Grabbing her arms to steady her from falling, I apologize profusely. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”
Smiling tightly, the blonde isn’t thrilled a random stranger practically ran her over. But she’s polite anyway. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? You aren’t hurt?” I don’t think she is, but sometimes I don’t know my own strength.
This time her smile is a little more genuine. “I’m sure. You sure are in a rush.”
Letting go of her arms, I feel like she needs an explanation other than me racing around like an idiot. “I’m the one parent who has a tendency to be late for school pickup. The lady at the front desk gives me a nasty evil glare if she has to call me.”
This woman, whose name I still haven’t bothered to ask, laughs and I’m struck by how cute she is. She’s definitely a few years older than I am, but not by much. There’s nothing about her that necessarily stands out in a crowd, but her smile is genuine. This is a woman who likes to laugh and have fun. I always gravitate toward those people, which gives me a fleeting thought: I should have noticed my ex-wife hardly ever smiled for real. Laughing was even rarer unless it was at someone else’s expense. Those should have been easy indicators she wasn’t the one for me.
“Parker Elementary?” the blonde asks.
“Yeah.” I give her a quizzical look. “How did you know?”
“Do not mess with Ms. Alexander’s routine. She will cut a bitch.”
My laugh comes easily, and I find myself hoping this woman is a new member. She’s funny. I love it when clients have a sense of humor. Offering her my hand, I introduce myself. “I’m Abel. Trainer here at Weight Expectations and father of Mabel in second grade.”
She places her cold hand in mine. “Elliott. Interviewee for the childcare position and mother of Ainsley, also in second grade.”
“Ah! Well it’s nice to meet you. Fingers crossed I’ll see you here later as a fellow employee. And if not here, at Parker Elementary as a fellow parent. Hopefully not in Ms. Alexander’s line of sight.”
Elliott holds up her gloved hands and crosses her fingers around each other. “Wish me luck. Now run fast.”
I salute her goodbye for some unknown reason and pull my beanie low on my head, jogging my way to the school. It’s not far, only a few city-blocks away, but by the time I get there, children are spilling out of the building and parents are greeting them with hugs and kisses. Most of the adults are understandably women. Not many stay-at-home dads out there, at least none I’ve run into. A man can hope, though. Some of these women and their “come hither” looks can get a bit creepy, and I’m used to gym rats hitting on me. They’ve got nothing on a lonely PTA mom. Or at least the one looking at me right now.
Pretend you don’t see her, Abel. Play dead. Well, not dead. But whatever you do, do not look her way!
Of course, that means my eyes glance over, the traitors. Said mom is licking her lips while looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. And there’s no way she can convince me there is hot chocolate in her fancy thermos cup. My money is on a hot toddy.
Quickly turning my attention away before she gets any ideas—well, more ideas than she already has—I search the crowd for my kiddo. It takes a minute to realize she’s not here. Dammit. That means I have to go inside.
I hustle up the steps, praying to the gods of education that I don’t run into Ms. Alexander. The creaky door isn’t helping my attempt at being stealth. But it does give Mabel a heads up that I’m here. She’s leaning against the brick wall, glaring at me. I assume I’m about to get an earful from Miss Sassy-pants. It’s the same look her mother used to give me when I was in trouble.
But I’m not going to think about May now. I’ve got a child to focus on, and getting us out of the building is high on my priority list.
“Hey kiddo. How was your day?”
Pushing herself off the brick with her foot, she continues with the stare. “You’re late, Daddy.”
“I am not. Look at all these parents who are just now getting their kids.” I wave my hand around, gesturing to the two or three remaining moms who are probably only there because they’re volunteers.
“Ms. Alexander said she was going to have to call you again if you didn’t get here in two minutes, and if it happens again, she’ll have to give you a talkin’ to.”
“A ‘talking to,’ huh?” I wave up at the woman in question, so she sees its me and not some random stranger stealing my child away. The scowl I get in return sends shivers down my spine. Looking down at Mabel, I have to concede her point. “Okay, I get it. I’ll be a little earlier from now on.”
Satisfied with my answer, Mabel takes my hand as we leave and begin the walk back.
“Does she always look like that?” I ask once we get to the bottom of the stairs and out of earshot.
“Like she’s constimated?”
I struggle to hold back a laugh. “Constipated?”
“That’s what I said.”
“No, it’s not. And don’t say that about people. It’s not nice.”
In her little-girl attempts at skipping through the brown slush that coats the sidewalks, she successfully ignores my reprimand. “Yes, she always looks that way. It’s why I don’t want her to call you. Because then I have to sit in the chair in her office and look at her looking constimated.”
“Stop saying that, Mabel.”
She sighs and I swear she rolls her eyes; but ever my sassy girl, she turns her head slightly so I don’t know for sure.
“What are we doing today, Daddy? Are we going to the gym?” Turning to face me as we walk, she shifts into a sideways gallop. It’s pretty impressive considering I haven’t slowed down to accommodate her at all.
