Misty and the Single Dad

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I’m taking in tenants, not getting engaged. And it’s not a dump. It’s a great place…’

  ‘To raise a family? Is that what you want?’ Then he laughed and turned away. ‘But of course it is,’ he said. ‘The only one who ever really wanted to get out of here was me. So much for your list, Misty. One dose of hormones and it’s shot to pieces.’

  She watched him go, his shoulders slumped. She didn’t feel sorry for him, or not very. He could change what he was. Rebecca was nice, bubbly, cuddly. They had good kids. But staying here…being trapped…

  It had changed him, destroyed something in him that was fundamental to who he was, she conceded. Frank was no longer faithful to Rebecca. He was no longer committed to this school.

  Your list is fundamental to who you are, a voice whispered. It’s why you’ve got up in the morning for years.

  She closed her eyes. Her list wasn’t important. Was it?

  When she opened her eyes, Bailey was being towed to the sandpit by Natalie, the two of them giggling.

  Bailey looked like his dad. Nicholas was gorgeous. Nicholas made her feel…

  As Rebecca had once made Frank feel?

  Stop it, she told herself harshly. Don’t even go there. One day at a time, Misty Lawrence, and don’t you dare pull back because of Frank, or a stupid, unattainable list. If you do, then you risk ending up with nothing.

  But, decision or not, she didn’t eat with them that night. Deliberately. Gran was more deeply asleep than usual when she visited her after school but she decided she’d stay on anyway. She did her schoolwork by Gran’s bedside and at eight she finally went home.

  Nick was on the veranda, by himself.

  Her heart did this queer little twist at the sight of him. Stupid.

  He wasn’t by himself, she saw as she got nearer. The two dogs were at his feet and for some reason that made her heart twist all over again.

  They looked up and wagged their tails and settled again.

  ‘Is your gran okay?’ Nick asked, and smiled, and her stupid heart did its stupid back flip with pike. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

  ‘She’s okay,’ she managed. ‘The dogs?’

  ‘They’ve been missing you.’

  ‘Really?’ They’d done their tail wagging. Their eyes closed again. ‘They’re ecstatic to see me?’

  ‘I’m ecstatic to see you.’

  ‘At least they wagged their tails,’ she retorted, deciding to treat that remark very lightly indeed.

  ‘I don’t do a good wag.’

  ‘Neither do I. Especially when I’m tired.’

  Was she tired? No, but it seemed the sensible thing to say. It was a precursor to walking right by him, going inside, closing the door.

  ‘There’s wine in my refrigerator,’ he said, motioning to the glass in his hand. ‘I’m only one glass down. It’s good wine. I was hoping you’d join me.’

  ‘I…’ She gathered herself, her books, her resolution. ‘Thank you, no. I need to do some work.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Scared, Misty?’

  Scared? Maybe she was, but she wasn’t admitting it. Last night’s kiss had done things to her she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. ‘It’s you who’s scared of risks,’ she managed.

  ‘I’m not fearful here,’ he told her. ‘And I’m not fearful for me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make my son safe, and he’s safe here.’

  She didn’t like that. The tiny sizzle inside her faded, cooled.

  Last night’s kiss had started something in her heart that she wasn’t sure what to do with. There was a warmth, the promise of fire, the promise of things to come.

  My son’s safe here.

  That was the statement of a man who loved his child above all else. As a teacher, she should have warmed to him saying it. She did.

  But had last night’s kiss been more of the same? Part of a strategy to make his son safe?

  ‘I do need to work,’ she said, trying desperately to tighten things inside that needed to be tightened. To sit on the veranda and drink wine with this man…to plan on doing it again tomorrow and the night after…

  No. She would not be part of his safety strategy, or no more than she already was.

  ‘Are the dogs okay?’ she asked, managing to make her voice brisk.

  ‘They’re great,’ he said. ‘We carried Ketchup down to the beach after school. Took ran about ten miles in wider and wider circles until we all felt dizzy. Ketchup lay on the rug and watched Took and quivered all over. He’ll be running in no time.’

