Page 1 of Pucked Up Plans
CHAPTER 1
TATE
Running late for preschool pickup, but what else is new? Although today it’s not totally my fault. The DMV was busier than I expected. Who knew you needed to make an appointment? Or get there before it opened? Guess that’s on me for not doing my homework on Vermont’s motor vehicle services.
The worst part is I didn’t even get to the front of the line, so I have to go back another day and waste yet another few hours to register my car and get a license in our new state unless I remember to make an appointment ahead of time.
I pull into the spot nearest the door of the preschool. Aubrey waits outside, along with an adult worker who doesn’t appear too pissed off. There’s another little kid sitting next to Aubrey on the bench. I sigh in relief I’m not thelastone for pickup. Glancing at the clock reveals I’m only a few minutes past the noon dismissal time, except every minute beyond the stated ending time results in more fees, something I can’t worry about now.
Out of the car, I apologize before I reach the woman. She’s only a few years older than me, but since Aubrey’s new to the school, I haven’t met all her teachers. I had hoped to enrollher as soon as we moved, but there was a waitlist. Again, that’s on me for not checking things out sooner. Except “move to Vermont” wasn’t on my radar until about a week before we arrived.
“I’m so sorry. I got stuck in a line at the DMV.” Maybe the truth will get me a little more sympathy than just an apology.
“Not a problem, Mrs. Winchester. It happens to the best of us. It’s why we have a fifteen-minute grace period.”
I like the sound of the grace period but cringe at the “Mrs.” moniker. I’m hardly a Mrs., especially not to Aubrey’s father.
Hiding my shudder and not letting my ignorance show, I smile at her. “Thanks. I won’t let it happen again.” I mentally slap my forehead. It will happen again. Most likely soon. I can’t help it. Ever since I was “late” six years ago, I can’t seem to get in gear to be on time for anything. At least when it relates to my daughter. Looking to Aubrey, I coo, “Hey, Bree. You ready to go?”
Thankfully, she hasn’t figured out my tardiness yet. And since she’s not sitting here by herself, she’s in good company. Or maybe that’s me because I’m not the worst parent at Apple Tree Preschool. At least not today.
Behind us, a truck’s engine roars, drawing awareness from all of us waiting on the curb. However, my eyes quickly revert to the other little girl. Clad fully in Aspenridge College attire, complete with a backward hat on her petite head hiding her messy dirty blonde hair, she hops off the bench. Planting her feet, her legs wide, she crosses her arms over her chest with a huff.
“You’re late, Keeley. Again.” Her small squeaky voice doesn’t quite match the shade she’s trying to throw at the adult picking her up.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
The gravelly voice turns my head. I come face-to-face with a man about my age, give or take a year, with the sharpest blueeyes. A faded scar slices the right eyebrow almost in half. Days’ old scruff covers his rounded chin and cheeks. He flashes a smile at the girl and even though it’s not directed at me in the slightest, I swear my ovaries weep.
He turns that same wicked smile to the preschool teacher.
“Ms. Hannah, I’m sorry I’m late. Feel free to charge me for your wasted time out here with Lennon.”
Hannah’s cheeks tinge pink.I feel ya, girl.
“Not a bother. She’s never a problem.”
At the teacher’s comment, the man’s eyebrows rise in challenge. I know nothing of this spitfire, but based solely on her attitude and how she carries herself, no way she’s completely innocent.
“Did you at least get to the store and get more yogurt?”
My focus is back on the little girl.
Lennon. Unique name.
She’s petite for her age, standing a few inches shorter than Aubrey. I suppose she could be in a younger class. I shouldn’t assume she’s the same age as Aubrey because she’s out here with her.
“Yeah, no. Sorry, Squirt. Guess a trip to the grocery store is in our future.”
Lennon rolls her eyes. I have to stifle my laughter. How so much sass can live in one tiny human is mind-boggling.
Bean, don’t get any ideas,I think as my girl observes the interaction. While she’s not a perfect angel all the time, she mostly keeps her attitude in check and is sweet, caring, and a loving five-year-old. And at the moment, my best friend.
“I had to go yesterday with Momma. Now today with you. Who will it be tomorrow?”
He kneels in front of her. “Would it help if I told you I got ice time for tonight?”
In a flash, her attitude disappears, replaced with an elated expression. Just as quickly, she mirrors his image, one eyebrow in the air. “Just for me?”
