Chapter 3
RYDER
The school doors swing shut behind me with a dull thud as if they, too, were scolding me. Cool air sweeps across my skin, useless against the hot shame riding me. I stomp across the parking lot, headed toward the playground where my sister has taken Rhys while I was inside.
My son’s excited squeals carry over as he scrambles up and down the jungle gym.
“Dad!” He spots me before I’m halfway there, abandoning the slide mid-climb to barrel over the wood chips until he slams into me with the force of a tiny linebacker, arms wrapping around my legs.
I hug him, laughing despite everything, and ruffle his hair.
“Did you talk to Miss Rose? Isn’t she wonderful? Did she show you our reading corner? Did you see the flowerpots on the windowsill? We planted seeds, and Miss Rose said the first buds will appear any day now and—”
“Yeah, buddy. I met her.” She sliced me to ribbons. I swallow around the knot of humiliation lodged in my throat. She must’ve written me off as one of those parents who show up once a year just to pass judgment. That’s how I came off.
It shouldn’t have taken until April to meet her.
But my mom does the drop-offs. I’m up before dawn, coffee in hand, working through feed orders and equipment logs while the house is quiet.
I do the administrative work in the early morning not to miss breakfast with Rhys.
Mom shows up soon after and saves me the drive into town.
She also picks up Rhys from school most days since I’m usually still out on the field when the last bell rings.
Mom went to introduction week while I dealt with a busted irrigation line.
She sat through conferences in October while I was knee deep in mud, helping pull a calf that was breech.
She knows which cubby is his, which kids he plays with, and what color folder means what.
I told myself it was fine. That we had it covered. That Miss Rose got my emails, saw my name on the app when I checked his assignments. That she knew I was involved, even if she’d never seen my face.
Except now that makes me look like the dad who couldn’t be bothered. The one who waltzed in after eight months and questioned her judgment like he had any right.
No wonder she flayed me open in that classroom.
Rhys tilts his head back, blue eyes—my eyes, everyone says—wide and shining, oblivious to my discomfort. “Isn’t she the nicest?”
“Uh-huh,” I confirm, even if nice is not the word for Faye Rose. Sharp, beautiful, wonderfully cutting—any of these would be a better fit. I pat his shoulder, trying to match his enthusiasm for his teacher while my ego is still bleeding from her precision dismantling. “She seems… knowledgeable.”
“What’s ‘knowledge-able’ mean?” Rhys scrunches his nose.
“Smart,” I simplify. “Like you said.”
Rebecca strolls over. She’s wearing overalls with a sunflower embroidered on the front pocket, her country attire more fashionable than functional.
“What’s going on with you?” She stops a few feet away, arms crossed, head cocked. “You look like someone kicked your dog.”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Metaphorical dog.” She narrows her eyes. “You have your guilty face on. What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I bark.
“Oh my gosh, you so did something. And Faye ripped you a new one, from the looks of it. Did she put you in time out?”
“I didn’t— Nobody put me anywhere.” The words tangle as shame burns my cheeks.
“Are you blushing?” Becky is practically bouncing on her toes.
The heat spreads from my cheeks to my ears. I could blame the sun, but it’s only April, and the temperature can’t be over seventy. “Shut up, Beck.”
“Holy cows, you are blushing. What the hell happened in there?”
“Nothing happened.”
Rebecca ignores me, still grinning. “How on earth did you offend Faye? She’s the sweetest person I know.”
I blink at her. “You know her?”
“Of course I do.” My sister rolls her eyes like I’ve asked if water is wet. “She’s been renting cottage four since August. And we’ve become friends; we’re in the same book club.”
Cottage four is one of the six lakefront properties we went into heavy debt to renovate last year. I don’t handle the rentals; Becky is in charge of managing long and short stays, so I never connected the dots.
“She’s the one paying summer rates year-round?”
We have families coming in from Chicago wanting a lake vacation who rent for an entire season, but cottage four was the first to go on a long-term lease.
Rebecca nods. “Without batting an eyelash. She signed the lease as soon as she saw the place.”
I low whistle. “What are they paying elementary school teachers these days?”
“Not enough for that rent.” Becky shrugs. “Maybe she’s got family money?”
She sure looks like she comes from a wealthy background.
Rhys tugs on my hand. “Dad, can we get ice cream? Please? I was really good today. I didn’t even talk during silent reading, and Tommy was making faces at me, but I ignored him like Miss Rose said to do when people are being distracting.”
“Maybe another time, bud.”
