Chapter 4
Kayla
I have always hated the feeling of a pool deck beneath my feet.
The tiles are slimy, the grout is rough, and I feel like there are tiny hairs everywhere, even if you can’t see them.
I might not know how to swim, but I’ve spent my fair share of time at the pool, waiting for my friends to finish their lessons so that they could drive me home.
I never got used to the nastiness of it all.
Grimacing, I tiptoe my way over to the plastic chairs that line the lane pool, watching as my students find their swim instructors and get settled.
The past two weeks, Harry has come with me to the pool, but today is my first day running the swimming lessons on my own.
Harry was right when he said Delia and Kyle had it handled, though.
I just have to sit here and look pretty while they teach the kids.
I wave at Kyle as I settle into my chair, and he flashes me a flirty wink before leading his advanced group of swimmers to the deeper end of the pool.
Both Delia and Kyle had been super welcoming when I first came by the pool, but I’ve definitely spent more time talking to Kyle out of the two.
Probably because he has the more advanced swimmers, and can turn his back on them for a few minutes without fearing they’ll drown.
He’s a bit of a flirt, that one, but Harry had assured me my first week here that it was all in good fun. Apparently, Kyle even flirted with 75-year-old Ms. Cannon, so I won’t take it that personally.
Once I complete a head count, making sure all students have found their way out of the changing rooms, I pull out my lesson planner.
I need to plan the upcoming week, so that I can make the resources I need, but ain’t nobody got time for those fancy typed lesson plans that they expect from you in college.
Bullet point notes are enough to get the job done, thank you very much.
I write the big time-crunchers into the schedule first, including my tutoring session with Ben.
I’m supposed to start tutoring him tomorrow, but he’s not in class today, so who knows if that’ll happen.
I’m currently caught in this middle ground of wanting to help my student, especially when Ben’s such a sweetheart, but I also would love to get my Tuesday afternoon to myself.
Part of me feels selfish for hoping the Williams boys have to cancel. Another part of me can’t seem to find it in me to care how selfish it sounds.
My dreams of keeping my Tuesday night to myself are dashed 15 minutes later, when Ben Williams comes jogging out of the changing rooms, waving at me before slipping into line with the rest of Kyle’s group.
Not even ten seconds later, his father follows him out.
His arms cross over his chest as he drags his stare across the pool deck.
If it weren’t my job to be approachable, I would sink down into my chair and pray he skipped right over me. But sadly, as his son’s teacher, I can’t do that, so instead I’m forced to smile and wave when his eyes land on me.
“Ms. Carson,” he tips his head as he walks over to me. He’s dressed differently than the past two times we’ve had meetings, instead of his boots and jeans, he’s barefoot and wearing a pair of athletic shorts.
“Please, you can call me Kayla.”
“Colter,” he responds gruffly, nodding his head. It’s weird, reintroducing ourselves like we haven’t already met, but I’d prefer not to be known as a Miss to anyone over the age of 18. It makes me feel old.
“What can I do for you, Colter?”
“I just wanted to apologize for mine and Ben’s tardiness. Petunia had her calf this morning, and Ben was kicking up a bit of a fuss about leaving.”
I press my lips together, forcing the knowing smile back, “Petunia?”
“The cow,” Colter amends, a blush creeping up the collar of his shirt. He offers me a crooked smile, shrugging innocently, and it’s fucking adorable.
“I see. Well, congratulations to you and Petunia. And thank you for letting me know. I can understand how that might be difficult to walk away from. School’s not nearly as exciting as baby cows.”
“Calves,” he corrects me, settling into the white patio chair beside me.
“Right, calves.” I don’t know why he’s sitting beside me, or why he feels the need to stay.
I close the planner in my lap and give him my attention, expecting him to say something more.
Maybe ask me about my plans to tutor his son.
But he doesn’t. He just sits there quietly, watching the kids splash around.
“You gonna keep staring at me?” His lips twitch, his cheekbone fluttering, as he looks at me from the corner of his eye.
“Sorry,” I pull at the plastic coil in my planner self-consciously. “You’re sticking around to watch Ben, I suppose?”