  She bit her lip. If she’d come straight home she could have joined them. Maybe Nick and Bailey had been expecting her to come home in time to join them.

  It was just as well she hadn’t. Be practical.

  ‘They’re fed?’

  ‘They’re both fed. Ketchup’s had his painkillers and his antibiotics. Would you like to take him inside with you?’

  She looked down at her dog. He was nestled at Nick’s feet, warm against Took. Took was so thin; she needed Ketchup’s body warmth. And Ketchup would still be hurting. With Took…

  With Nicholas…

  ‘They need each other,’ she said. ‘They’re fine with you.’

  ‘Ketchup’s supposed to be your dog.’

  ‘Yours, mine, this is just home.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ Nick said and rose. ‘Are you sure you don’t want wine?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Cocoa?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘That got a reaction,’ he said, and grinned. ‘You don’t see yourself as a cocoa girl?’

  ‘I have some living to do before then.’

  ‘This is a great spot to do some living,’ he said contentedly.

  ‘No,’ she said, and she remembered Frank’s words. They weren’t about her, she thought. It shouldn’t matter that one man had been trapped and turned bitter.

  But, oh, the bitterness…

  ‘This might be a place for you to retreat to and live the rest of your life after danger,’ she whispered, bending to give Ketchup a pat, a scratch behind his ears, before she made her escape. ‘But for me it’s a place to come home to between living.’

  He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Meaning I’ve never had danger at all,’ she told him. ‘Not…not that I want it. Of course I don’t. But I would have liked one little adventure before I retired to my rocker and cocoa.’

  He was looking confused. As well he might, she thought. Her dreams were nothing to do with this man.

  ‘Sorry, I’m being dumb,’ she managed. ‘But I do need to do some work. Enjoy your evening.’ And she bolted through the screen door onto her side of the house before he could probe any more.

  I’ve never had danger at all… What sort of stupid statement was that? But she knew what she meant.

  ‘Your list is hopeless,’ she whispered to herself as she closed the door on man and dogs. So stop rabbiting on about danger. About adventures.

  Deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she told herself. ‘Let’s get this in perspective. Yes, I kissed him and yes, I liked it. Or more than liked it,’ she conceded. ‘But I won’t be kissed because I’m a safe haven. Nicholas Holt and his son are gorgeous but I’m not stupid. At least-please don’t let me be stupid. Please let me keep my head. Please don’t let me turn into Frank.

  ‘And please give me strength to stay on my side of the door.’

  How could she live in the house and avoid him? She tried, but in the mornings when Bailey bounced through to be taken to school she couldn’t miss him.

  She dressed early now-there was no way he was catching her in her nightwear again-but even when she was ready for them…

  Nick leaned his long body against the kitchen bench while she finished her coffee and Bailey gave her a full report on all that had happened since she’d last seen him.

  Seeing that was only since school finished the night before, it was hardly momentous but there was st
ill a lot to tell-how many seagulls Took had chased, or that Dad had cooked sausages for them the night before-she’d smelled them and it had almost killed her not to dump her pasta and head next door-and how Dad’s sketches of his new boat were almost finished and it was going to be beeyootiful and it was going to be built in England but Dad said they couldn’t go and see it.’

  ‘Why not?’ She couldn’t help herself asking. She could be polite. She just couldn’t be involved.

  She was not a safe haven.

  But it seemed she was, like it or not. ‘This is where we live now,’ Bailey said happily. He hesitated. ‘Gran Rose and Papa Bill still live in England but Dad says they might come out and see us soon.’

  ‘Isabelle’s parents,’ Nick explained.

  ‘Dad’s Mom and Papa don’t like us very much,’ Bailey confided. ‘When I was in hospital they told Dad, “Reap as you sow”. I don’t exactly know what it means but Dad got angry and Gran Rose started to cry and then they went away. And they think Australia’s dangerous.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Misty said and abandoned the rest of her coffee and bundled Bailey to school. Feeling ill for Nick.

  Ill or not, she could not afford sympathy. It was important not to get caught up in his shadows.

