Page 15 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
I let the sentence trail off diplomatically as I sank into my seat and set the notebooks down.
"You're very tactful," he observed. "It's a useful quality in this environment."
"It's a survival skill in any environment where you're not the one writing the checks."
The blunt honesty surprised us both.
I felt heat rise in my cheeks, embarrassed by the admission of financial vulnerability I usually kept hidden.
"I didn't mean?—"
"You meant exactly what you said, and you're right." His voice was gentle, without a trace of condescension. "It's honest. I appreciate honesty."
We stood there surrounded by small desks and colorful bulletin boards while something shifted in the air between us.
I was acutely aware of how I must look—tired, rumpled, my hair escaping its bun after a long day.
He looked as composed as ever, but I noticed his shoes—plain old Doc Martins.
Not the expensive stuff I'd seen other parents wearing.
It puzzled me, and I found myself staring at them wondering what sort of man Harrison Vale was.
"You're beautiful," he said quietly.
The words snapped me out of my critical examination of his clothing and I laughed, a sound that came out more nervous than amused.
My hands busied themselves arranging pencils in the cup.
"That's very kind, but I look like I've been wrestling with elementary students all day. Which, technically, I have."
"You look like someone who cares about her work. Someone who puts her students' needs before her own comfort."
He moved closer, and I felt my body grow stiff as I met his gaze. "That's beautiful."
The compliment felt genuine in a way that made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't name.
When was the last time someone had noticed that I cared, rather than simply expected me to perform?
"Eloise is lucky to have you as a teacher," he continued. "And as a friend. She talks about you constantly."
I seized on the safer topic, grateful for the redirect.
"She's an extraordinary child. Thoughtful, insightful, genuinely kind. You've done an amazing job raising her."
"I've done my best. It hasn't always been easy, doing it alone."
I knew from school records that Eloise lived with her father, but I'd never heard any details about her mother or their family situation.
So why was I now looking down at his left hand?
What was wrong with me?
He wasn't my type—did I even have a type?
I awkwardly sat there, unable to speak, and he continued for me.
"I should let you finish up here," he said, glancing around the classroom. "Thank you for the conversation. It's been… illuminating."
