There was a knock at the window.
Griffin.
Of course. Could I not have one moment to lick my wounded pride tonight?
I rolled the window down.
“I may be a visitor to your country,” he said, “but isn’t it usually customary to keep your shoes on when traversing an icy parking lot?”
“They’re slippery,” I said. “I might have fallen.”
“Then I would have caught you.”
I knew it! Darling and romantic! Gah!
My heart started to flutter helplessly in my chest and I was literally seconds away from asking him to get in the car with me.
“Good night, Miss Diana Parker.”
He pounded on the top of the car, and the driver pulled forward. I rolled the window up and then collapsed against the back seat, letting out a massive sigh.
“You should have kissed him,” the driver said, and I couldn’t help but agree with him. It did seem like a wasted chance—the perfect way to cap off this never-to-be-repeated event.
I tried telling myself that I needed to think of it more as dodging a bullet instead of a missed opportunity. I should just enjoy what I’d had. Because what I’d had? Wow.
And I couldn’t wait to tell Alice all about it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When I got back to the hotel, I sneaked in quietly, making sure to hang up my dress when I got to my room so that it wouldn’t get wrinkled. I threw my coat on the floor but the Burberry scarf I unwound carefully, folding it up and placing it on my nightstand. I didn’t know how I was supposed to return it to him.
It would be my one souvenir from what had been a magical evening. I again thought of my driver’s words. Maybe I should have kissed Griffin. To have something I could tell my grandchildren about someday.
I wanted to call Alice, but she was two hours ahead of me and while I assumed she would be happy for me to wake her up with this story, she needed her sleep. It could wait.
I washed my face, brushed my teeth, but I was way too wired to sleep. I got out my new laptop and started researching ways to teach Milo and what he should actually be learning. It seemed off to me that a kindergartner was supposed to be learning calculus.
According to the experts on the internet, I should be focusing on age-appropriate stuff, teaching him critical-thinking skills and things like looking for patterns. To use play and fun to teach him concepts.
I read and read, trying to absorb everything into my brain instead of thinking about Griffin. Not that I was perfect at it. I did look up British titles at one point and might have read a few British tabloid–website articles about him and he really did get around. He was constantly photographed with some beautiful woman on his arm. I wondered if he was settling for me because there were no supermodels or actresses or heiresses here in Aspen, which was very disappointing the more I thought about it. I decided to stop looking. Because the more attention I gave Griffin, the more I would want to know.
I resolved to focus on stuff for Milo, and fortunately, the longer the night went on, the easier it got to concentrate on what I was supposed to be doing instead of on Griffin.
At some point I must have nodded off, because I awoke with a jolt when my alarm went off. I should have been exhausted—I’d had only about two hours of sleep—but I was strangely energized.
I climbed out of bed, got ready, and found Milo in the kitchen. He sat at the island in his pajamas, looking extremely depressed.
“Hey, Milo. What’s up?” I went over to the fridge to grab his yogurt.
“Is my mom going to the hospital?”
I turned to look at him, not sure I’d heard him right, and saw from his face that I had. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”
“Because she was sick.”
“Oh, Milo, no. She just caught a bug. She’s going to be fine.”
As if to prove my point, Sheila came into the room looking about a thousand times better. “Good morning!” As if she knew what we’d been talking about, she turned directly toward Milo. “I’m feeling better today.”
“That’s good, Mom, because I have psoriasis.”
“No, you don’t.”
He pulled up his sleeve. “Look! I have a rash.”
“You colored your skin with a red marker,” she pointed out. “I’ve got to go to California today to take care of some issues, and so I wanted to take you out to breakfast this morning. Go get dressed!”
Milo whooped and ran out of the room and Sheila said to me, “I should be back tomorrow evening, if that’s okay.”
She did not need to run any of her plans by me. “Of course! Anything I can do to help. Milo and I will have fun.”
“I know my little boy is in good hands,” she said with a smile. “And that you have all of his educational needs well in hand.”
Untrue. Even if I was trying my best to make it truer.
“About that,” I said, leaning against the counter. “I noticed yesterday that Milo was struggling with his lessons. He had a hard time sitting still and paying attention. Some kids learn better from doing instead of just listening. Maybe he’s more of a tactile learner?” It was a term I’d picked up last night during my research and it seemed to impress Sheila.
“You think so?”
If she was impressed by that, she should hang on to her hat because I was about to hit her with . . . “Maybe. It would probably be good for him to go to a kids’ museum, where he can be hands-on. Or a painting or pottery class. I’ve read that art can help with math. It teaches critical-thinking skills, how to visualize problems, pattern recognition, that sort of thing.”
Heck, at this point I was impressing myself. Behold the powers of memorization and the learned ability to make it sound like I actually knew what I was talking about.
“That sounds good. We had a professor friend of John’s arrange his current curriculum. We’re hoping to enroll Milo in school when we move to France, and we don’t want him to be behind.”
Behind the other kindergartners? I could teach the kid to trace his hand on a piece of paper and eat paste. Kindergartners were not learning about the Renaissance. “I get that. But he’s not going to be able to learn French in three months.”
“I know. I just want him to start to have some familiarity with the language.”
That was a relief. We could just find some French animated shows and watch those. My obsession with K-dramas had definitely taught me a tiny bit of Korean. Like saranghae and gajima—I love you and don’t go. Two romantic phrases I’d never had need of in my regular life. But if I ever went to Korea and a hot guy there said them to me, I would be ready to go.
Sheila continued, “It sounds like you’ve got a great plan in place.”
Guilt. “I also want to make sure Milo’s got plenty of time to move around. More than he has on his schedule now.” I hadn’t been with him long, but yesterday he had been moving the entire time he was supposed to be learning. I figured that meant he one, was bored and two, had excess energy he needed to burn off.
“You’re the expert. Whatever you think is best!”
That pang of guilt pierced me again, but I just nodded. Sheila left the room, calling for Milo to hurry up. I reminded myself that the Crawfords had spent a long time trying to hire someone to take care of Milo. What were the odds that if I quit in a moment of conscience they would quickly find a replacement? They needed me and I needed them.