Page 11 of Learning at 40

“Have you been spying on me?” My voice drops all pretense of friendliness, my tone incredulous. My hands fist at my side.

“It was an accident.” Not a drop of contrition marks his voice.

“You accidentally saw me in my own yard?” Naked, I don’t add.

“Well, it’s not like the room faces another direction.” His answer is doubtful. The position of that corner room suggests it most likely has a window facing the lake. Look in that direction, pervert. Not to mention, if he’s a father, there must be a mother somewhere, which means he shouldn’t be checking me out. I cross my arms as if it hides what he’s already seen. His gaze drops to my breasts. Wearing a tank top, I’m certain the thin cotton is streaked with perspiration and dirt. Folding my arms only seems to accentuate my chest, and his glare intensifies for a second before he quickly shifts his gaze to the left and growls out the boys’ names once more.

“Trevor. Oliver. Now.”

It isn’t my place to question how people parent their children, and I’ve heard tones of frustration, anger, and grief, but this man’s growl doesn’t sound like any of those emotions. He sounds like he’s being strangled or tortured, and once again, I can’t imagine what I’ve done to him. Our exchange has only been a few minutes at the most.

“Are they really yours?” The juxtaposition between those squirrelly, active boys and the man digging fists into his pockets as though he’s trying to hold back from I don’t know what isn’t meshing in my head. Then again, I’m not a stranger to parents and children who appear in opposition. Appearances can be deceiving. I know firsthand about passing judgment without explanation. It’s happened to me.

“Yes,” he hisses. His jaw clenches. His eyes narrow. It’s time for him to leave my yard.

As the boys haven’t responded to their father’s demanding call, I address them. “Trevor. Oliver. Sweets, come down please. Your daddy says it’s time to go.”

“Do we have to?” Trevor whines. He’s been the alpha of the two, encouraging his brother to take risks and follow his lead. His whining is addressed to his father, but I interject.

“Remember what I said.” My voice remains softer with the boy as I remind him of the promise I made his brother and him. “You can visit the tree fort anytime, but when time is up, it’s up. No complaining.” Trevor’s little shoulders fall in defeat. It’s hard to face disappointment in a child. I’ve seen it too often lately. It’s been nice to see the tree fort get some use.

“Okay, Miss River,” Oliver offers, scooting himself off the platform to the ladder. “How did you do that?” Their father’s voice isn’t more than a whisper. He’s completely baffled by how easily the boys acquiesced, and I’m puzzled by his reaction. I watch as the twins sullenly stalk toward their father, whose gaze remains on me before his irritation zeroes in on them. “I wish they’d listen to me like that.”

The words are so quiet I’m not certain I’ve heard him correctly.

“Back to the house,” he suddenly demands with a gentle nudge in the direction of next door. As soon as they take a step away, he stops them each with a hand on their shoulders and pivots their little bodies toward me. The poor boys are so confused. “What do you say?”

“Thank you for having us,” Oliver says.

“Thank you, Miss River,” Trevor adds.

“Or Mrs. . . .” Hot Dad pauses. His expression shifts, returning to that puzzled glare.

“Miss River will do.” Squatting so I’m at the boys’ level, I continue to speak to them. “And it was my pleasure having both of you here. Remember, anytime as long as Dad here approves.” I wink at them, hoping they know I’m not upset with them when clearly Grumpy Daddy is. To my surprise, he strokes a hand down Oliver’s hair and squeezes the back of his neck, softening his expression as well as his touch. The boys then turn on their own, and with slumped shoulders, they walk to the side of my house and disappear around the corner.

I stand, crossing my arms while I watch the boys exit my yard. “I’m sorry, I still didn’t get your name.” I point at their father before tapping my chin.

“Mr. Weller will do.” His formal retort is another strike against him. He’s so uptight and a shit dad judging by first impressions, and while I shouldn’t be judging, I am.

“When did the fence go in?” The question surprises me, and I gaze at the fence behind him. I’m assuming he means the metal chain link dividing this property from the one next door. As I haven’t lived here for very long, I have no idea.

“I don’t know.”

He nods once as if he doesn’t like my answer. “How did they get over here?” He questions next as if I know that answer any more than I can answer about the fence. One minute, I’m in the kitchen cleaning up after my breakfast, and the next, I look out the window to see two little beings in the tree fort.

“Shouldn’t that be my question?” I pause, taking him in once more. Too bad he’s hot and a dad. “Maybe, just maybe, rather than casting a stone at me for allowing them into my yard, you should examine how they got away from you in the first place.” Or why?

His expression is more than shock. He looks like I punched him in the stomach. Slowly, his face morphs, cheeks drawing edgier, eyes shifting darker.

“They’re my children. I’ll worry about them, thank you.” Sarcasm does not suit his pretty face.

“You do that,” I remark.

“I will.” His hands slip into his khaki shorts.

“Fine,” I hiss.

“Fine,” he snaps. We remain at this impasse. He should be leaving, yet he isn’t moving. His eyes spear mine, digging deep into them. The stare is a bit unnerving, but I don't try to evaluate it as I just want him out of my yard.