Chuckling, I’m glad I’m about to make up for being later than she wanted at pickup. “We’re just going to swing by to get our stuff.”
“Yay!” she yells and jumps up and down.
“Just to get our stuff, Mabel. Don’t even think about pulling out the boxing gloves.” She pouts her bottom lip as far as it will go, a true act of attempted manipulation. “I’m serious, Mabel. I have stuff to do at home, and you have homework.”
She groans in disappointment before sighing again. “Fiiiine. Is Joey going to be there at least?”
“He’s always there.”
“True dat.”
What did she say?
I don’t ask, shaking my head in amusement. I’ve always loved my daughter. She is the absolute joy of my life. But this age is my favorite so far. She’s funny and witty, and it’s fun watching her learn about the world around her.
Plus, I’m off diaper duty. Thank the Lord.
Skipping ahead of me, Mabel uses her body weight to brace her feet to the ground and pulls on the door of the gym. It only moves an inch or two before I grab it above her head and help her open in the rest of the way, eliciting yet another glare. I really need to crack down on that somehow.
“Hi, Mabel!”
“Hi, Natalie!” she responds with a wave to the front desk receptionist before racing away, probably to spar with Joey.
“How are you, Abel?” Natalie gives me that same creepy look the PTA mom gives me. It unnerves me, but since we work opposite shifts, I’m less inclined to avoid her at all costs.
“I’m good. Thanks for asking.” Then, I follow behind my daughter, ready to grab all our stuff and get the hell out of my workplace.
My more important job is just beginning for the day.
Chapter Four
ELLIOTT
“What makes you want to work at Weight Expectations?” The general manager and new owner of this facility gives me an intimidating look over the rim of her black glasses. “Seems to me you’re a bit overqualified for this position.”
Keely Maze is a tiny woman, barely reaching five feet, but with her sharp pixie cut, severe makeup, and bulging biceps that flex naturally as she holds my résumé, there is no doubt in my mind she could kick my booty.
Then again, Keely also gives the vibe she doesn’t like things sugar-coated.
Steeling myself as I weigh my choices, I give in to the full truth. What do I have to lose at this point?
“Full transparency, I need a job I can work around my daughter’s schedule. I didn’t plan to be a single mom, but it’s what life threw at me, and I’m making the best of it.” Keely hasn’t moved a muscle. I take that as a good sign and continue. “Yes, I have a degree in social work, but I also have different priorities now. My degree may make it seem like I’m overqualified, but what it really says is I’m hard working, reliable, and can make quick decisions without waiting for someone else to solve problems. And it means I’m empathetic, which you need when working with children.”
That elicits a quirked eyebrow. I choose to believe it’s a positive reaction.
“My goal isn’t to come in and step on anyone’s toes, or even necessarily to ladder-climb. I want this to be mutually beneficial—you have a quality employee and I can provide for my child.”
Done with my speech, I slowly breathe out the rest of the air in my lungs, hoping she doesn’t notice my nerves. Considering her eyes have never left mine, I doubt I’m successful.
Dropping my résumé on her desk, Keely leans back in her chair and taps her pen on the desk a few times, still staring at me. It’s unnerving, but I refuse to back down. I’ve put it all out there. She either accepts it or she doesn’t.
I really hope she does though.
Finally, she stops tapping. “Do you know how many women I know in your position right now? Degreed women who have been left high and dry with children by a man who just leaves to live his life?”
I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but she sounds deeply offended by the plight of so many women.
“The difference in the ones who make it and the ones who don’t,” she continues, “is how they handle it.” Leaning forward, she clasps her hands together and rests her arms on the desk. “Your answer impresses me, Elliott. And now that I’ve taken over at this facility, I want to build an impressive team. One that moms rave about when this gym comes up on social media. Is that you?”
Oddly, I understand exactly what she’s talking about. I’m in a social media group or two, and moms can be vicious if they don’t like something.
“The only thing I can guarantee you is my absolute best. I tend to be social, so hopefully that will make the parents comfortable leaving their children with me. And I’m pretty even-tempered, so I’ll be fine with the kids.”
She cocks her head. “What if one of the kids is a little brat? How are going to handle that?”
“My kid is the brat. I haven’t beaten her yet.”
I’m not positive, but I think Keely looks amused by my candor.
“What if the parent thinks you’re the problem?”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Loudly. Keely looks a bit taken aback, so I quickly try to control my emotions. “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping the tears under my eyes. “It’s just, we’ve lived with my mother for the last three years and she has no problem telling me what a bad mom I am because of Ainsley’s behavior. I’m so good at biting my tongue, it’s a wonder I can still eat an ice cream cone.”
Keely’s mouth twists to the side as she tries to suppress a smile. I’m almost embarrassed I’ve divulged that part of my life in an interview, but really, if I can live with my mother and my child and remain standing, there is nothing the people at this facility can throw my way.
