Chapter 12
SIENNA
“It’s been over five years, Maebelle. Five. And that little tramp strutted her stuff into church like she ain’t got no sense.”
“Church would be the perfect place for her then. She needs to atone for all the sins she inflicted on that boy.”
“Might be karma. Why Micah dated my niece for three months and left her high and dry with heartbreak. That boy was passin’ it around like he was the last drumstick at Thanksgiving dinner.”
Maebelle scoffs as my stomach drops at the mere mention of the man who hasn’t spoken to me in over four days. “That was ages ago, Agnes. And your niece ain’t got the best track record of holdin’ a man down.”
“That’s what you do when you’re young. Ya live and learn.”
“Sleeping with the whole town?”
I hear a spoon clatter, and Maebelle chuckles lightly from behind me at one of the booths alongside the windows of the diner.
They’ve been going at it for well over thirty minutes, and I’ve listened to every second as I sipped my coffee and tried to eat my breakfast.
I can’t help it.
For one, they’re loud as all hell. They needn’t worry about ever having to repeat themselves because the whole diner is eavesdropping on their conversation right now, hanging on to each word.
Me included.
It’s crickets in here when they’re not talking.
First, they discussed a woman named Oakley who won’t commit to a man named Graham. Then they moved on to how the winter carnival was coming up, and they didn’t want a man named Jamison Williams to head the beer tent again because he and his friends get all “pig-drunk”.
Then they moved to Micah.
And I had to listen to that because it’s the latest I’ve heard about him.
“If you’re implyin’, Maebelle, that my Marnie is some kind of floozy, I’m going to break your nose.”
“With what reach?” Maebelle challenges with amusement. “You couldn’t reach the obvious if it were dancin’ in front of you.”
“Maebelle,” Agnes grinds out. “I’ve had about enough of you today.”
“Well then, stop comin’ out to breakfast with me every Sunday and quit your gripin’’.
“I will,” Agnes shoots back. “You’re nuthin’ but an old bat with too much mouth and not enough brains.”
Oh, Lord, help us.
I’m all for drama, but not between two grown women who could be my grandmother. I prefer it on TV. Not when it involves the man I’ve been “seeing”-ish. If spoons or coffee mugs start flyin’ around, I’m leaving. The last thing I need is a concussion.
Or an eventful Sunday morning with a black eye.
“Can’t say I’ve ever wished to be a stool before, but there’s always a first for everything.”
That deep, delicious baritone hits my senses like a freight train as I mindlessly glance over my shoulder to find Micah, of all people, taking a seat next to me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
It’s…confusing.
I completely understand that he has Heath, and he had something—or someone—come up at the bake sale, but…
You’re overthinking everything right now, Sienna.
You barely know this man, and you’re expecting miracles.
Play it cool.
“You just missed it,” I mutter because my brain function can’t operate with anything else. “Maebelle and Agnes were just talkin’ crap about you.”
He doesn’t bother to give them any attention; he just keeps his lucid blue eyes on me with that same grin.
One, I’m sure he used to get away with just about anything.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Shifting in my chair, I straighten my spine and try to ease into a normal conversation. “I didn’t know I was seeing someone famous.”
Micah chuckles. “It’s not for good shit, I’ll tell you. Charlie Sheen doesn’t have crap on me, minus the drinking and drugs.”
“So you slept around then?”
Micah pushes his lips out, realizing that he may have gotten himself into a bind. “I wouldn’t say the whole town knows what my dick looks like—” My arm flies out and hits him square in the ribs.
“Micah,” I grind out. “For the love of God…”
He laughs at that and leans closer, resting his forearm along the countertop next to my plate of fruit and eggs. “I’m a retired playboy, if that makes you feel any better.”
I knew he had to have had women in groves. The man is charm and sex all tied up in a pretty red bow that we women would love to unwrap and tangle up with.
