A cacophony of “Yeah, Yes, ma’am, and Uh huh,” flitted across the room.
“Very good.” Renee nodded. “Now let’s get you all back to Ms. Pitts’s classroom. I’m sure she misses her little angels.” Renee’s wink garnered the giggles she’d anticipated.
By the time her preparation period rolled around, Renee was more than ready for a break from her classes. The third and fourth grade students were not nearly as sweet as her first and second graders. The bad manners some of these students possessed were unreal.
Renee entered the teachers’ lounge and went straight for the coffeepot. She poured a cup and took a much needed sip of the strong, chicory laced blend that was the brew of choice in her new home of New Orleans. Renee took another sip and settled into a well worn recliner.
The teachers’ lounge at St. Katherine’s Episcopal School wasn’t in the running for a spread in Architectural Digest, but the school had done the best it could to make the space comfortable. Two round tables sat in the middle of the large room, providing a place for those teachers who did not have to accompany students to the cafeteria to enjoy their lunch. There were three separate seating areas with comfy chairs and mismatched recliners, and an array of old magazines and teacher supply catalogs strewn across battered coffee tables. The entire left wall housed the copy center, with four copy machines Renee tried to steer clear of at all cost. She caused a paper jam every time she touched one of those machines.
Penelope Gaines came through the door and mimicked Renee’s exact steps as she headed for the coffeemaker.
“Caffeine is a gift from God,” Penelope said as she refilled her ceramic mug and added cream and a packet of sweetener.
“You look like you’ve had a rough morning,” Renee commented.
“You, too.” She gestured to the bandage Renee had placed on her forehead after her run in with a wayward curling iron.
“The price of beauty,” Renee answered her friend’s unspoken query.
Penelope tested her coffee, added another pack of sweetener, and came around to the recliner at a right angle to Renee’s. Penelope taught fourth grade math and science. With both of them single and about the same age, it hadn’t surprised Renee that she and Penelope had gravitated toward each other. There was a snarky sense of humor hidden behind the teacher’s fresh, freckled face and red hair that never failed to lift Renee’s spirits even on her worst day.
One of the copy machines made that annoyingly loud beep Renee usually elicited from it. She looked over and grinned in commiserating amusement as the guy bending over the machine poked at the computerized screen. The view was a pleasant surprise on a Monday morning. Thank God for both caffeine and well fitting jeans.
Renee glanced over at Penelope and caught her admiring the view.
“So.” Renee snapped her fingers, causing Penelope’s head to jerk. “What happened this morning?”
“What didn’t happen?” Penelope sighed. “I accidentally flushed one of my contacts down the toilet.”
“I noticed you were wearing your glasses,” Renee commented. “They’re cute.”
“I hate having to wear these glasses.” Penelope grimaced. “Anyway, I get in my car, and it won’t start. Thankfully, Mr. Miller was still at home and was able to give my dead battery a jump. Now if only Mrs. Miller would meet an untimely death, he could give my other battery a jump.”
Renee nearly choked on her coffee.
“What?” her friend protested. “You’ve seen him. Mr. Miller is hot.”
“Hot and married. Happily married as far as I can tell.”
“Yeah, they’re happy,” Penelope griped.
The copy machine beeped again.
“Is that all?” Renee asked, trying to keep her eyes averted from the scene at the copy machine. “A lost contact and a dead battery?”
“And a message from my contractor telling me it’s going to cost more to fix my house than what’s on the estimate. I’m nearly at my breaking point,” Penelope said.
The copy machine beeped again.
“It looks like someone needs rescuing,” Penelope said, placing her mug on the coffee table and pushing herself out of the chair.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just watch,” Renee said, rising from the recliner. “That copier hates me.” She followed Penelope to the other side of the lounge.
“Having a little trouble?” Penelope asked. The man on the other end of a losing battle with the copy machine looked up from where he was crouched over the open paper drawer.
He was built like a linebacker, solid without an ounce of flab, as far as Renee could tell. She’d already observed the fabulous image from behind, and had to admit the front view was just as breathtaking. His eyes were the color of warm maple syrup, and even though it was set in a frown, his mouth was strong, with full, supple lips.
“Whatever happened to a simple start button?” he asked, eyeing the copier as if he were ready to tackle it.
Penelope waved him off. “That went out in the early nineties. Now you need a Ph.D. in computer technology in order to make a copy. Let me see what you have here,” she said, shooing him away from the machine. “So, any luck finding another contractor?”
It took Renee a second to realize Penelope was talking to her. “No, I think Aunt Lorna is afraid to trust anyone just yet.”
“Any word from the police about locating the other guy?” Penelope asked.
“There have been so many counts of fake contractors robbing people blind, the police department said it would take years before they could get through the backlog.” A quick shot of anger speared through Renee’s gut at just the thought of the crooked contractor who had made off with most of her aunt’s life savings.
“That sucks, Renee. Here’s the problem. The paper jammed.” Penelope gently pulled a small stack of copy paper that had lodged in the automatic feeder.
“Did I break the machine?” the guy asked.
