by Zoe Chant
Lee refrained from noting that she was clearly not sure where she was when she wasn't driving, and backed off a step to retain some personal space. "It's fine," he said shortly, hoping to get past her.
She seemed to think his acceptance was license for further conversation. "I'm Harriette," she introduced herself, holding out a hand to shake that Lee could only helplessly compare to Patricia's. It was a tiny, limp hand, with overdone nails, flawlessly smooth skin, and none of Patricia's warmth or strength. "You must be Mr..."
"Montgomery," Lee said shortly, deliberately not offering his first name.
Harriette paused a moment, expecting it, and finally moved on, not yet relinquishing his hand. "Mr. Montgomery," she savored. "It's so lovely to meet you! You've just moved in, then?"
Lee recovered his hand, and nodded. He was disappointed that his usual scowl was not having the usual effect.
"I work in real estate," Harriette explained without invitation. She looked thoughtful and then guessed, "You must have bought the old Lawson place!"
"Yes." Lee wondered if he could elbow past her without being rude, as another car pulled up, then another, disgorging a flurry of mothers who converged on their space. Harriette looked affronted, but managed to turn it to her advantage by introducing him to the gaggle of women as if she were in a privileged position of knowledge.
"This is Mr. Montgomery," she told them, as if they were long-time chums. "He's bought the old Lawson place."
"Oh, the old Lawson place," a brunette with a short bob said eagerly, pushing forward to hang on his handshake. The wedding ring on her hand didn't seem to deter her from all but drooling on him. "That's such a lovely big house. A shame they let it get so run down."
"I'll be restoring it," Lee felt conversationally obligated to say, and this prompted an interested murmur, with speculative looks at the battered company truck. He was beginning to regret his choice to put on nicer clothing to pick up Clara; his efforts to make a better impression with Patricia were having the unfortunate side effect of making him look monetarily desirable to the housewife brigade.
To his relief, the door to the farmhouse opened then and a herd of children padded in coats and boots and overseen by a watchful assistant that wasn't Patricia came scampering down to interrupt them. He was able to pick Clara out of the crowd and swing her into his arms. "I like preschool," she said cheerfully.
"What a charming little girl," Harriette gushed at him, entirely ignoring the little boy who had come up to hand her the craft they had created that day. "She's so adorable!"
"We got to paint, and there was music and there is a rabbit and Aaron has two As together in his name and we sang songs and I wrote my name on this for you!" Clara's monologue was a welcome excuse to ignore Harriette, which Lee cheerfully did. He considered the gauntlet of other women eyeing him speculatively between him and the schoolhouse, then decided that retreat was to be preferred to attempting to see Patricia. He brushed past the obnoxious little woman and went around the truck to tuck Clara into her carseat. He would catch Patricia another time.
His bear growled discontentedly at him as they drove away, leaving Harriette with a deep scowl in front of her shiny purple car.
Chapter Three
PATRICIA GLANCED OUT the window just in time to see Lee's pickup pull away. A pang of disappointment hit her, but she quickly pushed it away. That gorgeous man probably didn't even remember her from their meeting that morning. She, on the other hand, felt like her entire world had shifted in some way.
"Patricia, you fool," she chided herself, picking up the litter of toys left out by the window. "Love at first sight only happens in fairy tales." She, on the other hand, was a grown woman, far too old for such nonsensical ideas. She was just a little lonely and had reacted unreasonably to a particularly handsome man with a wonderful handshake.
"Isn't he a dish," Andrea said as she came back in, echoing Patricia's thoughts. The last child had been attached to their parent and the final car was pulling out of the driveway. "And that didn't escape the attention of any of those vulture mothers."
Patricia chuckled. New single men in town were always the object of a lot of attention, from women both married and not, and Lee was the type to get a lot of interest; he seemed to be poor, but was plenty good-looking enough to make up for that.
She looked up from the basket of toys to find Andrea looking at her appraisingly. "What?"
