Chapter 18
RYDER
The sun has barely cracked the horizon when I pull into the school parking lot twenty minutes before the bus is scheduled to leave. Eager much?
Rhys, too. He bounces in the back seat like he’s had three bowls of sugar for breakfast instead of his banana oatmeal.
This morning, I woke up earlier than usual.
I poured the nervous energy into getting ahead before I take two days off I don’t have spare.
But Remy and Beck have assured me they can cover for me.
Not that I gave them much of a choice. I committed to this trip on the fly without asking anyone.
The parking lot is nearly empty with just three vehicles lined up at the front: a white bus idling near the main entrance, a silver sedan I don’t recognize, and Faye’s BMW.
She beat me here.
My palms stick to the steering wheel as I pull into a spot. I drag my hands down my jeans to dry them.
“Dad, the bus!” Rhys unbuckles his seatbelt before I’ve even killed the engine, already grabbing for the door handle.
“Hold on, buddy.” I push the kids lock. “We don’t run in parking lots, remember? A car could dart out from anywhere; you have to be careful.”
I turn to him and wait until he gives me a nod back.
I unlock his door and get out, stalling as I grab our overnight bags from the back of the truck. My pulse kicks like I’ve jogged to the school instead of driving here. I grip the edge of the trunk, waiting for my heartbeat to even out before I face her.
“Come on, Dad.”
I sigh and follow him. We find Faye standing behind the bus with Bettany Harlow, the two women bundled against the early morning chill. Bettany is wearing a shocking pink pantsuit that’s almost offensive to the eye.
And Faye is in fitted jeans.
I haven’t seen her in denim since the night we danced together.
They are practical, trip-at-the-park pants, but damn if my brain doesn’t misfire, forgetting what I volunteered for.
Because I know the feel of that denim beneath my palms. The curve of her hips against my hands.
The slow resistance when I guided her, the subtle give that told me she was following my lead even while she still hadn’t forgiven me.
The memory returns in fragments: pressure, warmth, the silent argument between our bodies that neither of us won.
And her hair. Today she’s pulled it up in a high ponytail that is worse for my nerves than any style so far. My fingers itch to wrap around it, to tug on it, to find out if it’s as soft as it looks.
I’m thirty-two years old. A father. A business owner. And I want to pull a girl’s ponytail like I’m back in elementary school myself.
Maturity is overrated.
Rhys closes the distance, running. I swing our overnight bags over one shoulder and follow at a more reasonable pace, despite everything in me wanting to sprint along.
Act like a functional adult. Even if she makes you feel fifteen years younger. Especially because she makes you feel that way.
Bettany spots me first. “Ryder! Morning!” Her voice carries across the parking lot, bright and artificially cheerful for this ungodly hour. “You came early.”
“I wanted to beat the rush.”
Faye turns at the sound of my voice. Her lips part on an intake of breath as our eyes meet, and her cheeks flush pink despite the cool morning air. The blush spreads down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her fleece.
I want to follow the pattern of reddening skin with my mouth. Trace it with my tongue. Graze it with my teeth. Find out how far down it goes.
Instead, I nod. “Morning, Miss Rose.”
“Mr. Evans.” Her voice is level, but she fidgets with the zipper of her jacket. “Eager to chaperone?”
“Rhys was too excited to sleep.” Same as me, but she doesn’t need to know I’ve been awake since four, unable to stop thinking about spending two days with her. Forty-eight hours of pretending I’m not completely gone for her.
“I couldn’t wait either.” Faye smiles at Rhys.
“Can we go play, Miss Rose?”
“Sure. Stay on the sidewalk where there are no cars.”
“Come, Bree.” He takes Bettany’s daughter’s hand, and they gather helicopter seeds, tossing them into the air to watch them spin back down to the earth.
I hoist our bags. “Where should I put these?”
“Oh, the driver will load everything.” Bettany gestures toward a middle-aged man in a blue uniform standing by the bus’s cargo compartment. “Set it near the bus with the others.”
I walk past Faye to the side of the bus and load the bags myself—ours, Bree’s, and Faye’s—nodding at the driver without waiting for him to do it for us. When I return, Bettany has trapped Faye in conversation.
“Now, as room parent,” she’s saying. How many times has she mentioned her title already?
From the cinch on Faye’s face, it mustn’t be the first time.
“I’m available via text throughout the trip.
I’ll be forwarding any photos or updates you send to the parents group chat.
