Chapter 4
four
. . .
Lacy
I grip the door handle of Colby's truck as we take a corner, still not quite believing I'm here.
When my car refused to start after school, I'd been prepared to call a tow truck—maybe walk to the nearest coffee shop and wait there while gnawing on my budget and worrying about the cost. Instead, here I am, sitting in the passenger seat of Colby Winters' pickup, with his six-year-old daughter chattering away in the back.
"And then Tommy put glue in his hair, Miss Montgomery! Remember?" Susie's voice is animated behind me, her excitement making me smile despite my embarrassment at the situation.
"I do remember," I say, turning slightly to look at her. Those bright blue eyes—so much like her father's—gleam with mischief. The thought makes my cheeks warm, and I mentally shake myself. I'm Susie's teacher, for heaven's sake. I shouldn't be thinking about her father that way.
"I had to help him wash it out," I add, focusing on Susie. "We were finding glue in his hair all day."
Colby chuckles beside me, his large hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "Sounds like an eventful Friday."
"Never a dull moment with first graders," I reply, trying to ignore how aware I am of him—his broad shoulders in a fitted flannel shirt, the strong profile of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
I've only had a handful of conversations with him since the parent-teacher conference at the beginning of the year, but each one has left me thinking about him far more than is appropriate.
Single dad, contractor, and possessor of the kind of smile that makes my knees weak.
Definitely not the sort of man I should be developing feelings for.
"Miss Montgomery's car made a funny noise!" Susie announces. "Like a robot dying. Zzzzzt. Clunk!"
"That's actually a pretty good impression," I admit with a laugh. I'd been having issues with the starter for weeks but couldn't afford to get it fixed until next month's paycheck. "Thank you again for the ride. I really appreciate it."
"It's no trouble," Colby says, glancing at me briefly. "Couldn't let Susie's favorite teacher get stranded at school all weekend."
I feel a blush creep up my neck. "I'm her only teacher."
"Still her favorite," he says with a wink, and I have to look away before he sees how much that simple gesture affects me.
"Dad can fix anything," Susie says proudly from the back seat. "He can fix your car too. He built our whole house!"
"I didn't build the whole thing, pumpkin," Colby corrects her gently. "Just renovated it." He turns slightly toward me. "But I can take a look at your car tomorrow. I'll have one of the guys from the shop come by with a tow truck, and we'll get it fixed up for you."
"Oh, I couldn't ask you to?—"
"You didn't ask," he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I offered."
I don't know what to say. It's been a long time since someone offered to help me without expecting anything in return. "Thank you. That's very kind."
The rest of the drive to my house is filled with Susie's chatter about her day at school, the art project we'd done, and the book we'd read about a frog who wanted to be a prince. I catch Colby's eye several times, a smile playing on his lips as he listens to his daughter.
When we pull up to my small bungalow, I'm suddenly self-conscious. It's nothing special—a rental with peeling paint and a yard that could use some attention—but it's home.
"This is a nice place," Colby says, as if reading my thoughts. "Good bones."
"Thanks," I say, gathering my things. "I've tried to make it homey."
As we walk up the path to my front door, an idea strikes me. "You know, since you're both here already, why don't I make you dinner? As a thank you for the ride and the help with my car." The words come out in a rush before I can overthink them.
Susie's face lights up. "Can we, Dad? Please?"
Colby hesitates, and for a moment I think he's going to refuse. Then his face softens. "If you're sure it's not too much trouble."
"Not at all," I say, unlocking my door. "I was planning to cook anyway, and I always make too much for just me."
My kitchen is small but functional, and I quickly set about pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry. Susie insists on helping, so I set her up at the counter with a bowl of potatoes to wash. Colby leans against the doorframe, watching us with a thoughtful expression.
"You're good with her," he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine over Susie's head.
I smile, feeling a pang in my chest. "She makes it easy."
As I work on preparing dinner—roast chicken with herbs, mashed potatoes, and green beans—I find myself imagining what it would be like if this were my life.
Coming home to Susie's chatter, cooking dinner while she helps, with Colby nearby, his presence warm and solid.
It's a dangerous thought, one that I know will only lead to heartache, but I can't seem to stop myself.
Dinner is a lively affair, with Susie dominating the conversation. She tells me about her weekend plans with her dad, the tree house they're building in their backyard, and the puppy they're thinking of adopting.