"You like him!"
Sometimes Andrea's powers of observation were uncanny. Patricia had accused her of witchcraft in jest once or twice, but the longer she knew the small, vibrant woman, the more she began to wonder.
This was another case of her guess hitting close to home, and Patricia felt her cheeks heat. "I... er... he's very... we've only barely met!"
Andrea smiled smugly and tossed her sleek, dark hair knowingly. "And you're far too pragmatic to believe in love at first sight."
Patricia had to laugh at herself. "I am," she insisted. "I know better. Besides, he's the father of one of my students. How inappropriate would that be?"
"No more inappropriate than any of the married women throwing themselves at his feet in our parking lot," Andrea said with a roll of her eyes. "Promise me that if the opportunity presents itself, you won't chicken out."
"There won't be..."
"Promise!" The top of Andrea's head might barely hit Patricia's collarbone, but she was all fire and vinegar.
"I promise!" Patricia said meekly.
Andrea gave her a skeptical look, then accepted Patricia's word with a solemn nod. "I'll hold you to that."
Patricia knew that she would.
Later that evening, as she tied an apron around her waist at her second job as a waitress, Patricia tried to convince herself that it was a moot promise anyway.
It wasn't like they were going to have a lot of opportunities to interact outside of a strict teacher-and-father relationship. By the time Clara graduated from preschool, he would undoubtedly have been snagged by one of the many interested women in town; he was too handsome to go with a cold bed for any longer than he wanted, and what did she have to offer him other than that? Though Green Valley wasn't a wealthy town, there were certainly citizens with more means than she had. Harriette, for example, had made a respectable pile of money in real estate. The idea of Lee with Harriette set Patricia's teeth on edge, and she didn't think it was only because the odious woman had made most of that money selling family farms to developers who were planning to put up cheap condos. She was trying to buy the schoolhouse Patricia taught preschool in, and rumor had it that the horrid woman had just taken earnest money for a quaint landmark farm that she planned to have leveled to make a series of cheap, cookie-cutter houses–part of her self-announced plan to make Green Valley a bedroom community for the nearest city.
Patricia was still steaming over that idea and fantasizing ways she could buy out the schoolhouse herself as she made her rounds of the tables at Gran's Grits, the smaller of the two diners in town. The dinner rush, every one a familiar face, was a welcome distraction from her thoughts.
When she heard the bell at the door ring again, she automatically narrowed the possible customers down in her head; they were too far off the highway to attract many strangers. "Evening, Stan!" she called over her shoulder, and she was turning with a menu in hand even as she realized something was different. She knew what she would see before she actually did–was it his wild, clean smell? Or some hint of his strong step on the floor? She had to make herself not stare; Lee was somehow more handsome even than she had remembered, and once again, Clara saved her from making a fool of herself by giving her a safe place to look. Her hands knew to grab a second menu, and she was able to joke, "How nice of you to bring your father out to dinner, Clara," as she led them to a table tucked into the corner. Her hands only shook a little as she passed the menu to Lee.
"Papa can only cook pancakes," Clara explained candidly.
"Well, our special tonight is..." for a m
oment Patricia's mind blanked completely. 'Me on a platter, would probably be inappropriate,' she reminded herself. That wasn't what Andrea had meant about taking an opportunity that presented itself, anyway. "Chicken pot pie," she remembered just before the moment got awkward. "I recommend it."
"You're my teacher," Clara said, with her face crinkled thoughtfully as Patricia helped her clamber onto a booster seat.
"I work here, too." She gave Lee a wry look and joked, "Being a preschool teacher in a town this small for three days a week doesn't exactly cover the mortgage." She immediately wondered if it was inappropriately frank, aware of the discretely (and not-so discretely) curious looks they were getting from other tables, and vowed to be more professional. "Can I bring you some drinks?"
Lee glanced at the laminated menu. "Iced tea," he selected. "And milk for Clara."
Patricia escaped to the kitchen.
