Page 7 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, and there was something about the way he moved—controlled but not stiff—that drew my attention despite my better judgment.
"Ready?" he asked Eloise, but his gray eyes found mine over her head.
"Almost." Eloise hurried to my desk and retrieved a forgotten worksheet. "Miss Quinn was helping me understand Anne Shirley better."
"Was she?" Harrison stepped into the classroom, and I caught a hint of his cologne—something clean and expensive that made me suddenly aware of my own appearance.
My hair had escaped its bun hours ago, and my cardigan bore evidence of a day spent with twenty-three children.
I tugged it more tightly around my body and smiled as I hugged myself.
"Eloise has some very insightful observations about the characters," I said, smoothing my skirt self-consciously with one hand. "She understands emotional complexity better than most adults."
"She gets that from reading so much." His voice carried the quiet pride of a devoted parent. "Thank you for encouraging her. I know she can be… intense about books."
"Intense is wonderful in a student. It means she cares."
I glanced at Eloise, who was pretending to organize her backpack while clearly listening to every word. "She's a pleasure to teach."
Harrison's expression softened slightly. "How long have you been teaching at Hawthorne?"
The question seemed casual, but there was something in his tone that suggested genuine interest rather than mere politeness.
"Since December. I'm covering Mrs. Kaup's maternity leave."
"And after that?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks.
The uncertainty of my situation wasn't something I liked to discuss, especially with parents who clearly had no financial worries.
"I'm not sure yet. It depends on when Mrs. Kaup returns and whether there are other openings. I'm a substitute, so about as close to being a nomad as a teacher can be, I guess."
My go-to response didn't gain the chuckle I hoped for, and I wondered if Eloise got her ultra-serious side from her father.
He nodded thoughtfully, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was seeing more than I intended to reveal.
"What brought you here in the first place?"
The question was gentle but direct, and I found myself wanting to give him an honest answer despite my usual reluctance to discuss personal matters with parents.
"I needed the work," I said simply. "Hawthorne has an excellent reputation, and I thought it would be good experience. I didn't expect to love it as much as I do."
"But you do? Love it, I mean."
I smiled at him thoughtfully.
"The students are exceptional. The resources are incredible." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "It's the kind of environment where real learning can happen."
"Dad," Eloise interjected, clearly growing impatient with adult conversation. "Can we stop at the bookstore? I want to see if they haveAnne of Avonlea."
"We'll see," he said automatically, but his attention remained focused on me. "Sadie—Mrs. Quinn—thank you for staying late. I know Eloise appreciates the extra attention."
The sound of my first name in his voice sent an unexpected shiver through me. "Miss… And it's my pleasure. Really."
We stood there for a moment in what felt like charged silence.
I was acutely aware of the empty classroom around us, the late afternoon light slanting through the windows, the way he was looking at me as if he were trying to solve some kind of puzzle.
