16. Scarlett
Chapter 16
Scarlett
A s I step through the back door of my house, I pause but only kick off my boots rather than stripping down like I usually do. The delicious smell of dinner cooking hits me and my stomach growls. I hear voices in the kitchen, and I smile. I love coming home to this.
I don’t hear Cian, but I know he’s here. The car he and Henry are renting is out front. And he texted me. Three times today.
At eight a.m. I got dreamt about you last night.
Just after noon he sent most worth it mosquito bite ever. He included a photo of his muscular upper thigh where he did, indeed, have a mosquito bite. I find myself grinning stupidly at that. And wishing he’d included a wider shot.
About an hour ago he texted can Henry and I come over for dinner? Want to show you something.
I said of course. Not only did I agree to see him every day while he’s here, but I’ve admitted to myself that I want to see him.
That complicates everything, of course, but I’m not actually stupid enough to think I can avoid being a little heartbroken when this is all over. Whether he realizes I’m not the girl he thinks I am and that I’m not princess material, or he just finally needs to leave Emerald to live his life, there will come a time when this will be over.
But he’s here for now. And that seems like all the more reason to enjoy the hell out of the sixteen days and six hours I have left with him.
“Hey, Mom,” Mariah greets me as I step into the kitchen from the mud room.
“Hey. How was your day?”
“Good.” She shrugs.
I’m glad there’s no drama to tell me about.
“It smells great in here,” I give her and Greta both a grin.
They’re studying at the breakfast bar. They have a plate of sliced vegetables between them with ranch dip. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and then reach over and dunk a piece of cucumber into the dip. “Which casserole did you pick out?”
“It’s not one of Diane’s,” Mariah tells me. “Cian made that.”
I stop with the cucumber slice halfway to my mouth. A drip of ranch dressing hits the counter. “Cian cooked?”
“I’m offended that you sound so surprised.”
I turn quickly at the sound of his voice. He’s just coming into the kitchen from the dining room.
A wet drip hits my foot, and I look down to find ranch dressing dripping from my fingers. I shove the piece of cucumber into my mouth and then grab for the paper towels.
“You cook?” I ask him.
He comes to stand directly in front of me, looking down at me with a smile. It seems that he came into the kitchen just for me.
My stupid stomach swoops a little at that.
He lifts a hand to my head and pulls on the ponytail holder that has my hair gathered back. He slides it out of my hair, then runs a big hand through the strands.
I visibly shiver. His hands in my hair do obscene things to my body. Things I probably don’t want my daughter witnessing.
But I can’t seem to make myself step back.
“I do cook.” He runs his hand up to the back of my head again and massages my scalp where the ponytail had been.
Holy shit, that feels good. I let out a long sigh and let my eyes slide shut.
“Though Henry and Jonah are both better than I am. They can make a whole host of things. But we all had to learn. We were all living together and when Saoirse got out of the baby food stage, Fiona told us we couldn’t feed her frozen burritos or take out every night.”
I open my eyes to look up at him. He keeps rubbing my head, smiling at the memory. He told me just last night that I needed to stop underestimating him, and it seems that is going to take me a little longer to learn.
“What is it?” I ask. I don’t care, but I feel the need to say something.
This man with his big hand giving me a scalp massage while his low voice rolls over me, making my skin feel like he’s massaging the rest of me, could serve me peanut butter on crackers and I’d thank him profusely.
“Pork chops and rice,” he says. “Casseroles are my specialty. I love it when you can put everything in one pan. Fewer dishes and you don’t have to worry about getting a bunch of stuff all done at the same time.”
That seems to fit Cian perfectly. He’s competent, but also minimal fuss. I smile up at him. “I agree.”
He pulls his fingers through my hair, then gathers my hair into a looser ponytail, looping the tie around it at the base of my neck. “Who’s Diane?”
“Just a friend.”
“Diane brings us two frozen casseroles every week,” Mariah says.
I shoot Mariah a look. “That’s right. She’s awesome.” That’s all that Cian needs to know about Diane.
Mariah misses my look though because she’s got her head bent over whatever she’s working on. “But Mom doesn’t take help very easily, so she insists on working on Diane’s cars for free.”
“It’s only fair,” I protest. “I don’t have to worry about dinner twice a week because of her. That’s huge.”
“Yeah, except the car that you work on for her doesn’t actually ever need any work,” Mariah goes on.
“You're exaggerating,” I tell her, but I look up at Cian. “ Anyway .” I say, trying to change the subject.
“What do you mean it doesn’t need work?” Cian asks Mariah.
“Mom won’t take the casseroles for free. Diane won’t take money. So, Mom said she’d work on Diane’s car for her in exchange. But Diane doesn’t really drive that much. So she doesn’t actually need an oil change every single month. She definitely doesn’t need her tires rotated and her brake pads checked very often. But she still brings it in with some request, because that’s the only way Mom will take the casseroles.” Mariah laughs. She finally lifts her head and the look she gives me is fully affectionate. “And Mom goes along with it. Obviously, she knows it doesn’t need to have all of that stuff done but she lets Diane think she doesn’t realize that. It’s kind of a sweet little game they play.”
I’m touched that Mariah thinks that, but I roll my eyes. “Okay, that’s enough.”
Cian tugs on my ponytail and he subtly tips my head so that I look back up at him. “Sweet witch,” he murmurs.
Heat shivers through my body and I realize I need to step back before I kiss him in front of my daughter and her friend.
And maybe kissing him wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’s pretty clear we like each other. But it wouldn’t be a kiss. It would be a get me naked now kiss. And that can’t happen in my kitchen.
At least not until later.
“Thank you for cooking,” I say, taking that step back, somehow.
He lets me go, but the look in his eyes clearly tells me that he was thinking about kissing me naked as well.