Fortunately, Old George, the order cook, was the large, quiet, non-judgmental type, and he didn't say anything about the fact that she splashed cold water on her hot face before she dispensed the drinks and headed back out to the dining room to take their order.
"Does the popeye have spinach?" Clara wanted to know when she delivered their drinks.
"Pot pie, Honey," Lee corrected.
"Popeye," Clara repeated carefully.
Patricia exchanged an amused look with Lee before she could stop herself, and only blushed a little before explaining to Clara, "No, no spinach. It's a pie crust with a cream sauce and pieces of carrot, peas, potatoes, and chunks of chicken. It has mashed potatoes on top!"
"They have hot dogs," Lee suggested, looking at the child's portion of the menu.
But Clara had been convinced. "I want popeye!" She handed Patricia her menu imperiously.
"Two orders of the special, on your fine recommendation," Lee agreed, and he gave Patricia a smile that made her insides melt.
She took the menus and retreated to put the order in and pick up a tray of plates for another table.
"Gina says Harriette says he bought the old Lawson place," Norman told her as she refilled his water and asked after his satisfaction with the meal. He could always be counted on for good gossip through his daughter. Patricia hadn't checked Lee's address in the parent database, but she gave a healthy amount of doubt to anything that came through Gina. Particularly if it came by way of Harriette.
At another table, old Mrs. Fredricks cackled and beckoned Patricia close so she could stage-whisper, "He's gorgeous, honey! If you don't give him your number, I will!" Patricia laughed at her, and gave her a hug around the shoulders because she was already leaning in.
LEE TRIED HARD NOT to watch Patricia waltz around the little diner too obviously, but it was a small room, and she filled it with her golden presence. The tenderness and warmth he had witnessed with the preschool children apparently extended to people taller than three feet, and he found himself growing envious of her easy affection.
He had never been grateful for how slow Clara usually ate before, but this time, he could have kissed her for dawdling. Half a plate of pot pie became the occupation of an hour, then two. A spilled half-glass of milk took up another several minutes, and Lee considered spilling his own drink in order to watch Patricia kneel to clean up the mess with her forgiving laugh again.
The other diners gradually trickled out, until they were the only occupants of the cheerful room.
"I've never had so many dessert orders," Patricia told him, as she brought him the bill with two cello-wrapped mints. "Everyone in town wants to stay to see the most interesting little girl," she teased Clara, but she gave Lee a little half-glance that suggested it wasn't Clara who was really getting all the attention. Her cheeks colored, and she added professionally, "I'll be your cashier when you're ready to go."
Lee was used to women trying to flatter Clara to get his own attention, and he was used to them falling all over him even without her. Patricia, on the other hand, gave every indication of being attracted to him, but offered no hint of pursuit. She flirted more with the last old man to leave than she did with him, and her attention to Clara seemed completely genuine. It made the bear in him want to chase her more than ever, but he was absurdly uncertain how to do that. This was a problem he'd never encountered.
So he just watched her clear tables as he got Clara into her coat and boots, and after agonizing over the tip for a moment–would too much seem like he was trying to buy her?–he left her exactly a 15% tip on the credit card receipt, calculated to the penny.
At the door, he paused. "Thank you," he said.
Clara echoed him as he struggled to find something to add. "Thank you, Miss Patricia!"
"You're very welcome," Patricia called back. "I'll see you tomorrow!"
Then she was bustling away with their bill and the last glass, sparing him any conversation at all.
His bear wanted to chase her quite literally, but he reined in the beast and took Clara by the hand. He could be patient. He would have to be patient.
Chapter Four
THE CHEERFUL CHIME of the door alarm got Patricia's heart racing every time it sounded, even though she knew it was more likely to be one of their familiar regulars, and looking around so quickly was only giving herself whiplash. She brought extra napkins to Norman, whose hands shook more than he liked to admit these days, and gathered the dirty dishes off of Mrs Fredricks' table, shaking her head at her foolishness.
