Page 40 of Weather the Storm

“I-I guess that’s true.” I debate the pros and cons internally before finally deciding to trust Simon. I know he only wants the best for me, and if he thinks it’s a good idea, it probably is. “Okay.”

The sound of heavy steps on the front porch alert us to the return of Benson and Byrnes, and we meet them at the door.

“She wants to file.”

Chapter Twenty

SIMON

After informing the officers that we plan to file for an order for protection, they explain that we need to go down to the courthouse tomorrow to do so, as it is technically a civil matter and not a criminal one.

They also inform us that while they were checking out the road and mailbox, they saw Myla Rose and Cash return, so they would head over there to question them next.

Officer Byrnes gives us the information we need to get the forms filled out tomorrow morning, and once I lock the door behind them, I make my way into the kitchen where my laptop is charging on the counter.

I grab my sub list to find someone to cover me.

I strike out with the first five names on the list, and I’m crossing my fingers number six can help me out. I’ve never worked with this substitute before, so really, it could go either way. The phone rings four times before she answers. “Hello?”

“Hi. May I please speak with Ms. Garcia?”

“This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Simon McAllister. I teach ninth grade history at Dogwood High and I’m real sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I’m looking for someone to sub for me tomorrow. Any chance you’re available?”

I hear some papers rustling, along with her sharp intake of breath. “Yes!” she exclaims into the phone. “I mean, yes,” she says at a more normal decibel. “Sorry, I just got my certification, and I’m really excited.”

Ah, that explains why her name was unfamiliar—she must’ve recently been added to the list. I breathe out a sigh of relief. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that! Thank you so much.” We go over everything she needs to know, and I let her know the lesson plan will be waiting for her on my desk.

Once I end the call with Ms. Garcia, I dial up my department head. She answers almost immediately. “Mr. McAllister, how may I help you this afternoon?”

“Sorry to call you on a Sunday, Mrs. Brynolf, but I won’t be in tomorrow and was hoping you could print out my lesson plan in the morning and leave it for the sub?”

“Certainly. Is everything all right?”

Sighing, I debate how to answer her. I’d known the question was coming. Growing up in a small town, it’s hard for people not to want to know your business, and Mrs. Brynolf has been at Dogwood High since I was a kid.

“Yes, ma’am, my girlfriend and I just have to go down to the courthouse to take care of some things regarding her ex.” I keep my answer short but honest, hoping it’s enough to squelch her nosiness.

“Goodness. Well, thank you for letting me know. I’ll get your lesson plan on your desk first thing in the morning, and we will see you Tuesday.”

“Thanks, Mrs. B. I appreciate it,” I say, ending the call.

“All done?” Magnolia asks, and I turn around to face her, backing her against the kitchen island.

“All done.” Running my fingers through her long, silky locks, I nuzzle my nose into the small dip in her collarbone. “What do you say to us skipping dinner and callin’ it a night? We can cuddle up in my bed and watch movies until we fall asleep?”

Magnolia stretches, rising up on her tippy-toes, the action pressing her breasts into me. “Mmm, sounds good. Should we t-talk to everyone first?”

“That’s what group texts are for,” I murmur, dragging my lips up her neck until they land on her mouth. Our kiss revs from zero to sixty faster than a Mustang, and before I know it, we’re so caught up in one another everything else fades away.

I’ve managed to get Magnolia up onto the island with me situated between her legs, and I’m kissing my way down her throat when a pounding at the door scares the shit out of us both.

My racing heart slows when I hear the muffled sound of Myla Rose yelling from the front porch. “Simon McAllister! I know you’re home!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “Talk about timing.”

Painfully, I pull away from Magnolia before helping her down from the countertop. “So m-much for a group text,” she says, laughing lightly.

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