“Miss Rose!” Rhys’s shriek punctures my eardrum. He drops my hand and takes off across the playground.
I follow his trajectory and spot her.
Faye Rose, first-grade teacher and apparently my tenant, is walking along the sidewalk in the same preppy cardigan and tight pencil skirt she wore in the classroom.
The outfit leaves a sliver of skin visible above her knee-high leather boots.
A strip of flesh that shouldn’t be eye-catching, but somehow is. Why the hell am I staring at it?
Rhys crashes into her at full speed, wrapping his arms around her waist with the same enthusiasm he showed me five minutes ago.
Her leather messenger bag—a buttery soft designer thing with gold clasps—slides off her shoulder and hits the ground.
She doesn’t even glance at it. Her face breaks into a wide smile, the stern teacher mask vanishing as joy sparks across her features like a sunrise over the lake.
She crouches down to Rhys’s level, and they hug as if they haven’t seen each other in weeks instead of half an hour.
At the sight, warmth, unexpected and unwelcome, spreads through me in uneven pulses.
“Hello, my brilliant scientist,” she says, her voice breezy and affectionate. Nothing like the steel-edged tone she used with me.
Rhys’s face lights up even brighter, as if she’s made of magic.
This is the Miss Rose my son talks about nonstop—the teacher who makes everything a discovery, who he swears is warm and gentle and amazing. Fucking stardust, according to him. The opposite of the woman I’ve met, the one who clipped my arrogance cleanly at the root.
The hug goes on forever. My son has been attached to his teacher for a solid minute, and she doesn’t seem the least bit impatient.
Doesn’t check her watch or glance at her dropped bag or make any motion to untangle herself.
Faye is just… there, with him, present in a way that makes my chest tight with a pull I don’t recognize.
The stretch is steady and disarming, as if my ribs were wired wrong for these feelings.
Rhys is chattering, his mouth moving a mile a minute, and she’s nodding, listening, smiling down at him like he’s the most important person in the world.
Rebecca moves past me, heading toward them, and when Rhys finally releases Miss Rose and she stands, my sister steps in for a side hug.
“Faye, hey.”
“Becky.” Her smile doesn’t dim. If anything, it widens. “I thought I’d have to wait until later to see you. Did you see the plot twist coming at the end?”
“No.” My sister chuckles, completely at ease. “Almost fell off the bed with the shock.”
“Don’t say more, I want to keep the juice for tonight.”
They laugh.
I have no choice but to drift closer, my feet moving with the enthusiasm of a man approaching the gallows. Every instinct screams at me to retreat.
I hang back a few paces, close enough to be part of the group but far enough to avoid an immediate interaction. Maybe I can fade into the background—
Too late.
Faye’s gaze lands on me, and that brighter-than-the-sun smile dies on her face. Snuffed out like water thrown on a fire. Her entire demeanor shifts, shoulders straightening, chin lifting, mouth pressing into a rigid line.
“Mr. Evans.” She acknowledges me with a curt nod. The formality feels spiteful despite being perfectly polite.
Rebecca’s eyes ping-pong between us, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
“Miss Rose,” I reply, subdued as embarrassment sets my ears on fire once more.
An awkward silence follows, broken only by Rhys tugging on her hand, asking if she’ll come to the farm sometime to see his room and meet his cat, Tractor.
“Perhaps someday.” Faye looks down at him, and the warmth returns instantly.
She straightens the collar of his jacket with gentle hands. “Don’t forget your revisions. We have subtractions tomorrow. We’re going to conquer those tricky take-away problems.”
“I won’t forget!” Rhys hugs her waist again. “I love math.”
Numbers never were my favorites. But even I might’ve come around to liking equations with a teacher like her.
Faye’s eyes never return to me. She talks to Rebecca instead. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Rebecca grins.
“Later, then. Bye, champion.”
Faye ruffles Rhys’s hair and picks up her bag from the ground. With a quick dust off, she slings the messenger over her shoulder, walking away without a spare glance in my direction.
I watch her go because I’m a masochist. The pencil skirt hugs her hips, and each sway is a bittersweet punishment. Not that I’m paying attention to how she walks—that, or how those boots make her legs a mile long, or how the afternoon sun catches the gold threads in her dark blonde hair.
“Stop staring at her ass,” Rebecca mutters.
“I wasn’t—”
“So were, perv.”
“Fuck off, Beck.”
“Dad!” Rhys gasps, his hand shooting out palm-up. “That’s a dollar for the swear jar.”