Page 24 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
Other than going home to care for my mother, I had no plans, but heat flushed my cheeks at the idea of doing something with him outside of the professional setting.
I remembered the way I touched myself in the shower thinking of him and it had me squirming uncomfortably.
"If you're free." He glanced toward the parking lot. "There's a place called Mariner's Rest about three blocks from here. It's quiet and they have good coffee."
Curiosity won over caution. "All right."
The walk took us through the residential streets that bordered the academy grounds.
Harrison matched my pace but remained quiet, his hands buried in his coat pockets.
I found myself stealing glances at his profile, wondering what could be important enough to warrant this unusual invitation.
I was just the substitute teacher, not anyone of significance, though Eloise was a special child.
I convinced myself it was nothing more than him asking about her schooling, and after one block of walking in step, I realized he wasn’t going to open up until we were seated with drinks in our hands.
Mariner's Rest occupied the corner of a tree-lined street, its weathered shingles and blue shutters giving it the appearance of a house that had been converted rather than built for commercial use.
The interior felt warm and lived-in, with mismatched furniture and local artwork covering the walls.
Harrison chose a table near the front window, away from the few other customers scattered throughout the space.
"What can I get you?" he asked, already standing to approach the counter.
"Coffee. Black."
I settled into my chair and watched as he placed our order with the barista, a young woman who smiled at him with obvious recognition.
When he returned with two ceramic mugs, I wrapped my hands around mine and inhaled the rich aroma.
"Thank you for agreeing to this," he said, taking the seat across from me. "I know it's unusual."
"A little." I took a sip of my coffee, which was indeed excellent. "But I'm curious."
He nodded, then seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking again.
"I wanted to talk about Eloise. About what you've done for her this year."
I felt heat rise in my cheeks.
"I'm just doing my job."
"It's more than that."
His voice carried a conviction that made me look up from my mug. "She talks about your class constantly. The books you've introduced her to, the way you encourage her questions. She's always been a good student, but she's never been this engaged."
"She's a remarkable child," I said, keeping my tone very professional to mask how my insides were churning. "Curious and thoughtful. Those qualities were already there."
"Maybe. But you brought them out."
He leaned back in his chair, and for the first time since I had known him, his expression seemed less guarded.
"She mentioned that you've been reading together during lunch periods."
"She asked about extra reading time after we discussed Gothic literature in class. I had a copy ofAnne of Avonleain my desk drawer." I shrugged.
"And the poetry journal?"