“Of course.” He glances at the oven. The timer reads ten minutes. “Come see what I got today.” He grasps my hand and starts tugging me toward the dining room.
“Is it something for school?” I ask his back. I know he went up to meet everyone today.
He shoots me a big grin over his shoulder. “Yep.”
“So how did it—” I cut off as I step into the dining room.
Henry is sitting at the table, but it seems he’s occupying the only empty space in the room.
The dining room table and all of the chairs are covered withplastic shopping bags. I can see that there are boxes of tissues and rolls of paper towels in one. Another holds boxes and boxes of markers. There are notebooks, bottles of glue, three-ring notebooks, folders, boxes of pencils.
It looks like an office supply store blew up in my dining room.
Henry looks up from his phone. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I greet, both brows arched.
“Professor Brady had a good day,” he says dryly.
I look at Cian. He’s grinning like a kid.
“Bill Emerson is a good guy,” he says.
I nod. “He was a good teacher too.”
“You had him for history?” Cian asks.
“Yeah.”
Cian grins. “That’s cool.”
“Is it?”
He clears a chair by grabbing two shopping bags and moving them to the floor. One tips and a box of tampons falls to the floor. “That you and Mariah had the same teacher? Yeah. Kind of. Isn’t it?”
I guess it is. Bill Emerson was always kind, and I did learn a lot from him. Though I’m embarrassed when I think back to how I behaved during the time I was in his class. I don’t want to know what he remembers about me. I am happy that Mariah can show him that I raised an amazing kid, at least. There are two other teachers still teaching here that I also had when I was in school, and I feel the same way about them.
“What is all of this?” I ask, bending to retrieve the tampons.
Cian takes them, stuffing them back into the bag. “Stuff for the school.”
I look around. “You need this many—” My gaze falls on a bag that has crayons in it. “Crayons, for your classroom?”
He sets the bag on the table. “Well, this is for multiple classrooms. Including the elementary school. Did you know that teachers have to supply a lot of this stuff out of their own pockets?” He frowns. ‘They ask parents for help too.”
“I am aware of that, yes,” I say with a grin.
He gestures at the cleared chair seat and I sit.
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” he says. “The school should be able to supply their classrooms. And I know it’s a budgeting issue. But the government should be adequately funding schools.” His frown deepens. “That definitely needs to be looked at.”
I chuckle. “You know you’re not the first person to think that, right?”
“Of course. But I do have some people I can talk to. And, regardless, I can certainly afford to buy supplies for the school.” He scowls at the bag to my right. It’s got construction paper and notecards in it. “I mean, how the fuck do they expect a school to function without paper ? And tissues? Teachers are supposed to go to work, get paid a pittance, and buy tissues for their kids too?” He shakes his head. “That’s unacceptable. We’ve already started the process for setting up a fund to take care of all of that.”
My eyes widen. “A fund? That will pay for all the supplies for Emerald?”
“Yes.”
“For this year?”
“Ongoing.”
I stare at him. He lifts a brow.
I don’t know what to say. I know he can afford it. I appreciate that he understands the need and wants to help. It was just a matter of making him aware of it, I suppose. “Too bad there aren’t many billionaires that want to go into teaching,” I say. “Or nursing. Or a bunch of other jobs. We could probably solve a lot of problems if they saw it up close.”
“We could,” he agrees. “Though I have some special privilege. I can dabble in all kinds of jobs. Most billionaires tend to stick with whatever made them rich.”
His mouth has a strange twist to it as he says the words. Almost as if he’s tasting something unpleasant.
“I suppose you have a point,” I say about the other billionaires. There’s not really anything else to say, so I just add, “Thank you, Cian. For doing that for Emerald.”
He frowns. “It’s not something I need to be thanked for. I’m simply supplying funds for something that needs to be funded. There must be a better way, and I’ve reached out to some people so I can understand the process better.” He blows out a breath. “But for now I can buy some fucking markers and paper towels.”
I want to kiss him so badly right now.
Smiling, flirty, charming Cian is hot. But outraged on behalf of teachers and kids Cian is nearly irresistible.
“And tampons?” I ask, looking at the bag on the floor.
He glances at it. “A bunch of high school teachers were saying how it’s important to have period products available. They need to be easily available, and a lot of teachers keep a stash in their desks.”
“Where were they saying this?” I can easily picture him already making friends in the teachers’ lounge.
“Online. In some forums I’ve joined.”
He’s joined online forums for teachers. For a two-week subbing gig.
I’m not prepared to be this attracted to him.
“I texted Mariah and Greta to ask what kind to get, though.” He meets my gaze and frowns. “Is that okay? Is that weird?”
If Henry wasn’t here, I would throw Cian on my dining room table, strip him down, and ride him right there on top of the bags of school supplies for elementary school students.
I have to clear my throat before I say, “That’s totally okay. In fact, that’s amazing.”
He looks relieved. “Good. It occurred to me after I got everything home that Emerson might already have stuff, but I suppose it’s better to have too much than not enough.”
Home . He referred to my house as home. That’s…shit. Tempting. That’s what that is.
“Oh, I also bought a new coffee machine, like a whole cappuccino-espresso thing, for the teachers’ lounge.” He frowns. “That was overkill right? I just know the girls in Autre love that fucking thing they have in the office at the animal park and the coffee pot in the lounge there looked really sad today. Teachers should at least have good coffee.”
“You’re going to make quite an impression on Emerald High School while you’re here,” I tell him.
His smile is bright. “If people don’t remember you after you leave, what was the point of being there in the first place?”
Oh, boy. What a motto.
I don’t think Cian O’Grady needs to worry about Emerald, Ohio, or the people of the town, remembering him when he leaves.
Which is more unfortunate for some of us than others.