She forced herself not to look when the bell rang again as she was taking Stan's order, faced away from the door, but she couldn't keep the ridiculous hope from rising in her throat.
Turning to discover Lee standing at the entry with Clara's mittened hand in his own made her blush, and smile too broadly, and then nearly sneeze trying to get her face back under some kind of control.
"Good evening," she sang too loudly, bringing them menus and gesturing to the same table they had sat at before. "I'll be right back to tell you our specials for this evening."
She fled to the kitchen, where Old George cracked a rare smile at her when she couldn't remember what Stan had ordered.
"He came in last night, too," the cook rumbled. "Looked disappointed you weren't here."
"He's a single guy who can't cook," Patricia explained. "There aren't that many choices in town!"
George shrugged and started making Stan's usual, sending Patricia back out with a plate to deliver.
Patricia got it to the destination without problem, trying not to turn herself too obviously so that she could watch Lee's table out of the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, then brought an iced tea and a milk to Lee's table. "We've got a chipped beef with toast tonight," she said. "It's one of George's specialties."
Lee looked bemusedly at the iced tea.
"I, ah, should have asked if you wanted that again," Patricia said, suddenly realizing that it had been presumptuous of her.
"Oh, I do!" Lee said quickly. "It's good tea. Very lemony. Not too sweet."
"There's sugar, if you want it sweeter," Patricia said, pointing out the very obvious sugar caddy at the far edge of the table, then felt ridiculous, because he'd just said that it wasn't too sweet.
"Right," Lee said.
Clara, who had been stacking her coat and mittens in the empty chair beside her, chose that beautiful moment to say, "I could add sugar to my milk!" She reached eagerly for the tin.
Lee snagged the sugar caddy and brought it out of her easy reach. "I don't think so, kitten. Milk doesn't need sugar."
"Aaron's mom says you need sugar," Clara said candidly.
Lee and Patricia both choked on their laughter, and couldn't quite meet each other's eyes.
Patricia cleared her throat, casting about for a safe topic. "We do have fresh brownies made, for dessert."
"If you eat your dinner," Lee added quickly, as Clara bounced at the idea.
"A hot dog!" Clara declared, handing the menu to Patricia. "I'll eat the whole thing!"
"I'll take the special, an
d hold us two brownies," Lee said, and then he did meet Patricia's eyes.
It was like basking in sunlight; his gorgeous blue eyes were something she could drown in, if she let herself. Don't flirt, don't flirt, Patricia told herself ferociously, though she wasn't able to keep herself from blushing. She had seen how the preschool moms had pounced on him, two days in a row now, and how coldly he had reacted. "Sounds great!" she said with a big, friendly smile that didn't invite anything more, and she didn't come back to the table until she had their plates ready.
Lee tried several times to strike up conversation, to Patricia's surprise. She answered his questions about Green Valley as simply as she could and found other tasks to pursue, reminding herself fiercely that she shouldn't attempt to draw him out, trying to balance a light friendly air with her ridiculous desire to throw herself down in his lap and beg him to kiss her.
Gran's Grits closed early, specializing in breakfast and lunch with dinner as an afterthought, so Lee and Clara were once again the last customers. Clara held true to her promise to eat the whole hot dog, but slowed drastically halfway through the big brownie. The ice cream it had been served with melted into a puddle, but she continued to nibble at it as Patricia cleared away Lee's desert plate and she brought him the copy of his receipt with his credit card.
Their hands touched as he took it, and Patricia froze. He didn't move his fingers, and when Patricia dared to lift her gaze to his face, he was looking at her with a curious, intense look. She was keenly aware of where their skin was just touching, and it wasn't until she realized that she was trembling a little that she could let go of the tray with the copy of the bill. He wasn't expecting her sudden movement, and it fell a few inches to table with a clatter that startled Clara, who had been starting to doze off in that glaze-eyed way that children could manage while still sitting upright.