“No, it does this a lot.” Penelope took the sheaf of paper from his hand and placed them in the feeder. “How many copies?”
“Eighteen.”
Penelope punched the number into the computer screen and started the machine to rolling. “You should probably use the one down there.” She pointed to the last copier tucked into the corner. “It’s an older model, so it’s a bit slower, but it’s easier to use. It actually has a start button.” She smiled.
“So.” Renee took a sip of her coffee. “Are you a new teacher?” she asked. He was studying the copies as they shot out of the machine.
“No, just volunteering,” he answered.
He had a really nice voice. Deep, but with a softness that was unexpected given his outward appearance. Not that there was anything wrong with how he looked on the outside. The way his shoulders and chest filled out his gray polo shirt would be considered a work of art in some sectors of the world. But there was a hint of roughness around his nicely defined edges that told Renee he was more a T-shirt and jeans man than a Brooks Brothers suit wearer.
“My daughter is in Mrs. Overland’s first grade class. I’m helping out while I recuperate.” He gestured to his shoulder, where a square gauze bandage peeked from under the collar of his shirt.
“Good for you,” Penelope commented, handing him his copies. “We don’t get nearly as many parents to volunteer as we’d like, and you’re definitely the first father I’ve seen in the three years I’ve been here.”
He shrugged, the motion causing the shirt to pull slightly across his chest. The outline of the pectoral muscles that appeared caused Renee’s eyes to automatically widen.
“I heard you mention a problem with a contractor,” he said.
Renee snapped to attention. Had she been staring at him?
“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. She noticed the grin on Penelope’s face. Oh Lord, she had been staring. “Uh, yes,” Renee said again. “We’ve been having contractor issues. The one my aunt hired sort of skipped town without completing the job.”
“You’ve got to be careful who you hire,” the guy said. “For every legitimate contractor, there are ten shady ones out there ripping people off.”
“And, unfortunately, the legitimate ones cost an arm and a leg,” Penelope snorted. “I swear, if my contractor raises my estimate one more time, I’m going to kill him.”
“Just be grateful he hasn’t made off with forty thousand dollars of your hard earned money,” Renee said. “And at least you know what needs to get done. I’m not sure the guy my aunt hired even knew what he was talking about. She was just so desperate to get someone to start rebuilding.”
“And you haven’t found another contractor?” Volunteer Dad asked.
“Not yet.” Rene shook her head. “Why, you know someone?” she asked jokingly.
“Actually, I own a construction company,” he said. “We focus more on commercial developments, but since the storm, my guys have been volunteering to help rebuild homes on the weekends. I can take a look at your house and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Renee said. Who knew God sent down such handsome angels to answer prayers?
“It’s no problem.” The bell rang, signaling the end of third period. “I need to get these math worksheets to Mrs. Overland. I’ll be helping out in her class for at least the next month, so just let me know when’s a good time for me to come out and take a look at your house.” He turned to Penelope. “Thanks for the help with the copy machine.”
“Anytime,” she answered.
“I can take a look at your house, too. Let you know if your contractor is padding the rebuild cost.”
“That would be awesome,” Penelope answered. The coy smile lifting the edge of her lips was more invitation than anything else. Renee fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Time to get to class,” Renee said.
Volunteer Dad exited the teachers’ lounge ahead of them and headed down the corridor, dodging the munchkin high students making their way to class.
Penelope grabbed Renee by the arm and pulled her close. “Oh. My. God.”
“Don’t I know it?” Renee agreed.
“Hey, hands off. You already have a man.”
“Who? Rashad?” Renee asked. “I wouldn’t call him my man. We’ve only been out a few times.”
“That’s a few times more than I’ve been out over the past year. I want that one.”
Renee laughed. “Did it occur to you that maybe that one is married?”
“No ring,” Penelope answered. “I checked.”
“So did I, and I noticed a ring line.”
“But not a ring, which means, technically, he’s up for grabs,” Penelope reasoned.
“Come on before you’re tardy to your own class.”
Renee followed her coworker to her class, then walked two doors down to Rashad Richards’s classroom. The fourth grade teacher had been helping inventory the library when Renee had come to St. Katherine’s to interview for the special projects coordinator position this past summer. He’d asked her out then, but she’d declined since she’d had to head back to Florida that same night to finish packing up her things.
When she returned for the start of the school year, Renee had given Rashad Richards the chance he’d missed over the summer, figuring she could use a friend native to the area since most of those she’d made over the summers she’d visited her aunt had left after Hurricane Katrina. To her disappointment, Rashad was having trouble with the whole just friends concept.
He was four years younger than her thirty four years, but he was very mature for his age. Sometimes, he was a little too mature.
Renee’s personal motto was live every day as if it were your last. She loved getting outside and getting her hands dirty. Give her a mountainside to climb, or a muddy hill to conquer on her dirt bike, and she was a happy camper. Rashad’s idea of fun was attending a poetry reading, or watching a movie with subtitles.
And he hated football.
If that wasn’t a glaring sign that this so called relationship was going to go nowhere, nothing was.
