Page 12 of Not In The Contract
“I’m Devon Sanders,” she said, and my heart thudded a little harder. “It’s great to meet you.”
“And I you,” I said, waving at the empty seat in front of me. “Please, have a seat.”
She pulled the strap of her bag over her head and hung it over the back of her chair before she sat down.
She was… unfairly gorgeous.
Not in the sense that others would be jealous of her looks, but more in the way shemoved. Her waist-length hair fell over her shoulder in soft waves of deep chestnut, her skin sun-kissed and glowing. She wasn’t wearing much makeup and her outfit was nothing special. Lightwash jeans and a simple white tank top with white sneakers and a varsity sweater.
And I couldn’t look away.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” she said sheepishly. “My last lecture ran a little late.”
“Not at all,” I said, waving it off. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll grab something from the counter,” she said and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Can I get you anything while I’m there?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She nodded and smiled again before making her way to the counter.
I took a deep breath, willing my pulse to slow.
Ihatedmeeting new people, but this wasn’t a social call. I had to remind myself of that. I watched her exchange with the barista, her full-bellied laughter drifting back to where I sat waiting.
First impression: she smiled. A lot.
And, although I didn’t know her, something told me her smiles were genuine. It didn’t make the situation any better. Genuine smile or not, I was still going to live with a complete stranger for the next two months. How the hell had I been duped into this?
The self-loathing simmered inside me and I took a sip of my coffee to give myself something else to focus on. I couldn’t quite shake the unease that shifted in my gut.
Too soon, Devon was back with her order. She brought her cup to her nose and inhaled deeply, her eyes shut.
“Chai lattes are the best.” She giggled.
The corners of my mouth quirked up in acknowledgment. “I prefer coffee.”
She didn’t balk and instead smiled wider. “It’s a little too acquired for me,” she said. “Plus the caffeine would have me bouncing off the walls; I’d never get anything done.”
I could respect that. “So,” I prompted, leaning back in my seat. She straightened in response. “Tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, um,” she paused, then cleared her throat. “How much has Paula told you? I don’t want to bore you with things you might already know.”
“I only know your name and that you’re working on your dissertation,” I answered. “I’d like to know a little more than that.”
“Of course!” she said. “It’s my last year of studying and I’ve studied both psychology and sociology. My dissertation aims to prove that children in foster care can become successful with the right tools. Granted, it would require that the existing system make some fundamental changes.”
“What sort of changes would you suggest?”
“From the foundation of the system up,” she explained. “A lot of the processes within foster care would need to change to benefit the children as well as the foster families. There’s a lot about their childhood and lives before entering the system that is often neglected. There should be mandatory counseling for children who have entered the system, regardless of age or background.”
“And what made you decide on such a topic of study?” I pushed, finding myself drawn to the quiet confidence in her voice. “Did you grow up in foster care?”
She shook her head slowly, her lips pursed in thought.
“I was raised by my mom,” she said, her shoulders squared as if she’d told the story a thousand times. “She grew up in foster care, so she wasn’t necessarily exposed to good or consistent parenting. She developed bad habits and coping mechanisms because she didn’t have access to many resources. I want to give kids in foster care a fighting chance, in parenting as well as all other aspects of life.”
“Admirable,” I mumbled, although my heart squeezed at the intention in her words. I couldn’t deny that it hit home. “And how have your studies gone so far?” I asked.
