Page 59 of Canadian Boyfriend

I did not want Gretchen to witness me getting the Mike Martin chauffeur service and thus had told him I’d meet him in the parking lot, but halfway through my last class he strolled in and took a seat in the viewing area, damn him.

I had no choice but to carry on, teaching my reduced cohort with a smile on my face and a click in my heels. I could feel his attention. He was watching with the same intensity he usually applied to spectating at Olivia’s classes, but Olivia wasn’t here.

I knew his attention would not go unnoticed by Gretchen and the Minnetonka Moms™.

I smiled vaguely at the parents in the lobby as I went to the computer to enter attendance.

“So sweet of you to come by even though Olivia’s away,” Kylie’s mom said to Mike Martin.

“Miss Rory and I are going out,” he said, and I could see the moment he realized his mistake. His eyes darted around like he was trapped. Hewastrapped. The question was whether he would try to backpedal, thereby making things worse, or let it lie.

He chose curtain number one. “Not going out–going out. With Olivia at her grandparents, and no games the last few days, it’s just me and…”

Argh! While some of the parents knew I drove Olivia home on Tuesdays, no one besides Gretchen—I assumed—knew I was living at Mike Martin’s house. “Ready?” I said brightly,stepping out from behind the desk. I fake-smiled at him and tried to ESP him a message to cut his losses and stop talking.

“Sorry about that,” he said in the car. “I kind of forget how this”—he nodded in my direction—“looks.”

“It’s OK,” I said, though there was no way I was getting out of having a chat with Gretchen later. “Where are we going?”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed when we pulled into the parking lot of a Tomfoolery. My surprise was replaced, though, all at once, with a weird, squishy feeling, as if I might cry. I sucked in a shaky inhalation.

“Are you OK?” he asked urgently as he cut the engine and turned to me.

I nodded, opening my eyes really wide to try to beat back the tears that were threatening. “I’m not having a panic attack. I’m just…”

“What?” he said quietly.

“I’m a bit overwhelmed, to be honest. I don’t know if anyone has ever done something this nice for me.”

He frowned for a moment before reversing his lips into a smile. “Well, don’t get too excited. It’s entirely probable that the reality of this place is going to fall short of your childhood imaginings.”

It wasn’t Tomfoolery per se, though. It was that he had listened to what I said, taken in a stupid little detail, and gone out of his way to take me here. The fact that Tomfoolery probably actually sucked only made memoreemotional.

“Also, you know you’re too tall for the ball pit, right?” He bumped his shoulder against mine as we crossed the parking lot.

I stopped walking. “What do you mean?”

It took him a minute to register that I was no longer by his side. He turned and said, “There’s a height limit.” He was wearinga quizzical expression. “It’s like four feet or something. The ball pit’s only for kids. Or parents who have to go in after their kids.”

“Are you serious?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Why would I know that?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Well, damn. I knew I was likely to be the only grown-up in the ball pit, but I thought that would be more a function of the size of my dignity, which apparently is very small, than my literal size.” I was trying to keep my tone light, but I was actually disappointed. “There is Skee-Ball, though, right?”

“There is Skee-Ball,” he confirmed. “And if it makes you feel any better, ball pits are disgusting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. All those snotty-nosed kids. They’re cesspools. And what do they do when someone barfs in there?”

“Eww.”

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