Sienna kept one eye on the twins and the other on the ajar closet door. She continued to rock. Caleb sat at the table and dragged his finger down the first page of his book. After a few minutes, Billy walked over to her, sniffling.
“Miss Cruz, are we gonna do math this morning?”
“Would you like to?”
He gave her a long, soulful look and nodded.
“Yes,” Bailey said from the other side of the room. “I want to do math.”
Well, that was a first. Sienna put Silas on the floor. She sat the twins at the table with worksheets and freshly sharpened pencils and walked over to the closet.
“Dawn?”
Nothing. She pushed the door open a few more inches. “Sweetheart, I know you want to stay in here.” As her eyes adjusted, she made out the girl’s tiny frame in the far corner. Sienna held out one hand. “But I need you to come out now.” Please. “I promise you I will be here for you. I will not leave you, and I will make things as safe as I can inside this classroom.”
As she spoke the words aloud, a memory flashed into Sienna’s mind. Kids teasing her in the lunchroom for the funny food in her paper bag. Sienna waiting on the playground as other kids rushed by her to claim the swings. One boy elbowed her in the ribs, and when she cried out in pain, he turned and made a face. The monitors stood at the edge of the playground and kept their eyes averted, talking about soap operas and restaurants and summer vacation. She wondered if things might have been different if a teacher had said those words to her years ago. I will keep you safe. I will protect you.
“Dawn?”
This time, the figure moved in the shadows, and a moment later, Dawn reached out one sticky hand and placed it in Sienna’s. The girl didn’t speak. But she squeezed Sienna’s fingers slightly, as if to say, “Okay, I’m here. But remember. You promised.”
* * * * *
Later that night, Mike unlocked his apartment with a yawn. He debated watching the Knicks-Lakers game, but he’d already missed the first half. Instead, he tuned his iPod to a rap station and spooned vanilla ice cream into a bowl. Sure wasn’t health food, but he spent enough time working out that he figured he could cheat every so often.
His phone buzzed on the kitchen table. “Going to Jimmy’s later,” Zane texted. “Stop by.”
Mike rubbed his eyes and yawned again. “Long day. Gonna skip it. Thanks.”
“Pussy. Stop thinking about her.”
Mike gave his phone the bird and kept eating his ice cream. Zane could call him a pussy all he wanted. The bar scene had lost its appeal long ago. His phone buzzed again, and he was about to send Zane a bunch of X-rated emojis when he checked the name on the screen.
“Hey, friend,” Sienna had written. She put a winky face after friend. “You still up?”
He licked the last of the ice cream from his spoon and set it in the empty bowl. “Yeah. How are you?”
“Tired. Long day.”
“Bad or good day?” he asked.
“Little bit of both. I overslept and was late to class. The kids flipped out.”
Mike kicked off his shoes and carried his phone into the bedroom, where he stretched out on his bed.
“I’m sure they’ll be okay.”
“I’m sure they will too. Just started the day off wrong.”
“In 24 hours it’ll be better,” Mike typed. Then he erased the words. Too corny.
“How was your day?” she asked.
Mike rested his head on one arm. Was this what friends did? Texted about their day? He’d rather talk to her in person. Of course, if she was actually here in person, he didn’t think they’d talk for very long. He’d be too busy trying to figure out how to get her clothes off.
“Good day,” he answered. He wriggled out of his workout pants and pulled his shirt over his head. “You’ll never guess what happened around lunch though.”
‘What? Tell me.” Another winky face.
“I got two clients I just found out are sleeping with the same guy. They were both telling me about him while I was training them. Shoulda seen the looks on their faces when they found out they were talking about the same guy.” It took him almost a minute to type the message.
She sent back a bunch of exclamation points. “No way! Guess that’s a small town for you, huh?”
“People cheat in big cities too.” A lump rose into his throat as he typed. Boy, did they ever.
“True. But how likely are they to come into the same place at the same time? That could happen a dozen times a day here.”
“I guess.” He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Didn’t matter. Didn’t affect him.
“I’m looking forward to dinner,” she wrote after a moment of silence.
Against his best efforts, his groin tightened with desire. “Me too.”
“Guess I’ll call it a night. Have a good one.”
“You too.” He dropped the phone on the bed and reached down to settle a hand on his growing cock. He still didn’t think it was possible to be friends with a woman, especially a woman like Sienna, without wanting more. Here was proof. They could talk about their day, say goodnight, and all he’d think about was what she was wearing. He stroked himself as his eyes fell closed and he saw her above him, smiling and watching him move toward release.
Chapter Twelve
Sienna walked into Marc’s Grille at five past six on Saturday evening. On her way, she saw the skinny stray cat again, only this time it had a companion, an equally skinny yellow and white one with a tail bent in the middle like it was broken. Poor things. Must be tough scrapping out a life when no one wanted you.
