Page 23 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
SADIE
Iclosed my laptop and gathered the last of the worksheets from my desk, trying to ignore the restless energy that had been building all afternoon.
The classroom emptied quickly after the final bell, but Eloise lingered by the window, her backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Miss Quinn?"
She turned toward me with that earnest expression she wore when she had been thinking about something important.
"Do you think my father would let me stay after school tomorrow? I want to finish the poetry project."
"You'll have to ask him," I said, checking the clock on the wall. "Speaking of your father, shouldn't you be meeting your sitter?"
"She's waiting by the main entrance."
Eloise adjusted her backpack straps.
"But I wanted to tell you that I loved the Emily Dickinson poems you shared today. The one about hope having feathers made me think of the cardinal that visits our kitchen window."
I smiled, remembering how she had raised her hand three times during that discussion, each question more thoughtful than the last.
"I'm glad they resonated with you. Poetry has a way of connecting us to things we might not have noticed before."
"That's exactly what I mean." She beamed. "See you tomorrow, Miss Quinn."
After she left, I finished packing my bag and headed toward the courtyard.
The January air carried the crisp scent of snow approaching and woodsmoke from someone's fireplace nearby.
Students moved in clusters across the brick pathways, their voices creating a gentle hum that would fade as they dispersed toward home or evening activities.
I had nearly reached the parking lot when I heard my name.
"Miss Quinn."
I turned to find Harrison Vale approaching from the direction of the administrative building.
He wore his familiar charcoal wool coat and his expression carried the same careful politeness I had grown accustomed to during our brief interactions at school events.
"Mr. Vale." I shifted my bag to my other shoulder. "Eloise left a few minutes ago. She was looking for her sitter."
It was unusual for him to send her with a sitter, but parents sometimes had to do that.
Still, I was curious why he'd sent her with a sitter when he was here anyway.
"I sent her ahead."
He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could see the pale gray of his eyes.
"I was wondering if you might have time for coffee. There's something I'd rather discuss away from campus."
The request caught me off guard.
In the months I had been teaching at Hawthorne, our conversations had been limited to polite exchanges about Eloise's progress or brief acknowledgments when we passed in the hallways.
I tried to read his expression, but his face revealed nothing beyond that controlled composure he seemed to maintain at all times.
"Now?" I asked, glancing around.
