Her phone vibrated, saving her from making something up to tell Casey. Eden might be good at secret keeping, but she was bad at lies.
It was Annelise. Her heart gave a little jump, half fear, half joy, like it always did, and probably would for the rest of her life when her daughter called or texted her.
Mom, I can’t find the glue stick!
This was followed by an emoji of a cat with wide, horrified eyes.
Uh-oh. Tonight’s homework was doomed without the glue stick.
P.S. I even looked under the fridge!
Peace and Love had once stolen the glue stick and batted it all over the house, finally deliberately whapping it under the fridge like a fuzzy, dickhead David Beckham.
“Glue stick emergency!” She flashed her cell phone at Casey like an FBI badge. “Gotta run.”
And while Gabe’s head was bent attentively to listen to Meredith Blevins and her husband, she made a break for it, like Cinderella.
Because like she’d said that day in the hallway at school, she was onto him.
And if he knew how to fascinate a woman like her . . . she was pretty sure she knew how to fascinate a man like him.
If that was something she wanted to do, that was.
Because she didn’t have time for that sort of thing, after all.
Cinderella stopped off on the way home from the ball at the all-night Walgreens in search of a glue stick.
When her head finally hit the pillow that night, instead of counting sheep or listening to some soothing, tweedly, New Age–bird song hybrid music, which she actually often did and quite enjoyed, a different refrain ran through Eden’s head.
. . . sing in the . . .
She was pretty certain that last word was shower.
But it could be car. Or it could be backyard or bathtub or key of G or Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
But just as though it were a particularly fabulous book, the notion of missing the ending suddenly seemed untenable.
She had a hunch Gabe’s strategy was to administer himself in potent little doses that released, stealthily, throughout her days. So that their conversation never really ended. So that in some way, he was always subliminally on her mind.
Which likely also meant she was always on his mind.
Diabolical man. She smiled to herself.
It was working like freaking gangbusters, if that was it.
But to figure out a strategy like that . . . damn. He must really want her. Not only that, but he seemed to get her. And while every woman wanted to hear she’s beautiful in a man’s eyes, true seduction was all about making it clear that he saw her for who she truly was. That maybe he saw things that no one else saw. And liked them all. And wanted them all.
His intuition about who she was under the mom clothes, the sexual tension between them she could literally slice and serve like birthday cake, but which he patiently held in check, which made it all that much hotter—Gabe Caldera was playing a long game.
And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so breathlessly, thrillingly uncertain.
Maybe when she was thirteen. She didn’t know how on earth she could afford to apportion any of her life over to being uncertain, when the most precious person in the world to her was sleeping in the next room, still clutching the stuffed cat her Uncle Jesse had bought her when she was three.
Eden rolled over.
She picked up her phone.
She sat there in the dark, clutching it, heart picking up a beat (“Oh, brother. Hearts don’t pick up a beat unless there’s a problem, Eden.”—Dr. Jude Harwood), suspended in indecision.
If she did what she was awfully tempted to do right now, it was tantamount to telling Gabe that not only was his plan working, but that she was officially participating. She was buying in.
But was it really as profound as all that? It was just one day in her schedule, right? One teeny tiny change. It didn’t have to signify any kind of commitment.
She took a breath and dashed off the text to her mom.
Mom, I’ll pick up Annelise from school tomorrow on the way to some deliveries. Danny’s been dying to hold down the fort on his own and I’m going to give him a shot!
This wasn’t untrue. Danny was dying to try everything in the world.
Eden would send Ray the parking monitor some flowers with a card that said, “Get well,” but might as well read “Thank you.”
Because she remembered full well who’d stepped into Ray’s shoes while he was recovering from gallbladder surgery.
Her mom, who ought to be asleep by now because her day started incredibly early but who was probably awake reading the latest un-put-downable Susan Elizabeth Phillips novel, immediately texted back a thumbs-up and a half dozen kisses and hugs. Three each for her and Annelise.
Chapter 7
At ten minutes to three, Gabe posted himself in front of the school in Ray’s absurd-but-deemed-necessary reflective vest and watched as mom after mom in car after car pulled up in front of the school—Suburbans, Explorers, Outbacks, sturdy, well-used, dust-powdered Hellcat Canyon SUVs. Most of the parents knew the pickup drill—where to line up in front of the school, how to enter the parking lot and circle out of it once their kids were safely collected and strapped in—but Ray’s job was to make sure no one went rogue and took cuts or got confused or ran over a little person.
Despite Eden’s speedy departure the other night, Gabe was feeling—possibly unreasonably—confident. All day.
At five minutes to three, just the slightest amount of doubt began to kick in.
So when the little white delivery van painted with a veritable garden of flowers pulled into the parking lot, it was all he could do not to fist pump.
He waited until Eden dutifully took her place in the queue.
She was the seventh car.
And then he strolled casually over and leaned down like he was about to issue a ticket.
Her window slid down.
She was wearing a green cardigan over a T-shirt that, if he was not mistaken, had a big cat face on it.
“. . . sing in the . . .” was how she greeted him.