“I’m the male volunteer this week. It’s on the schedule.”
“The schedule?”
“Well, sure. Didn’t Harry share it with you?
” He finally turns, giving me his full attention.
He must see the confusion on my face, cause he releases a heavy sigh and pulls out his phone.
“The school reached out to parent volunteers for the swimming lessons. They want one male and one female supervisor so that the boys aren’t alone in the changing rooms.”
That’s weird. I specifically remember Harry telling me I’d be on my own after the first week. He’d come last week as well, but I’d assumed he was just being polite. I guess not.
“Last year, one of the boys refused to come out of the change room. He didn’t want to go back to school. The female teacher couldn’t exactly go in there and get him to come out, and Kyle was sick, so there were no adult males. Now they prefer to have two supervisors.”
“It makes sense. I just wasn’t informed about it.” With anyone else, I wouldn’t be as concerned about my lack of knowledge, but Colter’s already questioned my age and capabilities. This feels like a test that I’ve just failed.
“Not your fault,” he grunts, tapping away at his phone. “Harry should have informed you. He’s a bit scatter-brained.” He stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his shorts. “There, I just shared the schedule with you.”
“Oh, thanks.” I blink, having to take a moment to adjust to Colter’s accepting attitude. I assumed he’d take this moment to scold me for being ill-equipped, but maybe Petunia’s labor has put him in a good mood today.
Colter grunts in response, turning back to watch his boy swim on his back down the lane. I want to pull out my phone to look at the schedule, but I know it would look wildly unprofessional, and I don’t want to push my luck.
“Ms. Carson! Lilah said my bathing suit makes me look like a blob of vomit.” Kenzie Evers walks briskly over to me, her face bright red in anger, her swimsuit a sickening shade of green.
“Well, that wasn’t very nice of her,” I frown, all the while internally rolling my eyes.
Kenzie and Lilah sit on opposite ends of the classroom for a reason.
Unfortunately, I can’t separate them in swim lessons—not when they’re both incapable of swimming.
“You know what I think? I think she actually really likes your swimsuit, but doesn’t know how to tell you.
Why don’t you try complimenting her, and see if that prompts her to be nicer? ”
Kenzie scrunches her nose, looking at me like I’m batshit crazy. To be fair, I don’t even believe the bullshit I just spewed. “No, I don’t want to do that. I’m just going to ignore her. But if she’s mean to me again, I’m telling her that her hair is ugly.”
“Oh, please don’t do that,” I call after the little girl as she hastily walks away, completely ignoring my suggestion.
I could go after her, make the two girls work it out, but it would only be a temporary solution and a waste of time.
Even their parents hate each other. I should know, they almost got in a fight in my classroom when I called them all in for a joint meeting.
“Compliment her bully?” Colter snickers under his breath, shaking his head.
“Well, I can’t exactly tell her to punch the girl,” I huff, leaning back in my chair. I run a hand through my hair, flipping the part from left to right. “You gotta kill them with kindness.”
“Or tell them to fuck off,” the cowboy counters, watching his son push off from the wall to start a new swim stroke down the lane.
“You can’t tell a second-grade student to tell someone to fuck off. Remember, no colorful language.”
“Right, right. Of course.” His lips twitch faintly.
“I know it seems like a dumb hill to die on, but it’s actually really important.
Not everyone grows up to own their own business or work on a farm.
It’s important to instill good work habits from a young age, including not swearing at your place of employment.
School is a great place to start teaching them when it is and isn’t acceptable to swear. ”
“I always thought it was a respect thing.”
“Maybe it is for some people,” I shrug. “But as long as they're not swearing at me, I don’t think it’s disrespectful. But it is unprofessional. There’s a time and a place.”
“So you’d be okay with your child swearing?”
“I mean, I’m not going to encourage it. But if he swears at home for a good reason, then so be it. If he swears at school or at his friend’s house, then there’s an issue. Some words are home words.”
“Home words,” Colter hums, nodding along. “That’s a good way to put it.”
“Thank you,” I nod, feeling accomplished. Accomplished in what, I'm not too sure. “My brother taught me that when I came to live with him.”