  Yeah, and pigs might fly but she didn’t have to hang round the kitchen one minute longer than she must.

  She didn’t need to hang round Nicholas Holt.

  She was not safe.

  She arrived home the next night and Nick was in the laundry, inside her washing machine. Bits were spread everywhere. He was wearing greasy overalls and she couldn’t see his head.

  ‘So how long’s it been taking itself on tours all over the laundry?’ he asked, muffled by washing machine. ‘And ripping the odd shirt.’

  ‘I had someone look at it last week.’ Indeed she had, and last month as well. ‘Buy a new one,’ the mechanic had said. ‘It’s well past its use-by date.’

  Nick inflicted a couple of satisfactory thumps and a final one for good measure before hauling himself out from underneath. ‘I’m thinking she’ll be right now,’ he said. ‘I just need to put her back together.’

  There was a long line of grease running down the side of his nose. He had grease in his hair. He looked…he looked…

  She didn’t want to think how he looked.

  He put the washing machine back together. It purred like a kitten. She and Bailey watched the first load in respectful awe.

  Nick tried not to look smug. Misty thought she wouldn’t need to use her list money to pay for a new washing machine. Misty thought there was a man in greasy overalls in her laundry.

  She was having trouble not purring herself.

  Which just went to show, she thought, as she retreated hastily to her side of the house.

  She wasn’t the least bit safe-and Nicholas Holt was starting to look downright dangerous.

  ‘I don’t want it to be the weekend.’ Bailey announced to the world on Friday morning, and she wasn’t surprised. Bailey had taken to school with joy, and the thought of no school tomorrow seemed more than Bailey could bear.

  ‘You’ll have the dogs to play with, and it’ll do you good to sleep in,’ Nick told his son, delivering him to Misty’s kitchen for the ride to school. ‘It’ll do us all good. Miss Lawrence works too hard.’

  Um…she didn’t need to, Miss Lawrence admitted to herself. There wasn’t a huge amount of correction to be done for Grade One, and she’d created so many lesson plans over the last few evenings she could rest on her laurels for a month.

  But she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. If only he wouldn’t wear those jeans in her kitchen. If only he wouldn’t lean against her bench. If only he’d stop fixing things. If only he’d stop smiling. If only he wasn’t so long, so rangy. So… Nicholas No. ‘I work no harder than I must,’ she said primly and bustled Bailey out to the car with speed, but she was aware of him watching her as she drove away.

  He was amused?

  He knew she was attracted to him, she thought. But did he know just how afraid she was? Of being kissed.

  No. She wasn’t the least afraid of being kissed.

  She was afraid of being safe.

  She was afraid, he thought, and he wasn’t sure why. Had she been burned in the past? Roger Proudy and his sloppy kisses?

  Why was it important to figure it out?

  It wasn’t important. It couldn’t be important. He’d known Misty Lawrence for less than a week. He’d made an absolute commitment to his son, to do what he must to give him the stability he needed. That did not include getting involved with any woman.

  Only this wasn’t any woman. This was Misty and she made him feel…different.

  Yeah, she was warm, funny, loving. She didn’t threaten his plans for the future in any way-rather she augmented them.

  But what he was feeling was more than that.

  He was working on plans for a seriously large yacht. She was being built in England. He should be there now, but this new way-delegating responsibility to a partner-was working fine. He sat in the big front room with his plans spread out over two tables. He was consulting via Skype. He could see what was happening every step of the way.

  He should be excited by this project. He was excited, but undercutting his excitement was…Misty.

  The vision of Misty was always there, in front of him.

  The dogs were sleeping on his feet as he worked. Misty and Bailey were both at school. He should be knee-deep in boat plans.

  He was, but…

  ‘But tomorrow’s Saturday,’ he told the dogs. ‘Tomorrow we get to take a day off. We’ll all take a day off. Together?’

  Separate houses. Separate lives.

  He looked at the two dogs. Separate lives? Yeah, right. They’d figured it out.

  Misty.

