4. Mary
Four
Mary
Kai Montego strolls inside, carrying a cardboard tray of coffees.
My traitorous stomach immediately flips.
Fantastic.
“Afternoon, Firecracker.”
I freeze.
Sister Agnes beams.
What the heck is my life right now?
“Hello, Sister,” he says, charming the older woman easily.
“What are you doing here?”
He sets a coffee on my desk.
The smell immediately makes me weak.
Dark roast.
Hazelnut.
A dollop of half and half.
Exactly how I like it.
I narrow my eyes.
“How do you know my coffee order?”
Kai shrugs.
“You order the same thing all the time.”
My mouth falls open.
“Have you been spying on me?”
He looks genuinely offended.
“No.”
Pause.
“Not professionally.”
I groan.
Sister Agnes actually laughs.
Actually laughs.
Wonderful.
“How did you get into the building?”
“Sister Agnes signed me in this morning. She put me on the approved visitors list. Thanks, Sister. This is for you,” he says and hands her an Earl Grey tea.
I slowly turn toward the nun.
She studies the paper cup in her hand.
Unbelievable.
Absolutely unbelievable.
“Well, Thank you Mr. Montego. Um, I think I'll leave you two to talk.”
“No—” I start to say.
“Excellent idea,” Kai interrupts.
“No! It is not excellent!”
The door closes anyway.
Sabotaged by a nun.
I can’t believe it, but that’s the truth.
Kai glances at the piles of paperwork covering my desk.
“Looks serious.”
“It is serious.”
His teasing expression fades.
Immediately.
“You okay?”
The concern catches me off guard.
Real concern.
Not flirting.
Not joking.
Sincere concern.
And somehow that makes it worse.
Because now I want to tell him everything.
The permits.
The donors.
The panic.
The fear of failure.
Of letting down all those kids.
Instead, I gesture helplessly.
“The school's losing momentum,” I admit quietly. “Most Catholic schools are, and for reasons, I know. But this place is special. To me. To the community. To the kids. And I just...” My voice catches. “I feel like I blew it.”
His expression immediately hardens.
Not at me.
For me.
And the difference matters.
It shouldn’t, but it does.
“You're talking about the gym.”
I nod.
“The permits still aren't moving.”
“That's not your fault.”
I laugh.
A little bitterly.
“Tell that to the parents who keep asking when construction starts. Tell that to the city. Tell that to the kids who have gym class in a room that's barely bigger than a classroom.”
Kai's jaw flexes.
I notice things like that around him.
His jaw.
His hands.
The way his shoulders get tight when he's angry.
Not that I pay attention.
Much.
Okay, that's a lie.
I pay attention entirely too much.
“What about the donors?” he asks.
I snort.
“What donors? More are pulling their pledges as the hours tick by.”
That gets his attention.
“The hell does that mean?”
“It means the minute Joel Jonas got punched, he started squawking. And people started getting nervous.”
His eyes narrow.
“Funny how that happened.”
“We can't prove anything.”
“We don't need to.”
“Yes, we do. To make that kind of accusation, but really, Kai, we can’t.”
He shakes his head.
“Look, we don't need to prove he’s behind this project falling apart. We just need to make it publicly expensive for people to keep ignoring this fundraiser.”
I blink.
“Publicly expensive?”
“Yeah.”
I stare.
He stares back.
Apparently, that's a complete explanation in Kai-language.
“Kai.”
“What?”
“You realize normal people don't talk like that.”
“Normal people don't work security.”
Fair.
Unfortunately.
His gaze stays locked on mine.
Steady.
Focused.
For once, not teasing.
And suddenly I'm remembering the dance.
Joel Jonas.
The way my stomach dropped when he cornered me, grabbed at me like I was something he could just take.
The way Kai appeared out of nowhere.
The way he looked absolutely furious on my behalf.
The memory warms something inside me.
Something dangerous.
“Kai...” I start.
His eyes soften.
Just a little.
“We're gonna get this done, Firecracker.”
The certainty in his voice shouldn't comfort me.
It absolutely shouldn't.
Yet somehow it does.
“How?”
The grin returns.