“. . . shower.”
Delight and hilarity, and something more intense and abstracted, like she was picturing him doing it, slowly suffused her face. “You sing in the shower?”
“Like a canary with bronchitis.”
She laughed. Ye Gods, what a great, great laugh she had. Throaty and musical. Abandoned. The kind of laugh that made him want to pick her up and twirl her.
“Usually classic rock. And grunge is considered classic rock now, right? Soundgarden. A few selections from musicals.”
“Aha. Like Man of La Mancha, for instance.”
“Maybe so, maybe so. All right, Ms. Harwood. What are your guilty pleasure songs?”
“Oh, let’s see . . . well, there’s ‘Nights in White Satin.’ You know, that old song by the Moody Blues.”
“Oh, yeah. Classic. I don’t think you need to be embarrassed about that one.”
“And ‘Wichita Lineman.’”
“Another respectable choice.”
“I’ve heard it about a million times over the years, and I confess I still get goose bumps from those very first notes.”
“Do you often get goose bumps?” This was adorable.
He would, frankly, love to give her goose bumps. Maybe by applying his tongue to that little hollow beneath her ear where her heart would be thundering because she was wildly turned on.
“Mmm. Sure. Well, sometimes. Usually when I see or hear something that feels, oh . . .” She shrugged a little self-consciously. “. . . particularly beautiful and true.”
He couldn’t think of what to say, because what she’d just said was beautiful and true, as far as he was concerned, and she’d said it offhandedly, as though it was just one of the thousands of everyday thoughts she had.
So he just smiled.
Something about his smile made her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear a
nd pink rush into her cheeks.
More cars pulled into the parking lot, and he stepped away to eyeball to make sure no one took cuts, double-parked, ran over an errant child or squirrel.
“Ray says to tell you thanks for the flowers, by the way,” he said.
“Oh. Of course he’s welcome. Okay. So what about you . . . what are your other guilty pleasure songs, Principal Gabe?”
“Oh, let’s see . . . Okay, there’s ‘First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.’ Roberta Flack.”
“Oh.” Her eyes were huge.
“What? Too gloppy?”
“No. It’s perfect. That bass line. You know, like a heartbeat.” She tapped her sternum with her hand. “Thump thump. Thump thump.”
“Like a couple of lovers laying there after, you know.”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, teasing him for the euphemism in a way that made, if not goose bumps, then something similarly tingly, trace his spine and tighten his stomach muscles. “After ‘you know.’”
“I have to use euphemisms on school grounds. And especially when I’m in uniform.” He gestured to his glowing vest. “I do actually know all the grown-up words for ‘you know.’”
He was dying to say, “And I’d happily whisper them in your ear in the supply closet right now, if you’d like,” but he knew he was going to need to calibrate with Eden Harwood.
They smiled at each other, and hers was tilted, ever so slightly wry and rakish. But a little uncertain.
“It’s kind of a cut to the chase song,” he added thoughtfully. “Topic wise.”
“It is,” she agreed.
“Whenever I hear it, I stop what I’m doing and gaze mistily into the middle distance.”
“You do?”
“I don’t know. I’m just assuming. Based on the way your face looked when you heard ‘Day After Day.’”
She laughed again, delightedly. “Okay, what else?”
“Um . . . okay, you know what gets me? That Blue Room song that was everywhere a few years ago?” He crooned, “‘Hey, Lily Anne, I’ve never been so glad to be a man’ . . . what? What’s wrong?”
Eden’s face had gone as blank as a jukebox with the cord yanked. It was the expression of someone who patently does not want someone else to know what they’re actually thinking.
“What is it? Is my singing that bad? Not a Jasper Townes fan? Or is it because I can’t hit the high notes the way he can?”
“No,” she said, after a little hesitation. “I actually like your interpretation better than his.”
“No accounting for taste, I guess.”
She laughed at that, and light and expression flooded her face again, as if someone had flipped a switch. That was a relief.
“I’d probably get booed offstage at open mic nights at the Misty Cat, wouldn’t I?” he said, faux glumly.
The clock on her dash showed two minutes to three. Gabe pivoted a quarter turn. The big double doors of the main school building had just been thrown open by Carl the janitor.
And then the final school bell rang. A sound that punctuated his days.
Whoosh! The colorful tide of kids began pouring out and running toward the cars parked for their moms or dads to ferry them home again. He could see Annelise in the crowd. Her goldy blond, pink-streaked hair flashing.
“Well, as you said, there’s no accounting for taste,” Eden said. “But my dad might give you the hook. He’s a man of strong, distinctive opinions when it comes to music, and he has great taste.”
“Yeah, I’ve met Glenn. A straight shooter, your dad. He’s not stingy with opinions. So are you more like your—”
And just like that, Annelise was running up to the car, face lit up with the sheer pleasure of seeing her mom, backpack thumping on her narrow back, two pigtails flying.
“Hi, Mr. Caldera. Why are you here? Am I in trouble?” She sounded more curious than concerned. She was a pip, Annelise Harwood.
“Did you eat your leftover broccoli that your Uncle Mac gave you?”
