it on the vest, showing off the penciled letters scrawled by a juvenile hand. “I’ll keep it for myself.”

  Garret scanned the note, and the relief in his dark eyes stirred a small, fragile fluttering right behind her breastbone in the place her heart had once resided. He honestly wanted to win this bet, to spend more time with her. It made zero sense. She knew some men found her attractive, despite the fact she never bothered with makeup, always wore threatening black and discouraged romantic advances without mercy. Maybe he just liked the thrill of the chase. She lifted her chin. This particular prey won’t be caught.

  Apparently through with his prep moves, he spun and launched his roll at the forty-point ring. It sailed through, a perfect shot.

  “Forty points for the gentleman,” Bob helpfully announced while Tatum bounced up and down, clapping.

  “Traitor.” Adara narrowed her eyes at her favorite student. “I thought you were on my side.”

  “I am-uh.” Tatum drew out the word in the whiny way children loved to do when protesting. “I want you to be Jane—not Mary—and Jane needs a Mr. Bingley.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Uncle Garret will be a perfect Mr. Bingley.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bennet.” He executed a fancy bow so expertly that it had to be a move he practiced often. “Your confidence in me warms my heart.”

  “Misplaced though it is in this circumstance.” Adar
a swiped her second roll from Bob. “Plus, as far as I recall, in no version of P and P did Mr. Bingley have a pirate predilection.”

  Bob chuckled. “Thank you, Miss Dumont. I’ve been saying that for years, and no one else claims to see his ill-concealed longing to be Blackbeard.”

  “I do not have any desire to be a pirate.” A deadly edge entered Garret’s voice, and he gave his brother-in-law a glare worthy of any scallywag. “The skull ring was a gift from your wife and offspring, as you well know. What sort of ingrate would I be if I didn’t wear it?”

  “No judgment.” Bob held up his hands, his eyes sparkling. “Bet you’ll love the eye patch they’re getting for your birthday.”

  The snicker stuck in Adara’s throat slipped free.

  “I see how it is. Disrespect and disloyalty on all sides.” Garret folded his arms and his biceps bunched beneath the sleeves of his thermal shirt—arms that would make most men envious. Must be all the violin holding. He loomed over Bob. “There better be a cutlass with that eye patch, scurvy dog.”

  Adara smiled, unintentional and genuine. She killed the expression quick, her heart kicking hard. She could see herself in the mix of this family, connecting, getting closer, sharing laughs, being vulnerable…allowing an avenue to that debilitating pain wasn’t happening again.

  She ripped her gaze from Garret and settled on the toilet seats. Fifty points. Losing wasn’t a choice. Forcing her hands steady, she heaved her roll. It nicked the rim, bounced and went through. Not pretty, but it had worked.

  “Dam—” Garret caught Tatum’s wide-eyed look just in time. “—mmmage.” He tossed his second paper roll from hand to hand and surveyed the targets, his expression serious. “Go big or go home, right?” He threw the missile at the fifty…and missed.

  “Step it up, Uncle Garret!” Tatum screeched, scowling up at the man she’d looked at so adoringly three seconds ago.

  The knot in Adara’s neck eased a degree. They were back on almost-even ground. All she needed was another fifty and she’d be free of any commitments, free of the pesky violinist outside of work, free to stay in her safe cocoon.

  She met Garret’s gaze. “Want to take your last shot now? Your miss will save me the effort.”

  He studied her for a lingering moment. Without his smile going on, his intent focus solely on her, she could understand why he excelled at his music. The determination there suggested that once his mind was set, he never gave up, no matter the difficulty or challenge. Conquer or die. He slowly shook his head.

  Adara shrugged and adjusted her grip on the final roll. Fifty points would secure the win, but forty would be an easier shot and make it a tie if Garret got lucky. No way could he beat her in a tie-breaker. She aimed for the forty.

  The roll repeated Tatum’s earlier score, bouncing off the forty’s rim. It flipped as it fell and ricocheted into the thirty. Blast and bullocks. He could still beat her. She never should’ve let Tatum drag her into this mess. Yeah, third-graders made great scapegoats.

  Garret resumed studying her, absently rolling the toilet paper between his palms—that same, serious concentration making her feel like he could see every vulnerable sliver of her soul. “Fifty to win, Adara.”

  Almost as mesmerizing as being under his scrutiny, his low, sensuous tone curled around her. She coughed to break the spell. He’d missed the fifty every time. No way he’d hit it now. “Forty to tie.”

  His smile returned, and it was nothing like the friendly shot of joy he’d worn before. This one was a wolf’s toothy grin, confident and hungry. “I don’t like to share.”

  He pivoted, aimed and sank the toilet paper into the fifty.

  Adara blinked. Crap.

  Both Tatum and Bob whooped in triumph.

  Garret wisely kept his celebration to the tiniest smirk, a smart move. A victory dance would’ve sparked violence. “For the record, my only basketball trophy is the plastic dollar-store award won on the family driveway court. It passed between my sister London and me while we grew up, sometimes on a daily basis. I won our final match, so I claimed its final resting place.” He stretched leisurely, as if releasing the tension of an exciting victory. His dimple reappeared. “I didn’t play you, honest. It was a lucky shot.”

  Adara’s stomach twisted. She had to have dinner with this man who affected her even without his violin, alone, no children to distract her. Enduring it without consequences might take some new tricks.