We’d like at least a few per day. More are always welcome. ”
Faye’s expression doesn’t change. She keeps a polite smile in place. But her left eye is ready to twitch.
“That’s thoughtful, Bettany.”
“Well, someone has to keep the other parents in the loop.” Bettany pulls out her phone, already typing.
“I’ve prepared a summary of the itinerary.
Meal breaks, activity schedules, bedtime.
That way, everyone will know what their child is doing at all times.
” Bettany chuckles. “It’s my responsibility as room parent to ensure proper communication. ”
Faye’s eye goes off.
I cough to cover my laugh. Faye glances back at me, and the irritation evaporates from her gaze. It turns into amusement. A shared inside joke.
Her lips quirk. Just barely. But enough.
“I’m sure the parents appreciate your dedication,” Faye says, turning back to Bettany.
“Oh, they do. They’re aware the class needs a strong room parent to function.” It’s uncanny how she slips her military rank into every single sentence. “It’s about consistency and follow-through, right?”
Faye’s hand curls into a fist at her side.
“Absolutely,” she agrees, her voice honey-sweet.
I should rescue her. Step in and redirect the conversation. But I’m enjoying this too much. Watching Faye maintain her composure while internally screaming. The contrast between her serene expression and that twitching eye is priceless.
It’s as if Faye senses my thoughts and decides to exact revenge. Her next line is pure evil. “But Bettany, since Ryder is already in the parents chat, shouldn’t he be in charge of the photos?” She smiles at me sweetly.
“Oh, that makes total sense,” Bettany chirps.
“Ryder, please come over here. We should go over what points of the itinerary you must photograph. Group shots, of course, but you could also take individual ones…” Bettany drifts off into a tangent I’m now trapped in, while, behind her, Faye tilts her head and smiles at me innocently.
I pretend to scratch my eyebrow with my middle finger.
She laughs and goes to welcome other incoming families.
The swish of her ponytail as she walks away is more painful than Bettany’s endless rambling.
More cars are pulling in now, headlights cutting through the brightening daylight. Parents park haphazardly, kids stumble out half-asleep, and overnight bags get loaded onto the bus.
The calm morning dissolves into a frenzy of goodbyes and last-minute recommendations.
Faye is everywhere at once. Directing parents to the cargo area. Steering her students away from the parking lot and toward the safety of the sidewalks.
Her voice never rises, but it cuts through the noise. Kids listen when she speaks.
I hang back, watching her work. The way she crouches down to talk to a crying boy who doesn’t want to leave his mom.
She’s so damn good at this.
“Mr. Evans!” A small body crashes into my legs.
I look down to find Tommy Peterson grinning up at me. “You’re coming with us?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you gonna teach us to rope things?”
“Uh, no. This is a nature trip, not a rodeo.”
Tommy’s face falls. “But my dad told me you were a real cowboy.”
“Well, I—”
Faye appears at my elbow. “Tommy, have you said goodbye to your mom yet?”
“Oh! No!” He takes off running.
“Tommy, slow down and stay on the sidewalk.” She watches him go, then turns to me. “Real cowboy, huh?”
“My reputation precedes me.”
Her lips twitch. “That’s not reassuring, Mr. Evans.”
I smirk. “Wasn’t meant to be.”
Faye shakes her head as if I’m her twenty-third kid on the trip and not adult help. She’s not wrong.
The parking lot continues to fill. More kids, more parents, more bags. By seven o’clock, the class is assembled in a chaotic cluster around the bus.
Faye raises her hands, and miraculously, the children quiet down.
“Alright, class,” she calls out. “Let’s line up by walking pairs. Remember, you stay with your buddy for the entire trip. No switching. No wandering off. If you need help, you find me or Mr. Evans. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, Miss Rose” echoes back.
I’m impressed. I can barely get Remy to follow instructions, and he’s thirty years old.
The kids organize themselves into pairs and form a line. Parents hover with last-minute reminders to behave, listen to their teacher, and be good. To have fun but not too much.
Bettany flutters around, taking photos of everything. The bus. The kids. Faye talking to parents. Me standing awkwardly on the sidelines. She’s going to have six hundred pictures to send to the parent group chat before we even leave.
At seven fifteen, Faye does a final headcount. “Twenty-two! Perfect. Everyone on board. Walking buddies sit together.”
The kids stampede up the steps. Rhys goes with Bettany’s daughter, claiming a seat halfway in the back.
I wait until the last kid boards before climbing up myself. Rhys and his classmates bounce in their seats, loud but not wild. The driver still seems resigned to a noisy trip.