Seven

Oakley

Grabbing Sarah’s hand, I hurried to the front of her school, silently cursing myself for forgetting to set the alarm. We had stayed up past her bedtime to finish carving the pumpkins for the front porch, and then we’d accidentally overslept. If Wilder found out about this, he was going to be pissed.

I shoved open the heavy, large metal door and let Sarah go inside so she could lead the way to the front office. Perhaps the secretary would be nice and nothing at all like the one I’d had when I was in school. Pulling my jacket together to cover up the fact that I’d not taken time to put on a bra, I hurried behind Sarah through the entrance. The place smelled like a school. Why did they all smell the same? It was as if I had been thrown back ten years and shoved into the halls of my high school again.

“Sarah,” a male voice said, and she stopped walking to spin around.

I, too, turned my head to see a man about my age—blond hair, green eyes, and about six foot—wearing a pair of khaki pants and a dark blue polo shirt. His gaze swung from Sarah to me, and his brow eased up. The frown slowly faded. I recognized that look. It was a man interested in me. Fine. I would use it to our advantage.

“Mr. Powell,” Sarah replied. “Uh, I’m sorry I’m late. We were going to the office to check me in.”

His eyes didn’t leave me. I should be annoyed even if he was attractive. Sarah was talking to him. He needed to address her. But then she was late because of me, and he seemed to like me. I plastered on a fake smile and took a step toward him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Powell. I’m Sarah’s aunt, and I’m staying with her while her father is out of town. It’s my fault she’s late, but I promise she won’t be late again this week. Learning curve for me and all,” I explained, making sure to bite my bottom lip nervously.

With the way his smile curled across his lips, I knew we were good to go. Sarah’s tardy wouldn’t be held against her. At least not with this teacher.

“No worries,” he replied, stepping forward and holding out his hand to me. “And please call me Barry. It’s nice to meet you.” He paused then as I slipped my hand into his to shake.

“Oakley,” I told him, holding my smile.

His hand gently squeezed mine, as if giving me some silent message. I tried to look shy and flattered as I released his hand and glanced back at the door we had been headed to that had the word Office on the front.

“We need to get in there,” I explained, sounding as if it was the last thing I wanted to do.

He gave me a crooked grin and shook his head. “No need. Sarah is my student. I haven’t turned in the attendance list yet. I’ll make sure she is marked present.”

Placing a hand over my heart like a true Southern belle would, I sighed, smiling brightly up at him, as if he were my hero. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Powell—I mean, Barry. That is very kind of you. I’ll have her here on time the rest of the week. I swear it.”

His appreciative gleam as he looked at me made me want to turn and run. He was Sarah’s teacher, for crying out loud. I was standing here, dressed in cutoff jeans, a halter top, and clutching my rain jacket, which was the only thing I could find in the mad rush to get out the door. Yet he was still checking out my legs, right in front of his student.

I turned to Sarah, who was standing quietly and taking this all in. Her eyes met mine, and there was a definite twinkle of amusement in them. I wouldn’t be hearing the end of this anytime soon. Leaning down, I hugged her.

“Have a good day,” I told her.

“Okay. See you after school,” she replied, still grinning smugly as I said my goodbyes to her and her teacher before turning to leave.

Today, I planned to go shopping and surprise Sarah with new bedding, a trendy lamp, and a cozy reading chair or maybe a beanbag. I needed to get some pictures printed out and framed for her walls. Even get her a pinboard to put things up on. I could paint her something too. Maybe paint it directly onto her wall.

Rushing to the car, I made a mental note of all I wanted to accomplish before I picked her up today.

Yesterday, we had spent the day decorating the front porch and mailbox for fall. I had promised to take her to the store this afternoon to buy some indoor fall decorations. I only had five days, and she had school during most of it. I had to get her room done on my own.

Work could wait. I pulled out my phone and went to the Etsy app to put a pause on my Etsy store for the rest of the week. I had some orders to fill, but I could get those done at night, when Sarah was sleeping.

Priorities. And Sarah would always be my first one.

I arrived in the car line at her school for pickup thirty minutes early.

After finding the perfect bedding and accessories for her bedroom, I had bought the paint and supplies we needed, then set them up in her room. I had decided that it would mean more if we did the wall mural together. Once she chose what she wanted us to paint, I would freehand draw it on her wall, and then we could paint it together. That way, she would have a piece of me with her all the time.

Although I had been early, I still wasn’t first in line. I was seven cars back, which surprised me. How early had the other parents been?

The kids came out with their teachers, and I watched for Sarah. Seeing her smiling face as she exited the building, then her eyes scanning the cars made my chest feel lighter. The moment she saw my Civic, she beamed brightly and went directly to Mr. Powell—or Barry—to tell him that I was here.

He looked up from her quickly, then looked my way. When he began walking with Sarah to my car, I wanted to groan. At least this time, I wasn’t showing off most of my legs, and I had on a bra. He opened the passenger door, and Sarah leaned the front seat forward so she could climb into the back of my two-door car. Once she was in, he pushed the seat back for her, then bent down so that his eyes met mine. The smile came easily enough. I was well practiced at faking happy.

“You’re on time,” he said with a flirty smile.

I laughed and shrugged. “I had to win at something today.”

Go away, Barry.

He did a quick once-over of my body, and then his grin broadened. “Oh, you win, trust me.”

Okay, that’s a little too much there, Mr. Teacher Man. My niece is witnessing this.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Powell,” I said tightly, hoping he got the hint and closed the door.

He looked as if he was going to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he winked at me. “It’s Barry, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Great. I can’t wait. I tried not to roll my eyes when I nodded.

He finally stepped back and closed the Civic door. I sighed in relief. Pulling out of the parking lot, I glanced at the rearview mirror at Sarah.

“Did you have a good day?” I asked her.

She giggled. “Yeah.”

“What’s so funny?” I asked, following the car in front of me out onto the main road.

“Mr. Powell has a crush on you. He asked me if you had a boyfriend at lunch today. Then, at recess, he asked if you lived in town.”

Oh, good Lord. That man must be desperate.

I cocked an eyebrow as I looked back at her in the mirror. “Did you tell him I have eleven toes, that I snore like a bear, and I chew with my mouth open?”

She shook her head. “You don’t do those things, and you don’t have eleven toes.”

I nodded my head. “Yes, but he doesn’t have to know that.”

She burst into a fit of laughter.

“If you want a boy to leave you alone, that’s how you get him to back off,” I informed her.

“Is that why you aren’t married?” she asked me.

I scrunched my nose. “Boys are gross and stinky. That’s why I’m not married.”

She started back with her giggles. I loved to hear her laugh. Smiling, I thought about how she was going to react to her room, and I couldn’t wait to get her home. But first, a stop at the ice cream parlor, then fall decor shopping for the inside of the house.

“You didn’t think my dad was gross and stinky once,” she said, and I almost swerved off the road.

I knew she’d heard things over the years from Sylvia and Cleo, but she had never mentioned it. I’d convinced myself that she didn’t understand what they were saying. Which was naive because Sarah was sharp.

I cleared my throat, grasping at what to say.

“I was a kid. Your dad was older, and it was a crush. He loved your mom.” Having to speak those words was more painful than it should have been. That should have been all behind me. Time healed—or it sure as shit was supposed to.

“I think Dad smells nice, and he bathes a lot,” she pointed out.

I nodded. Yeah, kid, he smells real nice. But can we not talk about it?

“What ice cream flavor are you getting today?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Definitely not pumpkin spice. That should be illegal,” she replied, making me laugh and feel grateful that we were moving on from the dad talk.