  A tap on her shoulder scattered her thoughts. A girl with a lollipop hanging in her long, blonde hair slumped. “I have a problem.”

  Thank God. Something to focus on that didn’t involve lost bets, future food or musicians. “Let’s go to my classroom. I keep an emergency jar of peanut butter handy.” She set a hand on the girl’s shoulder and propelled her forward. If she didn’t look back and she pretended the last fifteen minutes hadn’t transpired, maybe she could chalk it up to another nightmare.

  “I’ll call on you, Miss Bennet.” Garret’s voice followed her, full of knowing humor, as if he knew exactly what she’d thought. “Charles Bingley always keeps his word.”

  The girl looked sidelong at Adara, her eyebrows high.

  “You don’t want to know. Trust me.” She shook her head. “I wish I could forget.”

  * * * *

  Garret rested a hip against the Potty Toss counter while Adara headed into the crowd with the lollipop-assaulted girl. She didn’t look back once, even though he’d waited for it, hoped for it. Her slender form disappeared behind a tangle of teenage boys. The neon security vest flashed through once then she was gone, a raven swallowed by the colorful carnival sea.

  He didn’t bother holding back a smile. Chara, her dry humor killed him, an unashamed sincerity he’d missed overseas. No matter that she meant to drive him away, her responses revealed how observant she truly was, and if she wasn’t a little interested, she wouldn’t be paying attention.

  The more minutes he spent with her, the more he wanted to know. He’d cracked her surface tonight and what slipped free had awakened every sense. Her laughter was enough to inspire angel choirs, but she was more skittish than a woodland creature. Earning her trust would take patience. Luckily, patience was another one of his super skills. He’d use a jewel hammer to chink away her armor until nothing remained between them.

  “What’s the deal, Bob?” He turned to his brother-in-law and folded his arms. “Double or nothing? I’m not sure if you were trying to help me or sink me.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Adara even remotely enjoy herself.” Pity dimmed the open friendliness in Bob’s expression. “Keeping the game going a while longer seemed the thing to do.”

  Garret hated that grief fogged her in, isolating. “So it had nothing to do with helping me out.” He tapped the counter, releasing the beat pulsing in his head. “What if I’d lost? I doubt even a double-dog dare would’ve kept her going.”

  Bob’s eyes crinkled, erasing any concern. “London’s complained enough about that ridiculous plastic basketball trophy. She hates that you still have it. I had faith in you.”

  “Have you never watched us play? We both stink.” Garret grabbed another roll and threw it, missing. “But only a natural disaster would’ve stopped me. You probably saved me months of making a fool of myself. And that would be to finagle one measly date.”

  “You’re staying around that long?” The surprise in Bob’s voice wasn’t offensive. Since gaining his adult freedom, he rarely planned his next move, letting his heart lead him. He hadn’t plotted a timeline beyond his temporary music mentor gig, courtesy of Tatum’s pleading and strings Bob had pulled with the principal. His manager had relayed a couple offers when—if—he decided to return. Those offers wouldn’t stay open forever.

  “Nothing’s set in stone. Maybe I’ll see how things go with music mentoring”—he cleared the strange scratch in his throat—“and Miss Dumont.”

  “Just be careful. You can’t inspire everyone.”

 
; Garret squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Watch me.”

  “Good lord, you’re as stubborn as London.” Bob held out his fist and waited for Garret to bump it with his own. “You’re welcome.”

  “Come on, Uncle Garret.” Tatum tugged on his sleeve and left another set of sticky pink fingerprints, apparently done with enduring adult-talk and forgetting all about pretending to be Elizabeth Bennet. “You promised I could go in the bouncy house, and Bryan isn’t back yet, so I bet he’s already there. Let’s go-uh.”

  As Tatum dragged him by the arm, Bob called after him. “Heads up, Garret. Once London hears about tonight, she’ll demand a rematch. She wants that trophy back.”

  He lifted his hand to signal he’d heard then grinned at nobody in particular.

  It’s good to be home.

  Chapter Six

  Saturday morning came too soon and not soon enough. Adara stretched her quadriceps as the sun slowly revealed itself, winking gray through the mixed evergreens and bare-limbed trees in her backyard. Ever since Joey had gotten sick, sleep had been an unpredictable beast, and she’d learned not to fight it. Pills didn’t always work, and better a naturally groggy grouch than a chemical zombie.

  Warmed up and stretched, she pulled on her jacket and slipped the fleece headband from her neck to her ears. While black made the main staple in her wardrobe, she made exceptions for running in dim light and went with red gloves, ear warmer and jacket. Sticking to solitude didn’t mean she had a death wish.

  Cold air stung her face as she opened the door. Adara pulled on her gloves and carefully descended the steps, testing for slippery spots. Snow glittered in the barely-there light, and leafless tree branches held an inch or so of white fluff. No one else occupied the sidewalk. Only psychos, idiots and the unhinged were out this early on a winter Saturday morning. Her type of crowd.

  It took the typical half-hour to jog from her house to the park, enough to get the blood pumping hot and her rhythm in sync. The hush at dawn, when life was on the cusp of awakening, always held a hint of magic, as if she ran fast enough that she could slip into a different world. The snow crunched a steady beat beneath her shoes, and the air whipped her hair, fresh and crisp, a call to temporary freedom from her past, her pain, her thoughts. She picked up the pace, leaving everything behind except the blood roaring in her veins, the pounding of her feet and the burn in her legs.