Page 49 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
He left twenty minutes later with a hug and a promise to check on me after school. I stood in my shower, letting hot water run over my shoulders, and tried to imagine what my life would look like in six months. Would I be living in Harrison's house, sharing his bed, helping Eloise with homework? Would I be wearing expensive clothes and attending school functions as the headmaster's wife?
The thought made my stomach flutter with something that might have been excitement or terror.
I dressed for school with shaking hands, choosing a blue cardigan and applying makeup that I hoped would hide the fact that I'd barely slept. My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked pale and uncertain, and I had to apply concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles.
The drive to Hawthorne Academy passed in a blur. I parked in the faculty lot and sat in my car for several minutes, watching other teachers arrive for the day. They all looked so normal, so settled in their routines. None of them were contemplating marriage to a stranger or wondering if they'd lost their minds.
When I finally walked into my classroom, Eloise was already there, sitting at her desk with a piece of paper in front of her. She looked up when I entered, her face brightening in the way that always made my chest tighten with affection.
"Miss Quinn! I made you something."
She held up a drawing of two stick figures standing in front of what appeared to be a house. One figure had long, dark hair, and the other was taller with lighter hair. They were holding hands.
"It's beautiful," I said, kneeling beside her desk to examine it more closely. "Tell me about it."
"That's you and that's my dad," she said, pointing to each figure in turn. "You're at our house having dinner."
My heart stopped. "How did you?—"
"I found this on the living room floor this morning." She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small silver earring. "It looks like one of those book ones you always wear. Did you come over or something?"
The earring was definitely mine—part of a pair I'd gotten at a craft fair, shaped like tiny open books. I must have lost it when Harrison and I… when we were on the couch.
"Oh," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I must have dropped it when I was talking to your dad about your progress report. Thank you for finding it."
Eloise handed me the earring, studying my face with the intensity that made her such a good student. "Dad seemed really happy this morning. He was humming while he made breakfast."
"That's nice, sweetie."
"He never hums. Usually, he just drinks coffee and checks his email." She tilted her head. "Do you think he likes you?"
The question was so direct, so innocent, that I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "I think your dad and I are… friends."
"Good. I like it when you're both happy."
Other students began filtering into the classroom, and I stood up on unsteady legs. "Why don't you put your backpack away and choose a book from the reading corner?"
"Okay!" Eloise bounced up from her seat and headed toward the bookshelves, her drawing still clutched in one hand.
I slipped the earring into my pocket and moved to my desk, my mind spinning. How had I been so careless? And what would I have said if Eloise had asked more pointed questions?
As I watched her settle into the reading corner with a chapter book, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of her daily life. To help her with homework, to tuck her in at night, to be the mother figure she'd never had. The thought was both terrifying and oddly appealing.
Would I be good at it? Could I love her the way she deserved to be loved, or would I always feel like I was playing a role?
The morning announcements crackled over the intercom, and I forced myself to focus on the day ahead. But as I called the class to attention and began the morning routine, one thought kept circling through my mind.
Maybe Harrison wasn't just offering me a solution to my problems. Maybe, in some impossible way, he was offering me a chance at the life I'd never dared to want.
11
HARRISON
The gym already smelled like sweat by six in the morning, but I ignored the stench to focus on the release of energy. It was empty except for Juan, who'd already claimed the court and was bouncing a racquetball off the back wall with a relaxed rhythm that meant he'd been warming up for a while.
"You look like hell," he said without turning around.
I rolled my shoulder, testing the knot that had settled there overnight. "Good morning to you too." This stress was eating me alive.
