Page 38 of Doctorshipped
Fiona beams. Then she says, “I’m not a quick learner in school. It’s usually hard for me. But, Daddy always tells me I’m smart, so I know it’s just hard because of my dyslexia.”
“You’re super smart. And school is hard for lots of people. You’re not alone.”
Shannon finally notices me. “Oh, hey.”
“Hey. Fiona, your dad’s here. Let’s take the muffins out and we can get you on your way.”
Fiona follows me upstairs and Shannon comes with us. “You know, you should come to my wedding. You’d meet a lot of people there. I’d love it if you could come.”
“Really? I love weddings! I’m not sure if my dad will let me come, though.”
“Oh, we’re going to invite him too.”
Grant at the wedding? I bet he’ll say no.
When we walk into the living room, Grant’s seated in one of the overstuffed chairs, but he’s perched on the edge like he’s ready to dash out the door in the event the house catches on fire. He stands as soon as we walk in.
“We still have to take the muffins out of the oven,” I tell him.
“Daddy, can we go to Miss Shannon’s wedding?”
Grant’s mouth forms a thin line. He looks at Shannon.
She smiles. “We’d love to have you two. Other kids Fiona’s age will be coming. It’s a casual event. We’ve got plenty of room.”
“We’ll see.”
Grant looks down at Fiona.
Shannon catches my eyes and mouths, “Sooo broody.”
I try not to giggle.
“Will you have this house all to yourself after Miss Shannon moves out?” Fiona asks me.
I glance at Grant. His head tilts a hair to the left and his eyebrows raise the slightest bit.
“No. I’ll be moving out too.”
“Where are you moving to?” Grant asks.
“I’m not sure yet. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” I tell him with a wink. Then I walk into the kitchen.
His next words follow me. “You’re my daughter’s tutor, I need to make sure you have housing.”
I shout out to him, “I’ll have housing. Believe it or not, I actually arranged my life for myself before you moved into town.”
Such a grump. And controlling. And infuriating. I huff out a long breath.
The timer beeps. I hand Fiona the potholders. “You do the honors.”
“You don’t like my dad, do you?”
“What? Oh. No. I like him. He’s actually …”
What is he?
Fiona pulls the muffins out and sets them on the counter. Then she turns and looks at me.
