Page 42 of The Overtime Kiss

“Fine,” he says with a scowl that translates toget away from me.

“What did you learn?”

“Stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Just stuff.”

Oh man. I don’t just have my work cut out for me—I haveallthe work. But little does he know, I’m as persistent as a bee. I shove my hands into my jeans pockets and go toe-to-toe with the kiddo. “Sounds cool. Was it cool?”

“It was whatever.”

“Good whatever or bad whatever?” I ask, pressing more.

“Whatever whatever.”

A few seconds later, Luna arrives, ponytail bouncing, eyes bright. “Hey, Sabrina! You found it! This place is not easy to find. It doesn’t even look like a school—it kind of looks like a weird Art Deco building. Don’t you think?”

She knows what Art Deco is? But kids today know all sorts of things.

“Yeah, it kind of does,” I say. “Like one of those fancy apartment buildings.”

“Exactly! Like onNobody Does It Better,” she says, naming a TV show that takes place in, you guessed it, Los Angeles. “Oh, and next time, you can just come to the pickup line.”

My stomach twists, and a voice in my head saysyou made another mistake already? But since that sounds a lot like my father’s voice, I do my best to silence it, reminding myself I made it here on time and I picked up the kids. “Thank you. I’ll do that. Parker already told me not to come in, but for now, my car is parked.”

As we walk, Luna chatters about her day. Meanwhile,Parker stops dead in his tracks and asks, “Your car is there? Why did you park there?”

“Because I wanted to meet you at school,” I reply.

“But you didn’t need to pay twenty dollars. We could’ve found your car. We’re not stupid,” he snaps.

Wow. Someone is definitely not a fan of me.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d make it on time,” I say, my voice firm. Then, because I don’t want him thinking he’s in charge, I add, “But I don’t think you’re stupid, and I don’t want you speaking to me that way.”

He gulps but doesn’t say anything.

Maybe it’s a small victory, but I’ll take it as we climb into the car and head to the grocery store, where I park in the small underground lot, with or without Parker’s approval.

But the détente only lasts as long as the produce aisle. As Luna tells me about a science homework project she’s absolutely dreading while I pick out a few avocados, Parker interrupts.

“Can’t we get something good?” he asks.

“What would be good to you?” I reply cheerily, perhaps to cover up my faux pas. For all my famous preparation, I didn’t even ask Tyler about Luna’s and Parker’s likes and dislikes. I was too distracted by the brush of their dad’s strong arm against mine. I’ll do better tomorrow.

“They have gummy bears. Organic,” Parker says, and there’s a hopeful note in his voice.

But there’s also something else—a clever edge. Something that tells me maybe he doesn’t usually get gummies. I hesitate as I push the cart toward the bananas. “Are you allowed to?”

“Agatha always got them for us,” he says, but this time he’snot the sullen, snarky kid of the last half an hour. His voice nearly wobbles when he mentions her name. He must miss her. I bet he feels like I’m stepping on her toes. I should get him the gummy bears—sometimes you just need gummy bears.

I grab the bananas and say, “Let’s check them out.”

When we get to the aisle with the treats, I pick up a bag and glance at the ingredients under the fluorescent lights. Half of them are unpronounceable. Would Tyler want me to get this for Parker?

“I’m pretty sure this is ultra-processed,” I say, a little worried.

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