Regardless, Magnolia Ridge is a small town with, maybe, a thousand people in it. It’s more close-knit than what I’m used to. I’m a small-town girl, but I lived outside of town. And, even then, there are more than quadruple the number of people there than here, and I didn’t know everyone’s name.
That’s not the case here.
“I need to apologize for not speaking with you for the last few days,” he states through my silence. “I was trying to get my head straightened after…my surprise visit.”
I bob my head, trying to be understanding and not a woman who caught feelings too quickly and begins having a nervous breakdown over a new female added to the mix. “No need to apologize.”
“No need to be polite,” he professes evenly. “It was an asshole thing to do.”
Was it?
I’m not sure what constitutes as rude or unacceptable when we’re not dating but holding off until after the school year. I don’t think many people have ventured down this road, and it’s all new territory for me.
“Are you okay?” I ask simply. “You looked upset.”
He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah. I just want to make it clear it won’t happen again.”
“I get needing to have some space. You don’t owe me—”
“I do. I said I was serious about this, and I didn’t communicate. I don’t want you left in the dark. Regardless of how we’re moving right now.”
I stare at him, looking for a clue or insincerity because he can’t be real.
Not fully.
It’s like he knows everything I want to hear to make me comfortable.
“That woman,” he utters ever so softly. “Was Heath’s mother.”
Didn’t want to hear that.
Inhaling through my nose, a sliver of panic begins creeping into my veins and headspace, but it’s absurd. I’ve only known Micah for maybe three weeks, and I have no claim on him.
At all.
However, the thought of his ex striding into town leaves me uneasy and paranoid. I know how small-town romances work.
You can live happily ever after like any other romance in the world.
Or you can break up and still have to run into them everywhere.
The latter sounds like sheer torture at its finest. I’m not sure how I’d handle parent-teacher meetings with the two of them on the other side of my desk, in love, had already worked out whatever issues they had, like we didn’t screw in the backseat of his truck, and I…feelings, again.
“Are you okay?” I ask genuinely again, wishing I were in this moment. “That’s…got to be difficult.”
“I’m a big boy,” he replies with ease. “I just don’t want her to screw up my son, that’s all. Other than that, she was just a waste of time.”
I’m not going to lie, that makes me feel better.
But that’s the petty, mean side of me.
“Don’t say that,” I lightly scold. “She’s the mother of your child.”
“Who left us both. I don’t have sympathy or empathy for that woman when I gave her all I had and still pushed to give her more. She—”
“You don’t have to explain,” I cut in softly so I don’t cause him any unnecessary stress. “I understand.”
Micah searches my face for any underlying feelings.
However, I just want to be there for him if he needs emotional support.
“I hope not, sweetheart. Because this…Laura is now the bane of my existence, and I’m not a good man when she’s mentioned.
The pain and memories…they cut deep. They’re annoying. ”
“It’s a hard thing to forgive—”
“Luca, my love,” my waitress, Sherry, greets on the other side of the countertop. “Ya havin’ the usual?”
“Yeah,” he answers, steering his newly formed smile toward her. “And put my son’s favorite teacher’s bill on my tab.”
My lips part to counteract his offer, but Sherry’s eyes are already suspiciously locked onto me as if she’s just uncovered the latest gossip.
“We got a new lady friend?” she inquires as if genuinely curious, but I’m fully aware of what’s at stake here.
Me as the new topic of what-ifs and is there something going on around here?
Dramatically, I roll my eyes with a sigh like it’s no big deal. “I’m Heath’s teacher. Mr. Wolfe is trying to buy his son brownie points.”
Sherry’s focus slices back to Micah’s with a mini scowl. “Are you tryin’ to buy good grades now, Luca Wolfe?”
“It’s Micah,” he retorts with emphasis, but there’s no animosity to his tone. “And hell yeah, I’m going to prop my son out. But thanks for pointing out the obvious, Miss Sherry. Now I have to figure something else out.”
She tsks. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“He can always volunteer at the beer tent,” I manage, trying to keep a straight face. “I hear they could use some help at the winter festival.”