“I totally did!”
“Then not today.”
Annelise fell all over herself with giggles as she hurled herself into the car.
“Give me a smooch,” Eden ordered.
Gabe actually took a half step forward before it fully registered that she was talking to her daughter.
Annelise pulled herself forward from the backseat and kissed her mom noisily on the cheek, then sank backward again.
“Mom, we’re doing a report on ecosystems! Do you know what an ecosystem is?”
“I’m familiar with the concept, yes, child.”
“We’re gonna need some glitter.”
“Glitter? Where is this ecosystem, the Land of Oz?”
“Noooooo!” This was hilarious, apparently. “I just wanted the flowers to be really shiny! Flowers are important!”
“Word, girlfriend.” Eden held her hand back to be high-fived by Annelise. “She likes everything to be shinier,” Eden explained to Gabe.
“It’s a good life philosophy,” he concurred.
Nothing was shinier than their two faces now. Glowing like a couple of little suns, happy to be in each other’s company again.
He could all too easily imagine them being the sun in his ecosystem.
Behind them a car containing a mom and child gave an impatient tap on the horn.
He stepped away reluctantly. Eden gifted him with a smile, then lowered her shades.
“Okay, buttercup, let’s roll.”
“Bye, Mr. Caldera!” Annelise leaned out the window to wave. He waved at them.
Which made him feel obliged to wave at every mom and child leaving as they all departed the parking lot, like some kind of town eccentric.
If that was the toll for talking to Eden for a few minutes, he’d happily pay.
And it was actually kind of fun.
Even though he of course had to get to a board meeting.
The next day Eden said to her assistant, “Hey, Danny, I’m going to pick up Annelise and leave a little earlier today than yesterday. How do you feel about holding down the fort about ten minutes longer than usual?”
“I’m down with that, Ms. H. I can totally do that! You can count on me!”
She was blessed that she’d found an assistant who was such a nice person and who was ready to seize life by the throat, balls, nape, whatever portion of it he grabbed on to.
She only realized how embarrassingly, transparently early she was to pick up Annelise when she barely recognized the virtually empty school parking lot. She’d never seen it when it wasn’t crowded with harried parents in revving vehicles. It was empty, apart from a couple of blue jays hopping around on the sidewalk.
And Gabe. Standing there in Ray’s reflective vest.
She could see his grin from the entrance.
She pulled up right next to him and rolled down the window.
“You came first,” Gabe said.
He froze in place when he realized how that sounded.
So did she.
Behind him a blue jay hop hop hopped, comically, in the fraught silence.
She slowly dragged her sunglasses away from her face.
“You don’t mind if I come first, do you?” She furrowed her brow ever so slightly.
“I’m all about whatever you need,” he said instantly, with such quiet, staggeringly thrilling conviction her breath stopped.
YOW!
Her nether regions flared with heat as though a match had been tossed down there.
She was reminded in that moment that this was a capital “M” man. Whatever they were doing, he meant business. What he’d just said confirmed for her everything she suspected he held in check.
He was waiting for cues from her.
She didn’t know what to say.
Her mind had blanked. Part of her floated overhead, watching herself in her L.L. Bean button-down mom shirt (albeit a flattering one) in her flowery mom van, trading sizzling sexual innuendos with an elementary school p
rincipal whose green eyes were now just a little crinkled at the corners.
He knew exactly what he’d just done to her.
And he probably knew that she’d shocked herself.
Where on earth could their conversation go when it had started with an innuendo about orgasms? She should just start the car, back up, and pull quietly out of the parking lot and never return.
Instead, she folded her hands primly in her lap as if tucking in wayward wantonness.
“Are you more like . . .” she prompted. Somewhat subdued.
“. . . your mom or dad,” he completed easily. His eyes were still full of those wicked lights. Amused. But no less serious.
Her breath hadn’t yet returned to normal cadences.
And might never.
“I’m going to go with . . . well, I love them both madly. But I’m more like my dad.”
“Your dad, huh? Yeah, I think I see the resemblance around your fluffy mustache.”
He was laughing now.
“Hey! I’ll have you know Casey Carson prides herself in ripping every single hair off my face in exchange for really creative bouquets for her salon waiting area.”
He winced. “I’m not sure that’s a fair exchange. But why do you think you’re more like your dad?”
She hesitated. “Well, my dad’s a little less effusive, a little more guarded than my mom. Ferociously loving and protective, in his own growly way. Thinks my mom hung the moon, even after forty some-odd years of marriage.”
“Yeah?” he said softly. “Why do you think you’re guarded?”
It was a friendly, conversational question. But it was also a dare, in a way. And if she took it, it was another step down the ladder into the deep end of the pool.
Then again, every question between them was like this.
And she excelled at swimming.
And she couldn’t resist a dare.
But the deeper they got in, the harder it would be to just zip right back out to the safety of certainty.
It had been a pretty long time since she’d answered these kinds of questions about herself. Who was she, apart from Annelise’s mom? When was the last time someone wanted to know?
The First Time at Firelight Falls Page 8