At the mention of his ex’s other favorite nickname for him, he shifted his weight, and his daughter shot a glance in his direction.
He didn’t mind the sobriquet. Not usually. Not when it was said with such obvious affection.
But a part of him wished Bea hadn’t used it in front of Rose.
“Gas station snacks? Really?” Rose cast a skeptical—but not unfriendly—glance his way. “He doesn’t seem like someone who consumes a lot of Little Debbie Oatmeal Crème Pies.”
She knew about Little Debbie? Enough to name a specific product? Odd. He’d have bet a good chunk of his inadequate salary that she’d never stepped impeccably shod foot in any store less highbrow than Whole Foods.
Bea grinned, her blue eyes bright. “Don’t let the lean frame fool you. He can pound the Ho Hos like nobody’s—”
Okay, enough about pounding Ho Hos. “All right, Beatrice. Off we go. Say goodbye to Ms. Owens.”
“Goodbye to Ms. Owens,” Bea parroted.
Rose met his eyes, and for the first time, he saw warmth—at least a little of it—directed his way. “You’ve done well with this one, Krause.”
When he laughed, she stilled for a moment, her smile dying.
He didn’t understand what had happened. But he wanted that smile back, so he worked for it. “Funny. I was just thinking I should return her to the cabbage patch and tell them there’d been a clerical error.”
And there it was again. That incandescent curve of her lips. This time, because of something he’d said. Him, Old Sobersides with the Resting Proctologist Face.
Why that made his shoulders straighten a fraction, he couldn’t have explained. But it did, and the adjustment felt…different. Good different.
His daughter poked him again. “You’d miss me, and you know it.”
He would. He already did, every other week.
“Possibly. But your college fund would buy a lot of therapeutic Ho Hos.” With that, he aimed for the door. “Thank you for all your time and help, Ms. Owens. I feel much more prepared for the school year after having talked with you.”
“That was the intent.”
A cool dismissal. But when he glanced over his shoulder, she was studying him with his daughter, her brow creased in an expression he had no way of interpreting correctly.
“Good night, Ms. Owens,” he said.
Bea paused in the doorway and looked at Rose. “See you when school starts. I’ll let you know about the tee.”
“Thanks, Bea. Come by anytime.”
Rose, still and silent, watched his daughter disappear into the hallway. The setting sun bathed her skin with rosy light, but that light wouldn’t last much longer. And if something about leaving his new colleague alone in the gathering shadows of her classroom tugged at his chest, he wasn’t paying the pull a bit of attention.
“Good night, Mr. Krause.” With Bea’s departure, Rose was opaque again. Still lovely, but a definite chill had descended. “See you in a week. Please close the door behind you when you leave.”
After one final, unhappy survey of the rapidly darkening, nearly empty parking lot outside her classroom windows, he did. Jogging to catch up with Bea, he fell into step beside her as they trundled down the stairs and toward the main school entrance.
For once, his daughter remained silent, even without her earbuds in place. And in that brief oasis of quiet, his brain picked through images from the afternoon. The vivid sunflowers on Keisha’s dress and the charming way she kind of crossed her eyes when making a point she considered vital. The personality-free patch of the department office where he’d spend his own planning periods, a space containing only a countertop, a chair, a cart, and a few shelves overhead. Lists of test dates and schedules and learning objectives.
Rose Owens. Ivory covered in ebony, polished from crown to pointed toe. Tall. Lush. Controlled. Scrupulously polite, undeniably helpful, and unfathomably distant.
A frozen monarch, melted by a teenager in a quippy tee.
Funny how he’d enjoyed both the ice and its temporary thaw. How he’d found both impressive. How something inside him had awakened when his nonsense earned her smile.
As they settled into her car and buckled their belts, his daughter finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
Despite the dusk, Bea’s hair still gleamed from the driver’s seat. His golden girl, now staring at him with beetled brow, clearly remorseful. Why, he couldn’t guess.
