Mr. Burke grins at her and holds his hand out, leaning down so they’re eye level. “Well, it’s great to meet you, Miss Hailey.” She giggles, but her eyes are scoping out the classroom and not her new teacher. Unlike her father, who cannot make himself look away. He’s still crouched down at her eye level although he’s released her hand. “How would you like to play with some of the cool toys we have here while I talk to your dad about boring stuff?”
“Yes!” She bounces off, not needing another invitation.
Mr. Burke directs me to a small table and two ridiculously small chairs. “Sit?”
I stare at the chair. “You kidding?”
He chuckles. “I promise, a chair has never given way on me. You’ll be fine.” He takes a seat in one of the tiny chairs, and I shrug, taking a seat across from him.
He pulls out a folder full of papers with Hailey’s name on it and starts going over some of the basics, mostly a mission statement for the year.
“So, this will be her first year in school?”
I nod. “Yeah. She was with my aunt last year. I didn’t think she’d need preschool.” I grip the back of my neck, suddenly embarrassed that I let my kid down or something.
“Not a problem.” He doesn’t seem to be judging me.
“She’s really smart.” I have no idea why I feel the need to defend my decisions. “And I uh, worked nights. So I wouldn’t have seen her at all.”
Those brown eyes meet mine with curiosity but again, no judgment. “Makes sense.” He looks down at the papers in front of him. “And will she be riding the bus? Or will you be dropping off and picking up?”
“The bus in the morning. My aunt’s friend, well, her daughter—she’s going to be putting Hailey on the bus for me because I go to work at five, but I’ll be there to pick her up every afternoon.”
He nods, and I wish I could just shut up. I’ve never had a problem with being quiet before, but something about him unsettles me. Like I need to defend myself. “That’s perfectly fine. I just need to know so I don’t put her on the bus in the afternoon.”
“I’ll be here.” I give him the clipped answer and feel like a dick. That part, I’m used to. Most people assume I’m an asshole from the get-go, and I suppose I can be one.
“Can I ask about her mother?”
My body stiffens. My eyes immediately go to Hailey, who is playing happily across the room.
Every instinct inside me is saying no.
But I know that he’s only asking because he’s going to be her teacher. He should know her background.
No matter how painful.
* * *
Do not stare at a child’s father like you want to devour him.
I have to actively remind myself of this as I sit across from Rafe Scott. In my five years of teaching, I’ve never encountered this before. I’ve dealt with helicopter parents. Semi-neglectful parents. Aunts and uncles or grandma and grandpas with custody. And I’ve handled them all with ease.
But Rafe? Jesus. Those eyes. They’re cobalt blue on the surface with a deep-seated pain at their core. He’s beautiful. Beyond beautiful. His dark hair only makes the beauty in his eyes more obvious. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a clean black t-shirt, showing a sleeve of tattoos on one arm.
He’s my kryptonite. I already know he’s exactly the type of man I promised myself I’d stay away from years ago, but here he is. A child’s parent.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You have full custody?”
His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and he nods, pulling my attention to his jaw that’s sharply cut. His voice is quiet when he says, “Her mother died when Hailey was one.”
My eyes involuntarily move to the little girl, Hailey, playing in the corner of the room, and then I focus back on her father. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He doesn’t say anything, remaining stone-faced. At least, I’m sure that’s what most people would see, but I see the sadness inside those eyes. “Thank you.”
I nod, clearing my throat. “Okay. So emergency contact then?”
“My aunt. Josephine Porter. She’s . . .” He looks over to Hailey and then back to me. “She’s pretty much all we have.”
I nod, trying not to feel that inside my heart.
He is not for you to save. Stop it.
I always do that. I always have. I’ve barreled right into every single trainwreck I could, always leading myself to disaster. My cocky ass thinking I could save them.
I try to shake that thought away. Rafe Scott isn’t like them. First off, he’s probably straight. Whereas, I’m definitely not. And every relationship I’ve tried has led to heartbreak because I always pick the most broken, toxic men. Not anymore though. I swore off those types of men two years ago. And I’ve stuck to it.
Rafe clears his throat, and I’m brought back to the present instead of my past. Get it together, Nolan. “What about the woman who’s putting her on the bus?”
His eyes darken and yeah, another red flag. “No. I barely know her.” He grips the back of his neck. “Shit. That sounds bad.” He flinches. “Sorry.” I guess he’s apologizing for his profanity, and it takes everything in me not to laugh. Although I’m good at controlling my potty mouth at school, I’m no prude.
“It’s no problem.”
“It sounds bad that I don’t know this girl, but she’s going to be getting my kid ready for school. It’s just . . .” He looks troubled, and I try not to get lost in his eyes—digging into that troubled soul. Fuck. I have to stop. “My Aunt Jo, that’s who we’ve lived with until this week when we moved here. She was the only one who has ever watched Hailey.”
I nod as I listen. “Okay. We can put her down on the form.”
“No, you should probably put Emily on there too.” His eyes meet mine, and I smile at his nervousness. “My aunt is best friends with Emily’s mom. Has been since they were kids. And Emily lives here, where I got a new job. So I got an apartment in her building, and she’s helping me out a little.”
It’s a rushed explanation, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that Rafe isn’t used to asking for help. “Everyone needs help.”
He swallows, and I try really hard not to track the motion or stare at his dark red lips. This is so not good. “Thanks.”
We add Jo and Emily to the form and move on to easier subjects, but the whole time I can tell he’s irritated. On edge. And against my better judgement I have to ask, “Is there anything I need to know?”
“What do you mean?”
His tone is defensive, and I try to diffuse it. “I have fifteen students this year. All different kids. Some are shy. Some are outgoing. All different kids. Teaching isn’t a one-size-fits-all sort of thing, so if there’s something special I need to know about Hailey, I just want to help.”
“She knows her colors and ABC’s. Her shapes. Pretty sure that’s all you need to know.”
Yeah, I definitely hit a nerve. “That’s not what I mean. If something traumatic happened to make you nervous—”