Page 44 of Molly's Mr. Wrong
“Fitch.”
Ms. Fitch?The meanest freshman teacher in the high school? Couldn’t be.
One look at Mike told him that it be.
“Seems you weren’t the best student.”
“I got okay grades.” Probably fake grades, but okay on paper.
“And your deportment?”
Heat started to work its way up his neck. He and his friends had been typical asshole jocks.
“She was ourfreshmanscience teacher,” he said as if that explained everything, and, actually, it did. Fourteen-year-olds were brutal creatures. “I thought she moved away.”
“Nope. Just stopped teaching. She said that there gets to be a point where a person gets tired, and that’s the time to quit. I experienced the same thing at the feed store.”
So had he—just a whole lot sooner than Mike had.
“I, uh—” Finn rubbed a hand over the back of his neck “—feel like the roosters have come home to roost.” Sixteen years later. Was high school never going to stop haunting him?
“She didn’t say anything bad about you.”
“Did she say anything good?”
“Nope.” Mike opened the fridge door and then backed out of the fridge carrying the remainders of a ham.
“I thought you went to dinner.” And he wasn’t yet certain how the coffee date had turned into dinner, but it had.
“She wanted to go to this new rabbit food place.”
“Veganomics?” The bar patrons were taking bets at McElroy’s as to whether a strict vegan restaurant would survive in the Eagle Valley.
“That’s the place. We had salads. Raw stuff.” Mike wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t mind the tofu as much as I thought I would, though.” He looked back at Finn before pulling a knife out of the block. “It takes on the flavor of whatever it’s in.”
“Good to know. So are you going out with her again?”
“Probably. I told her she needed a steak. We’re thinking about next weekend.” When he caught the bemused expression on Finn’s face, he said, “Nothing wrong with liking salads better than meat and vice versa. There are more important things to consider.”
Finn didn’t bother telling his grandfather that it wasn’t the carnivore vs. herbivore thing that surprised him—it was the second date. With Ms. Fitch.
Mike carved several pieces of ham off the bone and set them on a plate, glancing up to silently ask Finn if he wanted to partake. Finn shook his head.
“I’m thinking of having her over here. You should come. Say hello.”
“Yeah,” Finn said on a breath. “Maybe.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m going to run. Glad your date went well.”
“Leave Buddy.” Mike pulled out a chair and sat at the table, raising a hand in farewell.
“I will. See you tomorrow.” He stopped to stroke the sleeping kitten’s striped belly, then stepped out into the crisp night air.
Ms. Fitch. Wow.
Karma, it seemed, was really intent on chewing his ass.
CHAPTER TEN
THENEXTDAY, Finn was still getting his ass chewed, but it wasn’t by karma. It was by Basic English Comp. It wasn’t that he was incapable of understandingwhathe had to do—he’d come to terms with the fear—it was that he didn’t knowhowto do it. And that in turn made him doubt his goals. Was he going to be able to power through a degree with minimal writing skills?
