“Oooh, ouch,” Tony winced. “Kinda sucks.”
My phone began ringing, and when I looked at the screen, I let out a string of swear words that drove Tony into the lounge in search of food.
“Hello, Remy,” I said flatly.
“I assume you got the email from Ms. Fowler,” Remy said in a clipped voice.
“I did,” I replied.
“Well, I simply cannot drop everything and be at the school tomorrow, Blake,” she huffed. “My schedule is tight, and I’ve got a meeting with the development committee at 2. I can’t exactly tell them that I need to postpone their multimillion-dollar contract negotiations because my daughter’s teacher says we need to discuss her History homework.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to inconvenience your precious strip mall developers,” I said sarcastically.
“Don’t be an asshole, Blake,” she warned. “You’ve got a flexible schedule tomorrow, so you can go without me.”
“Why do you always assume that my schedule is so flexible?” I shot back. “How do you know I’m not working?”
“Because you work one day on and three days off,” she said. That was one of the complaints she lodged in the divorce filing. Despite the fact that it was incredibly flexible, my work schedule was the primary focus of our married life, and it always had to be accommodated first. “You’ve worked the exact same schedule for the past 20 years.”
“Are you saying I’m predictable and boring?” I asked angrily.
“No, I’d call it boringly consistent,” she replied. “Are you going to go or not?”
“You know I will,” I grumbled. She had me up against a wall because she knew that I’d do whatever I needed to do to ensure that Nina was happy, healthy, and well-educated. She did not seem as dedicated to the task as I was, and that had always irked me even though I loved spending my free time with my daughter.
“Thank you,” she said, without sounding terribly grateful.
“Yeah, whatever,” I grunted,
before hanging up. It wasn’t that I missed being married to Remy; I didn’t. It was that I resented the way she treated me as if I were another one of her office staff. As if my sole purpose in life was to raise our daughter so that she could later take the credit for what a great job we’d done. I knew she loved Nina, but it was at times like these that I wished I’d been widowed rather than divorced.
Chapter Six
Emily
Late Tuesday afternoon, I was cleaning off the board after a particularly productive class discussion when I heard a knock at my classroom door.
“Excuse me, Ms. Fowler?” a deep voice said from the doorway. I turned around to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown eyes standing in the entrance to my classroom. He smiled as he stood uncomfortably, waiting to be invited into my room adding, “I’m Blake Gaston, Nina’s dad. I’m here for a conference about her History grade?”
Unable to speak, I simply nodded as I stood frozen in place. It had been a long time since I’d felt the zing of attraction, and it took a moment for me to shake off the surprise and remind myself that, handsome or not, he was here to discuss his daughter’s academic progress — or lack thereof.
“Mr. Gaston, so nice of you to make it; please come in and have a seat,” I said, putting on my brightest parent-teacher conference smile as I offered my hand. He looked around, and then crossed the room to shake my hand. His fingers were warm and strong, and I bit my tongue to keep from gasping as I felt a jolt of electricity pass between us. He didn’t seem to notice as I quickly pulled my hand back and motioned for him to sit down. “Will your wife be joining us?”
“Who? Oh, Remy can’t make it; she’s got a meeting,” he said, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. He unzipped his coat as he eyed one of the front desks before squeezing himself into the seat behind the desk. I had never been more aware of a man’s body than I was at this moment. His voice broke through my private thoughts, “It’s just you and me.”
“I see,” I nodded, as I reached across my desk and pulled my gradebook out from under the stack of homework I’d collected that morning. “I don’t know if Nina has told you anything about her History grade, but it’s not good.”
“I know she’s been slacking a little,” he said, looking around the room as if he were the student. I handed him a report I’d prepared detailing all of Nina’s missing assignments as he added, “She’s having a bit of trouble adjusting to the divorce.”
“Oh, you’re divorced?” I said, trying unsuccessfully to hide my surprise. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a mirthless grin. “It was for the best for all of us, but Nina has struggled to get used to living in two places, and I know she’s clashing with her mom right now. Nothing major, I think; just teenage stuff.”
“Well, at least you’re aware of the challenges,” I said, looking down at my gradebook as I tried to avoid openly gawking at Mr. Gaston’s handsome face. He had a square jaw that, when combined with his day-old scruff, gave him an air of rugged danger.
“Indeed I am, but I was not aware of her failing History grade,” he said, as he scanned the report with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t quite get it myself,” I admitted. “She’s a very bright student, and she’s capable of writing quite brilliantly, but for some reason, she’s stopped doing her homework or turning in the assigned essays.”