Uh-oh.
I know that grin.
That grin means trouble.
“Glad you asked.”
“I don’t know that I am.”
“You don't even know what I'm gonna say.”
“I absolutely do.”
“Do you?”
“You're talking about your fake dating scheme.”
His smile widens.
Now I’ve got butterflies in my stomach—and they’re multiplying.
“I am.”
I point at him.
“No.”
“Mary.”
“No.”
“Firecracker.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Think about it.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“And it's ridiculous.”
He leans closer.
Not enough to touch.
Just enough that I catch the scent of his cologne.
Woodsy.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Just like him.
“The school's already in the news.”
I hate that he's right.
“The permits are stalled.”
Still right.
“The donors are drying up.”
Unfortunately, right again.
“We create a story people can't stop talking about.”
I groan.
“There are plenty of stories.”
“Not like this. Small town teacher, heroic boyfriend, a misunderstanding, a school gym in need of saving.”
“Why would anybody care who I date?”
The look he gives me makes my stomach do an unfortunate little flip.
“Trust me, they'd care.”
My cheeks immediately warm.
I hate him.
A lot.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Not really.
“Kai.”
“Mary.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
Which surprises me.
Because he actually sounds serious.
No jokes.
No grin.
No teasing.
Just Kai.
“Look,” he says, running a hand through his dark hair. “The whole town saw me punch Jonas.”
“Unfortunately.”
“People already think something happened.”
“Something did happen.”
“Yeah, but nobody knows what.”
I hate how much sense this makes.
He points between us.
“So we give them an explanation.”
“A fake explanation.”
“A believable explanation.”
“Which is?”
His grin returns.
“Jealous boyfriend.”
I actually laugh.
Out loud.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”
“No, it's not.”
“It absolutely is.”
“Nope.”
“Kai.”
“Mary.”
His voice is annoyingly deep and perfect when he purrs my name.
“You are not my boyfriend.”
“Correct.”
“We are not dating.”
“Also correct.”
“We have never dated.”
His smile turns wicked.
“Yet.”
I point at the door.
“Out.”
“No.”
“Out.”
“Listen to the whole pitch first.”
“There is a pitch?”
“Oh, Firecracker, there's a whole presentation.”
I close my eyes.
Lord, give me strength.
“Valentine's Dance is already over,” I remind him.
“Exactly.”
His grin somehow grows.
Which should be impossible.
“What's next?”
I immediately don't like where this is going.
“Kai—”
“Our Lady of Grace Sunday Bingo.”
I stare.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I'm very serious.”
He straightens and spreads his arms like he's unveiling a masterpiece.
“I'll call numbers.”
“You don't know how to call Bingo.”
“How hard can it be?”
“Very.”
“Fine. I'll learn.”
I laugh again despite myself.
He points at me.
“See? That right there.”
“What?”
“The smiling.”
I stop immediately.
Traitorous face.
“You need more of that.”
“I am not fake dating you at church Bingo.”
“Why not?”
“Because that's insane. And possibly blasphemous!”
“No, it’s not! It’s strategic.”
“That is not strategy.”
“It absolutely is.”
He starts pacing now.
Which somehow makes this worse.
“Think about it. Everybody in town goes.”
“Not everybody.”
“Everybody who matters.”
I glare.
“You did not just say that.”
“You know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I do.
The church ladies.
The boosters.
The parents.
The business owners.
The people who write checks.
The people who vote.
The people who gossip.
Especially the people who gossip.
Kai sees the realization dawn on my face.
And the jerk smiles.
“Exactly.”
I hate it when he's right.
“People see us together.”
“No.”
“They start talking.”
“No.”
“They tell other people.”
“Still no.”
“Then suddenly everybody wants to know what's going on.”
I cross my arms.
“And then?”
His expression softens unexpectedly.
“Then they start paying attention to your school again.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Because beneath all the flirting and teasing and ridiculousness...
He's trying to help.
For me.
For the school.
For the kids.
And that's a lot harder to dismiss.
Which is probably why, when he flashes that crooked smile again, I don't tell him no right away.
And judging by the look on his face?
Kai Montego notices.