In my mother’s defense, I recognize she has extremely high anxiety and is a verbal processor like I am. Which means she can’t let go of stress until she says out loud whatever is bothering her. Unfortunately, “out loud” means I always hear it, and over the years, I concluded I am a disappointment most of the time. I don’t want Ainsley to feel the same way. I want her to grow up knowing she can talk to me about anything. I want her to always feel good about herself and know she’s important. I want her to want to be friends with me as an adult.
So, I watch my tone and give her lots of space to learn things as a child, which my mother doesn’t seem to understand. Regardless, though, the difference of opinion has apparently given me skills I can utilize here, so I guess it’s not a total bad thing.
Keely quickly and pointedly places her hands on the desk and pushes to a standing position. “Well, let’s go meet the rest of the childcare staff and see what you think.”
I scramble to my feet and follow her out the door. For as short as her legs are, she’s quick. I bet those calf muscles are from running. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran in those sky-high heels, as graceful as she is in them.
Hmm. I wonder if a gym membership is one of the perks of this job.
I also wonder why I care, because I am certainly not going to use it. I’ll be one of those people who has it “just in case.” In case of what, I don’t know.
Pulling open one of the glass doors, Keely swiftly enters a large room filled with toys and children. So. Many. Children.
“As you can see, this is our prime time for childcare,” she explains loudly, trying to be heard over the roar of screaming children. “The after-school crowd is just getting here, which is why we need additional staff in the afternoons.”
The area we’re in is set up like a foyer with cubbies for shoes lining the walls. Keely opens a half door for us to step into the chaos. That actually might be downplaying what’s going on. Madness is more like it.
At first glance, I see three or four workers, each holding at least one baby, one of them with a crying toddler hanging on her as well. Someone else is around the corner in a gym space where some older kids are playing basketball. A little playhouse has so many kids stuffed inside that it looks like a clown car. And more older kids are racing through the room, playing what appears to be a version of tag. Only it’s a tackle version.
But what’s most noticeable is the noise. So. Much. Noise. The squealing, the yelling, the laughing… most of it is happy noise, but there’s no way to tell. It’s not organized chaos, it’s just chaos. And from the looks on the workers’ faces, they’re drowning.
On instinct, I do what I would normally do in this situation, regardless if I’m stepping over a line or not. I put my fingers in my mouth and blow.
The shriek of my whistle is loud and an older boy, who happens to be running by me at the time, is knocked off balance by the sound.
Throwing his hand over his ear as he falls, he cries out. I ignore him. If I know anything about boys his age, they fall over all the time. It comes with growing up.
Besides that one small mishap, the result is exactly what I was hoping for—silence. Even the crying toddler looks stunned.
Once I have everyone’s attention, I have to decide what to do with it. Welp, I’ve come this far. I might as well keep going.
“If you are in elementary school, raise your hand,” I say in my booming mom-voice. It’s not angry, it just reverberates. My theater teachers all through school said I was a natural for the stage because my voice projects. I say it just comes in handy for these kinds of situations.
A dozen hands around the room go up, and more come around the corner from the gym. All of them are sweaty and probably smell a bit, but it’s time to put them to work getting everything under control.
“Can you all please come sit down in front of me?”
They look at each other and the adults they already know before doing as they’re told. I’m surprised Keely hasn’t stopped me yet, but I suspect she was hoping to
get things under control in here and is waiting to see where I’m going with all this.
Once all the children are seated, I continue. “I know you guys just got out of school and want to play, but we need to do it in a way that’s safe for everyone. Do you see all the babies around here?” The kids look around and many of them seem surprised when they notice all the littles in the room. It’s as if they never paid attention before. “They’re much smaller than you. If you run by you could knock them over. Or if there are too many of you in the playhouse, they could get squished. But I have an idea on how we can have fun and stay safe. Are you guys interested?”
Everyone nods except the boy I accidentally deafened. He’s still got his finger in his ear, a sour look on his face. “Can I go play basketball?”
“How many of you want to play basketball in the other room?”
A few hands go up and I dismiss them, reminding them to walk to their destination until they are safely away from the other kids. The woman in who was with them in that room before smiles and nods at me in appreciation before returning to her station.
Turning back to the kids, I continue. “How many of you love babies?”
“I love babies,” a dark haired, freckle-faced girl says. “My baby sister is here.”
“Where is she?”
The girl points to one of the babies that is being held by the woman who also has the toddler attached to her. I walk over and gesture to the infant. She hands the adorable tot to me, and I immediately put her in an Exersaucer. “I bet your baby sister misses you, so come play with her. I bet she likes Peek-A-Boo, or even better, dancing.” The girl immediately runs over to her sister, giving her a big kiss on the forehead and starts singing to her. The baby is obviously delighted because she begins jumping up and down. The worker smiles and stretches her arms. Poor woman was probably starting to cramp in the joints.
One by one, I give each school-aged child a “job,” and within minutes, everyone is playing happily. Even the crying toddler is laughing while knocking over the tower that is continually being rebuilt by two boys just to be destroyed again and again.
Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3) Page 3