Inside the gorgeous, dark-wood interior of the upscale restaurant, she shook away the thoughts and looked around. Groups and couples sat at about half the tables, and it looked as though the maître d’ had a long list in front of him. She hadn’t thought to make a reservation. Had Mike? Maybe they were eating at the bar. Maybe they weren’t even having dinner, but just drinks and appetizers while they watched whatever sporting event happened to be on television.
She slipped off her long black coat and dusted the snow from her hair. She’d chosen jeans, a body-skimming silver top, and tall black boots. Friends or not, every once in a while a girl liked to dress up for dinner. She spied Mike sitting at the bar, but as she walked over, he climbed off his stool and met her halfway.
The maître d’, who’d followed her with menus in hand, directed them to a table in the back corner of the restaurant.
“This is a nice place,” Sienna said. “Very fancy for Pine Point. Is it new?”
Mike nodded. “A couple of years old. This whole block is.”
“It used to be farmland when we were kids, right?”
“Yep.” He stared at his menu.
Sienna scanned the specials and decided on the pot roast with stuffing and asparagus. She needed something hearty on a winter night like this. She set her menu aside and surveyed the other tables. Mostly couples, a few businessmen eating together, and one family of six. A cute blond toddler sat in a high chair and waved her fist as her parents and grandparents oohed and aahed. An older brother, maybe six or seven, looked bored and played with his silverware.
The waiter came and took their order, and after their drinks arrived—martini for her, beer for him—Mike finally sat back in his chair and relaxed his tense posture. “So tell me about your first week of school.”
“It’s been challenging, that’s for sure. I taught a special-ed class once, but now I’m remembering why I went back to grad school.”
“Is it that hard?”
“I only have five kids, so I can’t say it’s hard. Emotionally trying, yes. Frustrating sometimes. They’re all at different levels, and they all have different needs, and I have to try to meet them all at the same time, the best I can.” She took a sip of her martini. “The resource
s are pretty limited too. I don’t know how Lucy did it with just a chalkboard and one computer. We have a crooked table that barely seats them all and chairs that look like they’re left over from the seventies. The books too. Well, they might be from the late nineties, but still. I ordered some new ones, and a bookshelf to put them on, but they won’t get here for at least eight weeks.” She was rattling on, but she didn’t care. It was nice to have someone who listened to her besides Josie the waitress or Loni the school monitor.
“You know what I’d really love?” she continued.
“What?” A smile played on his face.
“Beanbag chairs.” She laughed. “It sounds silly, right? But I had a teacher—I think it was in fourth grade—who had them all around the room. Whenever we finished our work early, or got a good grade on a test, we could sit in one and read.”
“Let me guess.” He tilted his head. “You spent a lot of time in those beanbag chairs, Miss Smarty-Pants.”
She stuck out her tongue. She couldn’t resist. “Why, yes, I did.” She took another few sips of martini and welcomed the smooth heat that spread through her. See, this was a good idea. We can be friends. We can joke around and not have it mean anything. She just had to focus on something other than Mike’s searing blue eyes, or strong arms and hands, or low chuckle that made her belly tighten in wonderful, sensual, not-so-friendly ways.
“You have Silas Turner in your class, don’t you?” he asked as their salads arrived.
“I do. How did you know?”
“His father works out at the gym before work in the mornings. He mentioned it.”
“Hope he had good things to say.”
One corner of Mike’s mouth lifted in a grin. “They weren’t all bad.”
“Terrific.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure people know you’re doing your best. It can’t be easy to come in halfway through the year.”
Sienna stabbed some lettuce and a cucumber. “I have a student who doesn’t speak.”
He looked up. “At all?”
“Not at school. It’s not a medical or physical thing either. She has selective mutism. I’ve read through her file, and there’s some history there…” She trailed off. She wasn’t supposed to break confidence about things like possible past abuse or families’ criminal records. “Anyway, it breaks my heart.”
“Does she talk at home?”
“I don’t know. I’ve called her foster parents twice, but they haven’t gotten back to me.”
“Shit.” Mike scraped the last few pieces of carrot and radish from his salad plate and pushed it aside.
He wore a long-sleeved black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and beneath one she could just see the tail end of a red and blue swirl.
“You have a lot of ink.”
He flexed his hands. “Yeah, guess I do. I’m thinking about getting more.”
“They all mean something? Or were they just…” She trailed off.
“Drunken whims?” He grinned. “I have a couple of those from when I was a lot younger. Probably oughta get them covered up or changed someday.”
She cocked her head. “What’s your favorite one?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. His dark blond hair caught the low light in the restaurant, and a jolt of desire hit Sienna. She knew what his hair felt like between her fingers. She knew how his mouth fit against hers. With effort, she tamped down her desire. He just wants to be friends. You can’t look at him that way.
“I’d say I haven’t gotten it yet,” Mike said, and it took a minute for Sienna to realize they were still talking about tattoos. He turned his arms back and forth. “Haven’t gotten a new one in a while though.”
“What will it be?”
His gaze rested on hers, blue and serious. “Not sure.”
She tore her gaze from his. “Any names?” she said lightly. “I always think of that Norman Rockwell painting with the sailor who has about eight or ten girls’ names tattooed on his arm, and each one’s crossed out except for the newest one.”
