Page 29 of Broken Blood Ties

I glare at him, then whip my head toward my students to file them on the bus. The kindergarten class is seated in the back, and my little preschoolers file in, two per seat.

When they’re all situated, I turn to march back up the aisle where my new parent volunteer has stopped on the last step. He’s so tall his head almost grazes the top of the bus. He also looks lost. Like, this may very well be the first time he’s ever been on a school bus.

I smirk. “It’s not too late to change your mind.” I practically singsong my words in an effort to entice him out of the field trip.

“And leave ye quite literally to the sharks yerself? Nah.” He winks at me, and I scoff.

“Fine. Here.” I pull out the green name tags we have preprinted with the kid’s teacher and school. “You can hand these out then.” I toss the bundle to him, and much to my dismay he doesn’t fumble them. Nope. He snatches them out of the air without taking his eyes off me. Figures.

He moves past, his body grazing mine, and my stomach flutters when I catch the robust leather scent as it wafts by. I peek over my shoulder to watch this man, who I’d assume would scoff at the idea, pass out name tags and move down the aisle.

I huff out a breath and turn to see the bus driver staring at me through the slender rearview mirror. Her short gray hair curls atop her head and it shakes as she presses her lips together.

Mr. Terry, the kindergarten teacher, and his parent volunteer have snagged the seat behind the driver, and the only seat left is the one across from them.

I plop on it, staring at the bus in front of us in a daze and give myself a second to honor just how bad my luck is. Grabbing my clipboard from my teacher bag, I double check I have the twenty permission slip forms needed to take these kids off campus.

The bus in front of us pulls out, and I look at our bus driver whose attention is on the aisle next to me. When I look over, Kieran stands there, looking down at me.

Well, jeez.

“Care to move over?”

No.

I slide over toward the window, clipboard in hand, and move my tote beneath me.

Kieran sits, knees pressed into the plush seat ahead. It’s got to be uncomfortable for someone his size. I allow myself a quick perusal of him. Jaw tight, he stares ahead, hand placed overtop the seat in front of us.

The buses pull out of the parking lot and before long we’re on the road. Kieran groans with each jolt, and I sway in the seat, nearly smacking my head against the window when we hit a pothole.

A winterized Boston blurs by, and I choose to keep my head turned that direction. Except, a tingling sensation pulls at my gut, like I’m getting the sixth sense someone is looking at me.

He is.

Kieran studies the clipboard in my lap, and I’m overly annoyed at my situation—with his closeness. That, in turn, affects my filter, and before you know it …

“Ever notice how bus rides feel longer when you’re sitting next to someone?”

“Oh, believe me, I’mveryaware,” he quips back.

I scooch farther over toward the window.

“I don’t bite,” Kieran says, showing me his perfectly straight teeth in a broad smile.

“Good, leave that to the sharks.” I cross my arms in front of me. “How did you end up my parent volunteer anyway?”

The bus hits another pothole and I’m launched into him, my face slamming into his chest as I buckle over. Two capable hands grab my shoulders, and he helps me right myself. I blow the short pieces of hair that’ve fallen from my clip, and Kieran’s mouth twitches.

“Don’t ye remember? I was in Green’s office this morning. Tommy’s mom called in sick. I’m sure ye understand what happened.”

Nope. I don’t. This man doesn’t seem like the type to volunteer. Regardless, I offer him the slowest nod in Summer Smith history.

“Why?”

I shrug. “Just wondering.”

“Just wondering,” he parrots.