Knocking lightly on the door, Renee entered the classroom. “Hello, hello,” she said to the group of fourth graders and their teacher.
“Look who’s here,” Rashad said. “I hope everyone finished reading their stories this weekend.”
“I’m sure they did,” Renee said. “Students, get your backpacks and line up at the door. Make sure you bring your booklets to record your quiz scores.” She had to remind the older kids more often than the little ones.
“I’ll have them back to you before the end of the period, Mr. Richards.”
“Thank you, Ms. Moore,” Rashad answered. He winked, and Renee hoped he was sufficiently chastised with the look she shot him over the heads of the fourth graders. He knew better than to wink at her in class, and if he didn’t, she would tell him when she returned the students at the end of the class period.
“Have fun, class,” Rashad called out to his students. “Behave for Ms. Moore.”
“We will,” the students answered in unison.
“Behave for my students, Ms. Moore,” he said, winking again. Some of the students giggled.
“I will,” Renee answered through clenched teeth.
He was so going to hear about this.
Alex wiped the table with a damp cloth, scrubbing the splatter of blue paint that continued to spread with each pass of the washcloth.
“Oh, wait a minute, Mr. Holmes. I have a special cleaner that works better with this paint.” Mrs. Overland sprayed a pale green solution onto the table, plucked the towel from Alex’s fingers, and had the table looking brand new with a couple of swipes. “Art time is the kids’ favorite, but in all honesty, I could do without it. There will be at least one accident, guaranteed.”
“At least they had fun,” Alex said.
“You’ll soon learn that more mess equals more fun with this group. They definitely keep me on my toes,” Mrs. Overland said with a good natured laugh.
Alex chuckled along with her. He’d had a good time today. The kids were attentive, and for the most part, well behaved. Although Alex quickly learned the little angels could turn into devils in an instant. When Mrs. Overland had to step out of the class to take an important phone call, the students had gone wild.
Alex was completely dumbfounded. On a construction site, dozens of men followed his orders without the least bit of resistance, but give him a roomful of six year olds and he lost all control. No matter how loud he bellowed, clapped his hands, or banged on the table, the little critters had paid him no mind whatsoever.
Yet when the soft spoken Mrs. Overland had returned to the room, the rowdy students had quieted immediately.
“You did really well,” Mrs. Overland complimented him. “Most parents would not have lasted the morning.”
“Thanks,” Alex answered. Even though he didn’t believe he’d done a good job, he appreciated her attempt to make him feel like less of a fool for being overrun by the little heathens. “It did become a bit overwhelming. I’m not sure how you handle them day in and day out. I have a hard enough time dealing with just one.”
“It’s not always easy managing all those little personalities, but it’s worth it when they come back years later as successful young men and women.”
“I’m convinced people are born to be teachers. Not everyone can do what you all do,” Alex said.
“Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes. Now, will I see you tomorrow?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, I’ll be back.”
“Good, because I think this is going to do a world of good for Jasmine.”
“Mr. Powell recommended I gradually back out of the picture. So I figure I’ll stick around full days for the next couple of weeks. Maybe start leaving after lunch the week after next, and the week after that I’ll come for just a couple of hours in the mornings.”
“That so
unds like an excellent plan. She really is a sweet child, Mr. Holmes. I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I am so very impressed with the way you are raising your daughter. I know it must be difficult.”
Alex shrugged, and simply answered, “She’s mine.”
The fact that people were so awed that he was raising Jasmine on his own continued to baffle him. Who else was going to raise his daughter? It was a double standard that irked Alex to no end. Millions of single mothers raised their children without praise. Hell, after his father died, his own mother had become a part of that group. Why did people feel the need to constantly pat him on the back for fulfilling his responsibility?
“The kids have another twenty minutes in music class, and then I’ll walk them to the bus loading zone. Is Jasmine riding home with you this afternoon?”
Alex shook his head. “When we talked about my helping out in her class, I explained that she would get no special treatment, which included being chauffeured to and from school. She’ll take the bus home just like all the other students.”
“Well, if you want to, you can leave. When they get back from music class they’ll only have time to pack up their backpacks and head out to the bus loading zone.”
“Is there anything you need me to do to help prepare for tomorrow?” Alex asked.
“No, I—oh, wait. Are you up to wrestling with the copy machine again? I want to start the morning with a few penmanship exercises.” Mrs. Overland shuffled through a few papers on her desk. “Here they are. Eighteen copies of these.”
Alex tried to hide his unease behind a smile. “No problem,” he lied.
Alex headed back for the room that housed the copiers. Maybe those two teachers from this morning would be there to bail him out just in case he broke the machine. He’d break the copier on purpose to get the one with the Band Aid on her forehead to come to his rescue.
The admission blew his mind. Just the fact that he was still thinking about her shocked the hell out of him.
These days, Alex rarely allowed himself to give an attractive woman a second glance. It’s not that he didn’t notice them. He was human, after all, and one hundred percent hetero. He simply didn’t have the energy getting involved with a woman would require.
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