Page 75 of Class Act

I flashed him those dimples I knew he liked so much. “You might have been negotiating a business deal to take over running the playground or to protest pumpkin spice drinks, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

My eyes caught the interested looks of those he’d been talking to, and they all found themselves suddenly busy. Odd. I’d never been the person people were watching, but it was probably big news that Ford was here with someone. Maybe. Or maybe they were nosy, plain and simple.

“Come on, the kids are probably getting bored of the slide. Let’s get some pie.” His hand was still on my elbow, and it slid down to squeeze my fingers lightly before he let go and stepped to the side to allow me to walk with him. “You look really nice.”

I glanced down at my outfit and brushed my hand down my shirt, tugging at the hem. “Thanks. You, too.”

“This old thing?” he said in a playful old woman Southern accent that made me laugh. “I’m assuming that growing up here you’ve been to the fair before?”

“Every year,” I nodded, falling into step beside him.

“This is our first year.”

My jaw dropped, and I opened my mouth wide. “Why?”

“I’m not much for fairs, actually. But the kids were begging, and I thought maybe it would be a good way to get this woman I know to spend some time with me.” His eyes danced down at me, and I had the strangest urge to grin like a lunatic. “I was prepared to bribe her if I had to.”

“Who is she? Can I meet her?” I asked. “She sounds like a gem.”

We came to a stop at the border of the playground, and he opened his mouth to reply, but a woman planted herself in front of Ford and greeted him with a sunny look. It was quickly apparent that she was a neighbor and was really into gardening, so my attention drifted to where Hillary and Henry were playing tag with a group of kids. They were laughing, cheeks pink and eyes bright as they ran, calling out to each other. It made me smile.

I turned back to Ford to point out how hilarious Hillary was being only to find that, somehow, I’d become slightly separated from him, and now there were like five people chatting around him. Once again, he’d become the center of the group of smiling people. Did he even try, or did it just happen?

I watched in amusement. I was a people watcher, not a people entertainer. Ford seemed to notice the distance at the same time I did, and he shocked me by reaching out a hand to me. We weren’t so far apart that I’d have to reach far to take it, but I paused wondering what he hoped to accomplish by bringing me into the group. I’d have nothing to say to these strangers. Ford thought I was chatty and could be witty, but what he didn’t know was that I was only those things with him. Okay, and my four best friends and parents. But no one else. Even Shane had told him at the ice rink that I never had anything to say. I wasn’t actually capable of that easy behavior without certain perfect parameters. I was the flower that had to have the ideal soil in order to bloom.

He wiggled his fingers, still talking and entertaining the others, but the message was clear. He wanted me near. So, I stepped closer and took his hand. He wrapped his fingers around mine and tugged me against his side, seamlessly introducing me.

“This is Hailey Thomas. She teaches at Washington Elementary,” he said to the group.

“Nice to meet you all.” I inwardly cursed my cheeks for pinking up.

There were a few welcoming words before they returned to the conversation they’d already been having. Ford kept my hand tightly in his, and I focused on how it felt, the difference in size, how his hand was so warm and strong. I was mushy inside over the message it was sending to the group. These thoughts were dangerous because they were making me feel tingly, and I wanted to lean into his side, press my cheek against his shoulder, and huddle up against him, which was probably something I had no business doing.

“Well, we’d better find my kids and get moving.” Ford’s voice broke into my thoughts, and I realized I had been leaning a little after all.

I straightened as he said his goodbyes and the group broke apart. Feeling suddenly self-conscious I released his hand and walked slightly ahead of him toward where I’d last seen the kids. Ford waved them over, and Hillary arrived with a big hug for me. Henry was a few steps behind, smiling too, but minus the hug.

“We have to get pie, Daddy,” Hillary cheered. “You promised that when Miss Hailey got here we could get some.”

He looked at me. “We take our promises seriously in this family.”

I nodded. “Pie.”

“I saw the pie stand over there.” Henry pointed to his right.

Hillary bounded ahead, skipping and calling to Henry to keep up. I quickened my pace, expecting Ford wouldn’t want to lose his kids in the crowd, but he was relaxed, following them with his eyes and an indulgent smile. Ford greeted more people as we walked, seeming to know at least half of the population. His hand occasionally found my back or my elbow, keeping me from being jostled or slowing me down while he greeted someone. I didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he was so blatantly signaling that we were there together, but mostly I was on cloud nine.

When we arrived at the pie stand, Hillary and Henry were already in line arguing over which flavor of pie was the best. I got in line with them, telling them that the pies were sold by the slice and they could both have whatever they wanted. This seemed to be the right thing to say, because the argument died down as they began reading the menu board. I studied it myself, but it was only out of habit. I already knew I’d be getting a big fat slice of pumpkin pie with a dollop of whipped cream bigger than my face. It was tradition, after all. I turned to ask Ford what he wanted, but he was once again chatting it up with a group of people.

“How on earth does your dad know so many people?” I said to Hillary.

She shrugged. “All adults do. They don’t care if you’re friends or not; they just talk to each other.”

I was suddenly reminded of myself around age ten, going to the home repair store with my dad and asking him how he knew everyone there. He said he didn’t, that he just liked to talk to people. It had been confusing to someone like me who could talk when required but didn’t necessarily want to converse with strangers.

“You’re probably right,” I replied.

“What kind of pie are you getting?” Henry asked me.

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