Page 49 of Class Act

I woke up hours later and glanced around, confused and worried, not knowing where I was. The room was familiar, but it took me a few minutes to realize I was at Ford’s house, napping on his couch. The sound of voices came from a TV in front of me, and I blinked a few times, bringing the cartoon characters into focus.

“You’re awake,” Hillary said, patting my leg. I glanced her way to see that she’d settled at the foot of the couch and had my feet on her little lap. My shoes were gone. She grinned at me. “You slept for a long time.”

“How long?” I asked, pulling my legs toward me and moving into a sitting position.

The blanket that had been covering me fell to the floor, and I reached down for it, needing something to focus on while I got my bearings.

“Long enough that Daddy says he’s not mad anymore.”

I smiled and ran my hand through my hair. “That’s good.”

“Want some food? Daddy’s making spaghetti.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want anything other than to get myself out of whatever this was. Napping on their couch with my feet on Hillary’s lap? It was far too domestic and cozy. It was the sliver of a dream. The force of my longing surprised me, and I immediately wanted to retreat to my safe space. My hands clenched in the blanket.

“Daddy!” Hillary’s cry startled me. “She’s awake!”

I blinked and was happy to note that the headache seemed to have passed. Sleep and pain meds had done their work. I felt much better: good enough to hit the road, that’s for sure.

“My mom loved spaghetti,” Henry said.

I gasped, startled, having not noticed him in the recliner next to the couch. I took a breath and pressed my hand to my chest to settle my heart rate.

“Oh yeah?” I managed. “I like it, too.”

“Dad’s a good cook. You should eat some. Mommy said his spaghetti could make anything better.”

“I . . . that’s sweet,” I replied, happy that he had that kind of memory of his mom.

“Hey,” Ford’s voice entered the picture. “How do you feel?” His long legs made short work of crossing the room, and when he got to the couch, he crouched to be eye level with me. “Your eyes look better. Did the headache pass?”

I blushed at his direct gaze and busied myself folding the blanket in my lap. What bizarre universe had I fallen into when everyone was acting like having me here was an everyday occurrence? Like him checking on me was totally routine? My stomach tightened, and I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t do this. Playing house was dangerous.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“For what?” he asked, still watching me from the crouched position.

I shook my head and waved my hands. “Sleeping here for what must have been hours.”

Hillary slid across the couch and leaned up against my side, her head pressing against my upper arm. “I like having you here.”

At this I did finally meet Ford’s eyes. He’d asked me earlier what to do about Hillary’s attachment to me, and this could not be helping. My eyes widened, hoping to convey that very thought to him, but instead he stood.

“I’m bringing you some dinner,” he stated.

And then he walked out. Like this was nothing. This cozy, homey, ludicrous situation should have had him running, but instead he was going to the kitchen to plate me up some dinner. I did not understand this man or his children. Hadn’t he accused me of scheming to be in exactly the place I was right now? How was he suddenly okay with it?

I abruptly stood, smiling down at Hillary as my motion caused her to fall on her side. I couldn’t let down my wall if he was going to put his back up anytime soon.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to get home,” I said to them.

And I darted out of the room as fast as my feet could carry me. I was aiming for the front hallway, but somehow, I ended up in the kitchen where Ford was loading a plate with spaghetti and salad. He looked up when I came in, and he must have seen the freak-out on my face, because he put the plate down and walked slowly toward me.

“You okay?”

No, I’m not okay. I’m not okay at all because this is like a dream come true, I screamed in my head. For him, though, I only nodded.

“I can’t stay to eat.” My voice was unsure when it should have been strong.

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