Page 2 of Hold

His father scrubbed his chin the same way Liam did. “What your mom and I have doesn’t come along very often.”

Huh.But Liam was sure his dad didn’t mean that the way it had sounded. “I know it’s a lot of work, keeping a marriage going.”

“You got that right. And your Avery here, she’s used to the finer things.” Dad waved a hand at their boutonnieres, which were sharply sculpted calla lilies in a darker purple than Liam’s waistcoat.

Liam ignored the uncertainty in his voice and the implied criticism of his fiancée’s style. He was more a wildflowers and straw kind of guy, but wasn’t every man? “She’s the same as me, Dad. We’ll be working for those things together. She knows two teachers’ salaries won’t stretch to fancy cars or exotic vacations. We talked about it.”

Pat grunted. “Good. Well, I hope you’re right, son. ’Course, if you’d stayed with the business, you’d have—”

“Dad.” Liam scrubbed his chin again. “Not today, okay?”

His chin was cold. And ititched. But Avery had asked him to shave his beard, just for today.

“You don’t like the beard?” he’d replied. “You could have said something sooner!” They’d been together for three years.

“I love you, hon, and the beard is… well, part of you, I guess, but I just thought for the wedding you could, you know, be kind of a little… groomed.”

It wasn’t like you could nest birds in his beard; he kept it cut pretty close. But if it was what she wanted for the wedding, who cared? He only had to look at Avery’s perfect Cupid-bow mouth and big blue eyes, fringed as they always were by impossibly long, dark lashes, and he knew he’d give her anything she wanted.

Because she was giving him everything he wanted.

Chapter 1

Two years later

The first class in Thea’s master’s in education program covered language immersion theory. Of which she had exactly zero experience. Couldn’t they have started with something more comprehensible like, maybe, neuroscience?

She clutched her hobo bag to her more tightly and walked into the class. About twenty other students were already here. They were sitting, she always thought, according to their intensity of will to pass the class. The front row people with their laptops out already, fingers at the ready. She avoided them; she couldn’t stand the sound of other people’s fingers on keyboards. The back row held kids who planned on teaching relative arts. Counter-cultural symbols, nose rings, giant holes in ears—boy, were they going to regret those in a few years—tattoos, etc. Much too cool for school. For Thea, anyway.

But in the middle sat a group she was content to dump her bag next to. She’d expected a room full of students fresh out of their bachelor’s degrees, so she was pleasantly surprised to see that at least three of the people on her row were her age or older. A tall, pale woman with thick ginger curls had a richly decorated notebook in her hands. A purple hijab framed the face of another woman with tawny skin; her paper was in a binder, and she had four different colored pens in front of her. Two men sat next to each other; their blond hair was short and spiky, and they each wore horn-rimmed glasses, one in a jade green, one in royal blue. They looked like The Proclaimers, except that when she looked more closely, they weren’t twins. They carried ordinary spiral-bound notebooks, like the one Thea used, but had pulled out beautiful jewellike fountain pens.

She sat down, nodding politely at everyone. The woman in the hijab gave her a bigger smile than everyone else, and somehow Thea knew that they recognized each other as mothers. A coloring book sticking out of the woman’s bulging bag at her feet confirmed it.

“Zahra,” the woman said, holding out a hand.

“Thea,” she said, shaking hands.

“I’m Chloe,” said the redhead. She was very tall, taller even than Thea.

“Nice to meet you,” Thea said. “Are you already a teacher?”

“Nope,” Chloe said. “Hey, did either of you bring a granola bar or something? I skipped lunch, and this damn class happens right through dinner.”

Thea and Zahra both opened their bags. Under the layers of tissue packets, wet wipes, travel-size tubes of ibuprofen, Band-Aids, and hairbrushes, they pulled out snacks: goldfish from Zahra, a protein bar from Thea.

They smiled at each other. “How many kids do you have?” Zahra asked.

“Two. Fifteen and five and a half. He wouldn’t want me to forget the half. You?”

“Three. Ten, eight, and one.” The two women exchanged exhausted looks.

“God, thanks,” Chloe said, chowing down on the protein bar. “Yay for GMO soy,” she added with her mouth full.

“Do you have any children?” Thea asked politely. They sat at their table, and she began shoving the rest of her junk back into her bag. The answer to her question seemed obvious, given Chloe’s lack of purse, but still.

“No. I’m way too high-maintenance. Couldn’t make a kid suffer having me for a mom.”

Thea was about to introduce herself to The Proclaimers when another man came over to them. She couldn’t determine his age; his eyes looked young, but he had a beard that aged him. Against his dark-red hair and beard, his eyes were a piercing blue. She was glad he kept his beard trimmed; she wouldn’t have to spend all her time wondering if he’d missed bits of fried egg in there.

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