He shook his head. “Just one name. My mom’s.” He touched his chest above his heart. “Right here. It’s bad luck to put anyone’s name on your skin except your mother or your child.” He paused. “Can’t trust that other people are going to stick around.”
She spun the stem of her glass in her fingers and figured this was as good a time as any to ask. “You lived out in L.A. for a while?”
“Yep.”
“Didn’t like it?”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t for me.”
“How did you end up going out there in the first place?”
Their entrees arrived, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. The pot roast melted in Sienna’s mouth, and she closed her eyes to savor it.
“I needed a change,” Mike said abruptly. He sliced off a piece of filet. “After high school. An older brother of a friend of mine needed some help doing construction work. I went out there with him and lived in San Diego for a few years. Then I moved to Los Angeles.” He chewed his filet and swallowed. “For a woman.” A bitter laugh left his lips. “Stupidest decision I could have made.”
Ah. That’s where the distrust comes from. Sienna speared another piece of pot roast. “I’m sorry. Relationships can be damaging, especially when they don’t work out.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Mike sliced into his filet again, scraping the plate with an ugly sound.
“But the gym seems like it’s doing well,” she said, wanting to change the subject.
He set his fork and knife on his empty plate and pushed it back. “It is. Thank God. Took a big risk with that.”
“There aren’t any other gyms in town?”
“Silver Valley has a Y. That’s the next closest place to work out.”
“So this was a smart decision, opening Springer Fitness.”
He smiled for the first time in a long ten minutes. “You sound like you’re trying to butter me up.”
“Just trying to lighten the mood.”
He sipped his beer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of shit in my past, that’s all. Made some stupid decisions and I’m trying not to repeat them.”
She finished her meal and concentrated on her martini. “I think everyone has a lot of shit in their pasts. Comes with being human.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He eyed her. “So what’s yours?”
Pieces of memory flooded Sienna’s mind. Her mother coming home late after cleaning other people’s homes all day. Children at school whispering about Sienna’s homemade clothes. The smell of Chinese food. The weight of heavy blankets covering her in the cold of winter. A doctor’s kind face. A funeral on a hot, sticky August morning. Moving five states away to live with a father she barely knew.
“Sienna?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry.”
“I know your mom died when you were in—what? Tenth grade?” He cracked his knuckles. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you. From school, I mean.”
“Don’t be. I kept to myself. Didn’t exactly travel in the popular circles.” She took a deep breath. “My mom died the summer I was fifteen. I’d just finished tenth grade, yeah.” She’d had her first job that summer, working at the concession stand over at Rockaway Beach. Every morning, she caught a ride with Marie Hadley, and every night she caught a ride back. Which meant when the call about her mother being taken to the Med Center had come, she’d had no way to get there until it was too late.
“I’m sorry,” Mike said, breaking into her thoughts. “My mom’s my rock. Can’t imagine what I’d do without her.”
“Thank you. It was, ah…” She picked up her fork with a trembling hand. She took one bite. Then another. “My mom was pretty strong too. Raised me all by herself.”
“Were you born here?”
“No. My mom came ov
er from Mexico when she was fourteen. She lived in Texas for a while and then moved to North Carolina with a cousin. She met my father there when she was seventeen, he knocked her up, and I arrived nine months later.” She pressed one hand to her lap as her cheeks grew hot. She’d spent two years in a shrink’s office during college. She’d worked through all her shit. Why this reaction?
“So how’d you end up in New York?”
“You know the Hadleys?”
“Of the four bleach-blond, blue-eyed, date-everything-in-sight sisters? Of course. Everyone in town does.”
She smiled. “Their parents vacationed in North Carolina, and my mom got to know them. They offered her a job cleaning houses in Pine Point, so she took it. They gave her—us—a place to stay too, until my mom could afford her own.”
“Huh.” Mike finished his meal. “Never knew that. About the Hadleys, I mean. Most people around here just think they’re stuck-up snobs with too much money.”
Sienna didn’t answer. I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about people around here.
“Hey, you want to get some air?” he asked.
Though she wasn’t keen on walking around in the godforsaken cold, that sounded better than sitting in this too-warm restaurant while her head churned up more memories. “Yes.”
He waved down the waiter.
“Let’s split it,” she said and reached for her purse.
“I’ve got it.” But he passed her the bill. “You can leave the tip, how’s that?”
She did, dropping almost thirty percent of the total on the table. Then she followed him out into the night.
“I’m sorry,” he said as they walked up the block. “About your mom. And about bringing it up. Gotta be tough to talk about, especially being back here.”
She took his arm as her boots slipped on the snow-covered sidewalk, and he squeezed his elbow to keep her hand secure. “Look at all these places,” he said, pointing at the office buildings and boutiques along Park Place Run. Clothing shops. Gift shops. A pet-grooming service. “I never thought they’d make a go of it, but I guess Pine Point has more money than I thought.”
Spring Secrets: Pine Point, Book 3 Page 7