Page 12 of Forever Never
The Styrofoam batcaught him mid-thigh as a six-year-old screeched for help.
“Nice work, Becky. Hit him again,” Carlos instructed cheerily from the sidelines.
Brick bit back a sigh as he monster-walked toward the little girl with lopsided pigtails.
She shrieked as she wound up then let the bat fly, hitting him in the gut.
He should have had that bear claw.
“Look, guys! He’s going down,” Carlos called, winking at the perky kindergarten teacher.
Taking his cue, Brick lumbered down to his knees and then slumped onto the floor, growling and moaning dramatically.
His partner blew the whistle as the rest of the dozen kindergarten and first graders erupted into cheers. “Now what do we do?” Carlos yelled over the din.
“Run away and go get help!” the kids shouted in delirium.
“Great job, kids,” the teacher said. “Now that we know how to handle stranger danger, who wants a snack?”
There was a small but terrifying stampede to the back of the room, where cookies and juice awaited.
Carlos helped Brick back on his feet. “Decent death scene. You’re really improving,” he said.
“Thanks,” Brick said dryly.
Becky skipped over to him and held up a napkin-wrapped cookie. “Thanks for letting me hit you real hard, Mr. Brick,” she said, showing off dueling dimples in her round cheeks.
He accepted the cookie. “Any time,” he said. “Thanks for the cookie.”
“You’re welcome,” she bellowed, beaming at him before sprinting back to the snacks.
Deciding he’d earned the sugar, he took a bite.
His cell phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and nearly dropped it and the cookie when he saw the screen.
Remi Ford.
“Yeah?” he answered gruffly.
“Brick, it’s Remi.”
“I know,” he said, sounding more exasperated than he’d intended. “What do you need?”
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” she said lightly. “I was wondering if you were using that room on the back of your place for anything?”
Once an accessible space for his wheelchair-bound grandfather, Brick now used the room to store horse and fishing gear.
“Not really,” he hedged.
“If you’re not using it, I was wondering if I could rent it from you.” Her words came out in a rush. Like bubbles in a glass of champagne. The cadence was so familiar it built an ache dead center in his chest.
“Uh.”
The woman wanted to rent space in his own house. How in the hell was he supposed to stay away from her if she was under the same roof?
“I need space to fling some paint at a canvas, and the cottage is a little small and a lot clean.”
He envisioned her wielding a brush in one hand, another clamped in her teeth as music blared and turpentine and oil paints splattered everywhere. It was a guaranteed disaster.
