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“Nothing major. What’s up?”
How on earth could she begin to describe the turbulence of arriving at work to see Michael Briggston’s distant yet handsome face at the front of the room, like a ghost from another life? “Something has come up. Something big.” She squeezed her eyes shut and took a long, slow breath to ease the pounding of her heart, but it only made her feel starved for air. “It has to do with Izzy’s dad.”
“Oh, wow. I can be at your place in five minutes.”
Bex shook her head, then remembered that Kat couldn’t see. “I have a client in half an hour, and it’ll take more time than that.” Although it warmed her to know that her friend would drop everything to be there the moment she needed it. “Can you come over for dinner?”
“Of course, and don’t worry about cooking a thing. I’ll get Tione to make a little extra and bring it over.”
Bex’s shoulders relaxed into the seat. “You’re a life saver. Thanks, Kitty-Kat.”
“I’ll also bring wine.”
Despite herself, she laughed. “The biggest bottle you can find.”
“Done. See you later, honey.”
The call ended and Bex righted herself, drove home, changed into yoga pants and a tank top, and turned Izzy’s bedroom upside down looking for her damned kiwi. As she searched, her thoughts circled around to Michael. Once upon a time, they’d been good friends. When they first met, she’d made some lame-ass joke and he’d laughed even though the rest of the family had stared at her like she’d grown antlers. They’d chatted on and off for the rest of the night, and after that, he’d become her safe harbor within the Briggston family. The one she could count on to be kind and respectful regardless of the million ways his parents considered her inadequate for their favorite son. Even Wesley had said she disappointed him at times, but Michael never had. She’d been sure she could rely on him—at least, she had until he’d turned stone cold when she confessed her pregnancy.
Having no luck with the plush kiwi, she tried her own room, and finally the living room, finding Mr. Snuggles tucked under a couch cushion. She raised him triumphantly, then carted him back to Izzy’s room and left him on the pillow.
“Confused” pretty much described her state of mind around Michael after things started to go downhill. She’d gone from knowing she had at least one ally inside the Briggston clan—and even, on occasion, wondering if she was dating the wrong brother—to being brushed off by him with a coolness that left her reeling. His attitude had morphed into outright hostility when she agreed to get an abortion at Imogen’s request.
She shook her head to dispel the memory. There was no point in tormenting herself over the past. She headed out to the foyer and up the stairs to the gym, then grabbed the exercise plan she’d written yesterday for her first client of the day. Her sessions passed in a blur and she delivered instructions and encouragement on autopilot. Finally, at 2.30 p.m., her last client mopped her forehead with a towel and waddled out the door on stiff legs.
Bex sat behind her desk and rested her face in her palms. It was nearly time to pick up Izzy, but she was afraid of Michael seeing them together. She’d have a lot of explaining to do, and whatever story she wove, she doubted he’d buy it. He was quick-witted and as stubborn as a bulldog at times. Rubbing her temples, she wondered what to do.
“Hey Bex, are you all right?”
She glanced up and met Brooke’s eyes. Her friend had arrived in the midst of Bex’s session with her last client and had been exercising quietly since. Bex scanned her. Brooke had been coming regularly for a few months now, and she looked good. Really good.
“Yeah, just tired,” she said, waving off her concern. Brooke didn’t know anything about Izzy’s father, and she planned to keep it that way. Not that she thought her friend would gossip or judge her, but she preferred to keep the truth to as small of a group of people as possible. “Try lifting your feet a bit higher when you run, and keep your arms swinging forward rather than across your body.” She winked. “You do that and it might shave another couple of minutes off your 10-k time.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” Brooke turned away, but then paused. “I’m here if you ever need.”
Bex smiled. “Thanks, sweetie.”
When Brooke crossed the room and started adding weight plates to a squat rack, Bex went to the other end of the open space, to the area set aside for painting. She glanced at the clock to see that school would have just let out, and dialed Shane’s number, hoping to catch him before he left his classroom.
“Hi,” he answered in his smooth voice. “How are you doing? I was worried about you after the meeting this morning.”
“I’m okay.” She spoke quickly, not wasting any time. “But I need a favor.” She twiddled the zip of her activewear hoodie. “Can you bring Izzy home?”
“Of course.” He didn’t hesitate, and that was what she loved about her relationship with Shane. As a single father, he was always happy to help her out, no questions asked, and she did the same for him. “I’ll be there in an hour or so. I have gate duty this afternoon.”
Gratitude swelled within her chest, and she thanked God—not for the first time—for putting Shane Walker in her life. “See you then.”
An hour and five minutes later, light footsteps flew down the hall that connected The Hideaway’s foyer to Bex’s living quarters. The moment Izzy pushed the door open, Bex swept her little girl into a hug and squeezed her tight.
“Mummy!” Izzy protested. “Can’t breathe.”
Bex eased up, but didn’t let her go. She burrowed her face into Izzy’s shoulder and breathed in the scent of strawberry shampoo, bubblegum, and a hint of sweat. Izzy giggled and returned the hug. For a few seconds, all was right with the world.
When the clock struck five,Michael set his pen down and stretched the kinks out of his back. As far as first days went, this one had been successful. The students had seemed friendly, and the staff were all pleasant, with the exception of Bex. He particularly liked Shane Walker, who taught the senior class and was around his own age. Michael didn’t make a lot of friends, but he saw potential there.
He closed the office door, shucked his jacket, and changed from his tidy suit into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then packed his clothes into a backpack. Where possible, he preferred to get around on a bike, and that was how he’d arrived that morning. Now, he donned his backpack and pedaled into town. He hadn’t looked around yet, and he was keen to see what Haven Bay had to offer.
The town square was quaint and charming, with a cobblestoned pavement and a statue of a man with a surfboard in its center, contained within a fountain. It was winter, and the evening light was fading fast, but old-fashioned streetlamps illuminated the square.