“Hell no,” Micah rebukes with a shake of his head. “I’m not dealin’ with Jamison Williams and his dumbass friends.”
“Then you can volunteer as the marshmallow quality control guy.” Micah and I both look at Sherry like she’s working on her last brain cell this morning.
“You know how Lucy Valor gets at her cocoa stand. You would literally check the squish factor of each one before it makes it into the customers’ mugs. ”
Micah drops his head a little. “That’s fuckin’ insane.”
The corner of my lips heave because wouldn’t that be something to see? I’d be ordering extra marshmallows.
“Or you can be the judge for our snowflake contest,” I suggest. “The kids are going to be making paper snowflakes, and they get to win free tickets for rides.”
“He’ll pick his son’s,” Sherry accuses. “Don’t let his pretty face fool you.”
“How about I don’t volunteer,” Micah chimes in. “And leave everyone at it.”
Sherry lets out a haughty sound. “You’re a little shit, Luca Wolfe.”
Then she takes off to put his food order in while I watch her shake her head at how Micah tries to appeal his way out of anything.
But that smile I’m wearing quickly fades when Micah’s large palm falls dangerously and publicly on my upper thigh.
“What are you doing?” I solicit immediately through a whisper-yell, earning that sexy, smug smile on me again.
Meanwhile, he takes his damn time just staring at me as if he’s doing nothing at all.
“Can I get extra credit, Miss Vesper?”
I immediately need to swallow because a lump just formed in my throat before I lightly shove Micah’s hand off me, but not before he drags his fingers along my legs and down my calves, in an attempt to forget that Maebelle and Agnes are feet away.
“Not when you’re not understanding the assignment, Mr. Wolfe,” I chide. “The wrong person looks this way, and I’m going to be looked at like the latest Jezebel here.”
“You’re single.”
“And your son’s teacher.”
“So?”
This man…
Giving him an exasperated look, I reply, “I thought we’d discussed this already, Mr. Wolfe.”
He nods his head a bit. “We did.” His blue gaze locks up to mine, and he holds. “But, sweetheart, I’m already havin’ one hell of a time waiting.”
I feel the blazing heat of a blush take over my face, so I look back at my plate to give myself something else to do. I’m not a fan of waiting myself.
However…maybe I can talk to Principal Simpson. I may have misunderstood something, or maybe it was a precaution of some sort.
You really want to risk putting yourself under the radar?
“Be patient, Mr. Wolfe. Good things are worth waiting for.”
“I’ll wait,” he confirms. “But I can’t promise you I’ll be good when I do.”
God, grant me strength in all areas that include him.
“Can you be good in public?” I ask genuinely. “Because you have the two biggest gossips in town a few feet away.”
“You scared of Maebelle and Agnes?”
Yes.
My job.
Craning my head over to Micah, he rolls his eyes and sighs. “I get it, sweetheart. I do…unfortunately.”
“Seven-ish months,” I tell him. “Then…if we’re still talking—”
“We’re definitely going to be doing more than talking, Miss Vesper. I’m going to be your wildest dream and obsession within a year, tops.”
“Enthusiastic.”
“Dedicated,” he retorts evenly. “Us good ole country boys are like golden retrievers. We’re loyal, and we’ll love you until our dying day.”
“Do you come with a shock collar in case you misbehave?”
Micah barks out in laughter, and I can suddenly feel every eye in the diner shift to us.
I’m his son’s teacher. We could be talking about anything.
“Micah Wolfe, we’re trying to eat over here,” I hear Agnes scold him as I pick up my fork and try to maintain a state of cool, collected, and casual. “You’re being loud.”
“Sorry, Miss Agnes,” Micah apologizes, though he doesn’t sound like he cares. “It won’t happen again.”
“And leave that young teacher alone.”
I hear Micah scoff a little, but it’s not loud enough for her to hear. “Fat chance.”