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“Sure,” he managed.
A flush worked its way into her cheeks. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you around.” She nodded and walked away.
Noah watched, uncomfortably aware of the last time he’d seen her do that.
A quick trip to the bathroom gave him time to recover. It was probably good that Grace had acknowledged their prior association. Now he wouldn’t have to pretend not to know her.
A thorough review of her faults—spoiled, nosy, self-centered, fake—shored up his defenses once again. He told himself that her physical attractions were tempting but manageable. A memory of her at Halloween—wavy hair, long legs, that T-shirt—surfaced and he quickly snuffed it.
Dangerous.
But her laugh, the understanding in her eyes, that glow she had around children?
Deadly.
His construction experience should keep them separated, he assured himself again. He didn’t imagine they would allow the kids into the heavy work zone, and Grace’s talents would most likely keep her with them.
Feeling marginally better, he meandered out to the playground. Swarming with children and volunteers, it looked like a well-worn throwback to the 1970s, sporting a geo dome for climbing, wooden teeter-totters, and several metal slides of varying height in addition to the swing sets. Noah secured an open position as swing-pusher that allowed him to keep his back to Grace, who was spotting a climbing toddler on the geo dome.
A revolving succession of swinging children kept his arms occupied. Though the job didn’t require language skills, Noah quickly discerned that a squealed“no tan alto”meant to stop pushing, while an insistent“más rápido”meant to push harder. Once he learned that, his mind wandered back to Grace, whose soft tones as she encouraged her little charge slipped through the commotion to torment him from behind.
Chapter 32
Walls
Splat!
Noah sent the mortar from his trowel onto the cement blocks with more force than strictly necessary. Alec and Marcus talked as they worked, getting to know each other, while Noah gratefully zoned out in the familiar and repetitive nature of the job—building concrete block walls for a new bathroom building.
He hadn’t slept well, thanks to the combination of new surroundings, thin air mattress, and too many roommates.
One of whom was Grace.
Why had she spoken to him—about him—as she had?
He’d managed one ambiguous syllable.
Despite his troubled thoughts, he found a nice rhythm with his trowel, the movements coming back easily. He lifted a block into place on the fresh mortar and, wishing for a hat to shield the early-morning sun, checked to make sure the block was aligned, plumb, and level with the guide lines by tapping the butt of his trowel on one corner. Too bad social situations weren’t as clear-cut as good construction technique: scoop the mortar, scrape it onto the block, set it, and tap it into place.
“You work with Grace?” Alec’s question made Noah flinch as he reloaded his trowel.
“Yeah,” Marcus answered.
“Some kind of boarding school?”
“Therapeutic boarding school.”
“What’s the difference?”
Marcus bent to pick up a block. “Most of our students come to us from intervention programs that have helped them out of crisis, so besides providing their academics, we have a psychiatrist, therapists, and support personnel on staff.”
“What does Grace do?” Alec asked.
“She’s part of the recreation team. They work with the boys after school and on weekends, take them on excursions and stuff.”
“Sounds like babysitting.”
Noah watched sideways as Marcus dipped into the bucket, pulling too much material and slopping half of it into the center of the block instead of on the top edge, where he’d been aiming. With a frown, Marcus attempted to retrieve some of the wasted material out of the center, then gave up and reached again for the bucket. “It might sound that way,” he said, “but the recreation team is vital to the boys’ success. They provide experiences and connect with the boys in a totally different way than the teachers and therapists can.”