"She's been begging for a dog since she could talk," Colby explains, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles. "I finally gave in."
"I've named him already," Susie says proudly. "Pancake."
"Pancake?" I laugh. "That's an unusual name for a dog."
"It's because pancakes are my favorite breakfast," she explains seriously. "And the dog will be my favorite too."
After dinner, Susie helps me clear the table, and then asks if she can watch TV. I show her to the living room and find a children's movie on one of the streaming services.
"Come sit outside with me?" Colby asks as I return to the kitchen. He nods toward my back door. "I noticed you have a fire pit in the yard. Might be nice to light it up."
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting in Adirondack chairs around a crackling fire, each nursing a bottle of beer. The night air has a slight chill to it, but the fire keeps us warm. Through the window, I can see Susie curled up on my couch, completely absorbed in the movie.
"Thank you for dinner," Colby says, his voice low. "It's been a long time since someone cooked for us."
"It was my pleasure," I reply honestly. "It's nice having people to cook for."
He takes a swig of his beer, then asks, "You live here alone?"
"Just me," I confirm. "I had a roommate when I first moved here, but she got married last year."
He looks at me, his gaze intense in the firelight. "What about you? Never wanted the whole marriage and kids thing?"
The question hits a tender spot, and I look away, focusing on the flames. "I wanted it," I say softly. "Very much."
Something in my tone must give me away, because Colby leans forward, his expression concerned. "Lacy?"
I take a deep breath. I don't talk about this often, but something about the night, the fire, and Colby's quiet presence makes me want to share.
"I found out last year that I can't have children," I say, the words still painful to speak aloud.
"Premature ovarian failure, they called it. Basically early menopause."
"I'm so sorry," Colby says, and there's no pity in his voice, just genuine empathy.
"It was a shock," I admit. "I'd always assumed I'd have a family someday. Kids of my own." I wrap my arms around myself, feeling suddenly vulnerable. "That's why I became a teacher, I guess. I've always loved children. And now... well, now my students are the closest I'll get to having my own."
"Is that why you're so good with Susie? Why you go above and beyond for your students?"
I nod. "I pour all that maternal energy into my classroom. It's not the same, but it helps."
Colby is quiet for a long moment, just watching me. Then he says, "You know, there are other ways to have a family. Adoption, fostering, being a stepmom..."
Our eyes meet, and something electric passes between us. I swallow hard, unable to look away from the intensity in his gaze.
"I should check on Susie," I say, breaking the moment.
We both stand and walk back into the house. In the living room, we find Susie fast asleep on the couch, her small face peaceful in slumber.
"She's knocked out," Colby says with a fond smile. "Movie was clearly riveting."
"It's been a long week for her," I say, watching as he gently brushes a strand of hair from his daughter's face. The tenderness of the gesture makes my heart ache.
"I should probably get her home," he says reluctantly.
"You could..." I begin, then stop myself. But Colby is looking at me expectantly, and I find myself continuing. "You could put her in my guest bedroom. Let her sleep a bit longer. It's Friday, after all."
He studies me for a long moment, and I find myself holding my breath. "That might be nice," he finally says.
Together, we carry Susie to my spare room, tucking her under the covers of the twin bed. She doesn't stir, just curls onto her side with a soft sigh.
We stand in the doorway watching her for a moment, then quietly back out, leaving the door ajar. In the hallway, we're suddenly very close, the narrow space bringing us together.
"Another drink?" I suggest, my voice barely above a whisper.
Colby nods, but doesn't move away. "Lacy," he says softly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sends tingles across my skin.
"Yes?" I whisper, hardly daring to breathe.
"I've been wanting to do this since the first parent-teacher conference," he murmurs, his hand cupping my cheek.
Then he's leaning in, and I'm meeting him halfway, our lips coming together in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly ignites into something more. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close, and I find my hands in his hair, holding him to me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Colby rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"I've been thinking about that for months," he admits.
"Me too," I confess.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his expression serious. "This isn't just... I'm not looking for something casual, Lacy. I have Susie to think about."
"I know," I say, my heart racing. "Neither am I."
His smile is slow and sweet, and when he kisses me again, it feels like a promise. Of what, I'm not entirely sure yet, but as I sink into his embrace, I find myself hoping it's a promise of everything I've ever wanted.