  He needed to do a bit of figuring himself.

  Saturday morning, and Misty had every intention in the world of keeping the door between the sides of the house firmly shut.

  She could use some extra sleep, she told herself, so she didn’t set her alarm, and when she heard a door slam and a child giggle on the other side of the house she closed her eyes again and wished she’d closed the curtains.

  Only when had she ever? Her almost floor-length windows opened out to the veranda, to the sea. The breeze was making the net curtains flutter outward. It’d be a great day, Misty thought, and yawned and stretched-and a dog landed on her chest.

  Any dog but Took might have winded her, but Took was a very slight dog and she barely packed a whumph.

  ‘Yikes,’ she said and Took quivered and licked. It was good to have dogs back here, she thought. It was great.

  And more. Bailey’s head poked though the window, peering around the net curtains. ‘Took! Dad said we’re not allowed to wake up Miss Lawrence.’

  Took, it seemed, wasn’t following instructions. She stood on Misty’s chest and continued quivering, but not with fear. This was excitement.

  So much for separate. Misty chuckled and moved sideways in the bed so Bailey could join them. Then she realised Ketchup was at the window, whining at being left out. With one gammy leg, he couldn’t manage the twelve-inch sill, so she had to climb out of bed, scoop Ketchup up and scoot back to bed before anyone…anyone in particular…came looking for his son.

  She tugged the covers to her chin. She was covered in two dogs and Bailey. She was respectable.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ she asked, trying to sound…uninterested.

  ‘In the shower. He takes ages. What will we do today?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re doing,’ Misty said cautiously. ‘This morning I’ll visit my gran, and this afternoon I’m sailing.’

  ‘Sailing.’ Bailey lit with excitement. ‘I like sailing. Can Dad and I come?’

  ‘Come where?’ And it was Nick-of course it was Nick-speaking from right outside the window. So much for showers taking ages. He did have the decency not to stick his head in, though. ‘Wh
at are you two planning?’

  ‘Sailing,’ Bailey said and flew to the window to tug the curtains wide. ‘Miss Lawrence and I are going sailing.’

  Nick was wearing jeans again and a T-shirt, a bit too tight. His hair was wet. He looked… He looked…

  Like it was totally inappropriate for him to be looking through her bedroom window.

  At first glance he’d been smiling-his killer smile-but Bailey’s words had driven the smile away.

  ‘You’re not sailing,’ he told his son.

  Misty thought that was his prerogative, but his voice was so hard, so definite, so unexpectedly angry that, before she could help herself, she heard herself say, ‘Why not?’

  ‘We don’t sail.’

  ‘You design yachts,’ she said in astonishment. ‘You built a yacht.’

  ‘I design yachts, yes, but that’s all. Bailey doesn’t sail.’ It was a grim snap, and somehow it was impossible not to respond.

  ‘Says your mother.’

  His face froze. Uh oh, she thought grimly. That was out of line. She’d overstepped the boundaries-of what was wise, of what was kind. This was not her business.

  But she’d said it. The words hung. It was the second time she’d goaded him about his paranoia, and his smile wasn’t coming back.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, icy with anger.

  Should she apologise? Part of her said yes. The other part wasn’t having a bar of it.

  ‘Ooh, who’s cross?’ she ventured, thinking there was no unsaying what she’d said. It might even be a good thing that she had said it, she decided. Someone had to fight for Bailey. Maybe they should have this out when Bailey wasn’t around, but Bailey looked interested rather than worried.

  ‘Dad fusses,’ he said and she nodded.

  ‘I guess if I had a little boy who’d just come out of hospital I might fuss, too.’ She peeped Bailey a conspiratorial smile, a smile of mischief. ‘But the sailing I do is pussycat. I have a Sharpie, a tiny yacht, I’d guess it’s far smaller than anything you guys have ever sailed. The bay’s safe as houses. Bailey, if your dad lets you try Mudlark out-that’s the name of my boat, by the way, because the first time I tried her out I got stuck in mud-we could stay in shallow water. And of course we’d wear life vests.’