“You lived with your brother when you were younger?”
“Sure,” I play it off like it’s totally normal for a 19-year-old to get custody of his 10-year-old sister. “From the time I was 10, all the way to three weeks ago.”
“No shit,” Colter hums, studying me. I know the conversation is just making him question my age more, and I feel a little guilty. I started the conversation, so now it seems wrong to keep the information from him. And I know he won’t ask me again.
And okay, I’m also a total pushover.
“I’m twenty-four,” I tell him, answering the unspoken question.
“You look a lot younger,” he answers instantly, not even taking a moment to process. “Like eighteen.”
“I get that a lot,” I shrug it off. I have a young face. It’s a compliment, really. Well, it is until a stranger starts questioning your capabilities.
“I have two brothers,” Colter offers, abruptly changing the subject. Maybe he can sense the unease crawling up my skin. “You’ll actually meet Jake next week, he’s the volunteer next Monday.”
“Oh, that’s awesome. I haven’t met many people here yet. It’ll be nice to get to know someone new.”
“Yeah, Jake’s a good guy. He won’t accost you about your age.”
“Was that a joke?” It’s a genuine question. I think it was, but a joking Colter? That seems too far-fetched.
“A poor attempt at one,” he admits, scratching his jaw. “Jake’s the youngest out of us three, closer to your age.”
“How old are you?”
“My, how the tables have turned,” Colter smirks, looking down at me.
I feel petite under his gaze, not small in the figurative sense, but actually small in stature.
He towers over me, dwarfing me in a way that makes me feel secure and protected.
I scowl up at the burly cowboy, who only chuckles in response. “I’m thirty-three.”
“Whoa. You look a lot older. Like 50.” I shoot his words back at him, offering a twist that has him scoffing.
“Bullshit.”
“Just ask your son, he’ll agree with me.”
“My son thinks I was alive during the Great Depression. He’s not exactly a reputable source.”
“Or is he very reputable?” Colter reaches out, shoving me gently away from him. The feeling of his hand on my skin has sparks shooting through me, and butterflies dancing in my stomach. We both stare at where he’s just touched me for a moment, shocked.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he gruffs, eyes wide. “I don’t know why I just did that.”
”No, no, you’re fine,” I assure him. Genuinely, he barely even touched me. It was just a shock to the system, having such a visceral reaction to his touch. “I grew up with a brother who was nine years older than me. Trust me, I can handle a tiny little shove.”
“Still, that was highly inappropriate of me. You’re at work, and I’m volunteering for my son.” He rubs his hand over his dark stubble, back to staring at the pool.
”You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” I promise him. “But we can just pretend it never happened. So, are you the oldest brother?” I ask, swiftly changing the subject back to our initial conversation.
”Yeah.” The word comes out in that gravelly, unimpressed tone of his. His walls have shot right back up, and suddenly I’m wondering if it’s worth continuing the conversation.
“Cool,” I fidget with the lesson planner that’s still in my lap. “Well, I look forward to meeting Jake next week. And thank you both for volunteering your time to help us out.” There, I’m back to a mediocre display of professionalism.
“Of course. It’s extra time with my son.”
“Right.” Pressing my lips together, I stand from my seat, shoving my book back into my bag. “That’s our 45 minutes. I should get these guys out of the pool. I’ll meet you out in the lobby.”
“Right.” Standing to his full height—I’m 5’2, and he’s easily a foot taller than me—Colter finally actually looks at me, acknowledging me properly. “You’re still good to tutor Ben tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’ll be at the farmhouse for 4:30, as per our discussion.”
He clears his throat. “Good.”
I eye him, one last time, taking in his rigid stance. The transition from laid-back Colter to this man was like getting Déjà-Vu—you’re not really sure what’s happened until you’ve had a moment to look back and reflect.
Turning on my heel, I grimace at the feeling of the grout digging into my skin.
Breathing deep and pulling air into my diaphragm, I call out in my teacher's voice, knowing that I can be heard over the sound of kids splashing in the pool. “Alright, time to go. Say thank you to Ms. Delia and Mr. Kyle, and let’s get out of the pool!”
The quicker, the better.