Page 8 of Hearts and Hidden Secrets

Jeff seemed so…steady. Solid. No hidden agendas. No drama. Granted, we didn’t know each other, but I just got this sense from him. Like if a tornado hit this very spot, he’d be the man whose feet never left the ground.

So what had happened with Jeff’s ex? Had he cut her loose? Or had he broken her heart? Was revenge the reason she’d called him a deadbeat?

A thousand burning questions popped into my mind but I swallowed them down, concentrating on my meal.

“We got married young,” he said.

I put my fork down, giving Jeff my undivided attention.

He stared across the table, his expression so open. Unguarded. I liked that a lot too.

Jeff had the most dazzling hazel eyes. They were a riot of earthy colors from brown to hunter green to flecks of gold and silver.

Katy’s eyes. She shared most of her mother’s features, from her nose to her mouth to her hair color, but those eyes she’d inherited from Jeff.

Lucky girl.

“Rosalie and I met at a party,” he said. “We were young. Drunk. Hooked up and she got pregnant. The way I was raised, you get a girl pregnant, you do your best to make it work. So we got married.”

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Ooof. That is young.” At nineteen, I’d been in college, worrying over team projects and if I should get bangs, not a husband and baby.

“Too young,” he said. “Most days were…hard. But we stayed together for a couple years. I think I was just too stubborn to admit it was a failure.”

“You strike me as the type of man who doesn’t like that word.”

“Not at all.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “The divorce was messy. I suspect most are.”

I waited for him to explain “messy” but he folded his hands in his lap, no further explanation given. This was his chance to balance the scales, to give me the dirt, but he stayed quiet, letting my imagination run rampant.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “I, uh…I shouldn’t be saying this. You’re Katy’s teacher.”

So Rosalie could run Jeff down, but he couldn’t share his side of the story? Was that because he still loved her? Had he ever loved her?

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” I said.

“Then why do I want to?” He studied my face, like that question was more for him than me. “Why do I feel like I’ve known you more than a week?”

“I don’t know.” But God, I liked it. I liked him . More and more with every passing second.

“I don’t talk about Rosalie much. To anyone,” he said. “It’s just easier I guess. To keep it to myself.”

“Because of Katy?” Or because he didn’t have a lot of confidants. I had a hunch maybe it was both.

Jeff inched forward and dropped his voice.

“During the divorce, I mostly referred to her as a vicious bitch. She wanted full custody of Katy, who was only two, and I refused. So she hired a lawyer and started making up stories about how I was a bad father. Said I wasn’t ever at home.

Said I refused to buy diapers. That sort of bullshit. ”

“Seriously?” Anyone who spent more than two seconds with Jeff and Katy would see he was a loving and devoted father.

“It was all lies. I wasn’t home, because I was working two jobs. And I wouldn’t buy Pampers, because they were twice as expensive as Walmart’s generic brand.”

Hence the “vicious bitch” nickname.

“Took me a bit, but I found a good lawyer. He was a good guy. Knew I was struggling and threw me a bone. Made sure I didn’t lose custody of Katy.

But through it all, I didn’t have a lot of nice things to say about Rosalie.

Couple years after the divorce, Rosalie did something that pissed me off.

I was ranting to my parents about it and called her a bitch. Katy was four and she repeated it.”

I winced. “Oh.”

“Decided from that point on, I might not have to like Rosalie, but she’s Katy’s mom.”

So he’d stopping talking badly about her. Meanwhile, Rosalie had jumped at the chance to smear Jeff to her daughter’s teacher.

Shame on me for believing her.

“Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, just like he’d done in my classroom the day we’d met. Like he wanted to erase the words he’d spoken. “You’re very easy to talk to. Has anyone said that to you before?”

“A few times.” I liked to listen more than talk. I guess that was why people confided in me.

“I can’t believe I just told you all of that. Why did I tell you all of that?”

“I’m glad you did,” I said. “You’re a good dad.”

“I am a good dad.” A statement. Delivered by a man who’d been called the opposite and who’d worked hard to prove he was worthy.

This crush was going nowhere, was it? Damn . I glanced down to my unfinished meal, giving it my attention instead. If I kept staring into Jeff’s hazel eyes, I’d be tempted to beg him for an actual date.

And he was totally off-limits.

While Katy was my student, all Jeff could ever be was an acquaintance. A friend. The district had policies about parent-teacher relationships.

My crush would have to wait. Would he?

Maybe after years of being rejected by Luka, years of pining for that man, I didn’t have the guts to ask.

So I ate my dinner, then wiped the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “It was nice bumping into you tonight.”

Jeff dipped his chin. “Same. Thanks for keeping me company. And, uh, sorry for the overshare.”

“Don’t be. And you’re welcome.” I shifted out of my seat, collecting my belongings and shrugging on my coat while he did the same. Then, instead of heading with him to the front door, I pointed to the counter. “I’m going to grab something to go for my lunch tomorrow.”

Jeff lifted a hand. “Good night, Della.”

“Bye, Jeff.” I turned, refusing to let myself watch him walk out the door. But as I headed for the counter, the waitress checked him out.

Her eyes were glued to Jeff’s ass.

So much for her tip on my next order. A surge of possession rushed through my veins strong enough to make me turn.

Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Long legs. And that glorious behind of honed muscle.

Jeff Dawson was temptation personified.

He pushed through the door, disappearing around the corner to the parking lot while I faced forward, getting a salad for myself. Then I headed home, not sure how to feel. Crestfallen. Giddy. Pathetic.

Had I gotten too complacent? Too stuck in a rut? When was the last time I’d gone out to dinner with a man? I’d all but abandoned dating. Not that Jeff and I had been on a date, but it had been date-ish.

Should I dust off my dating apps? The idea made me grimace as I walked into the house.

“What’s that look?” Luka asked from the living room.

“Nothing.” I waved it off, taking my food to the fridge.

Just as I closed the door, Luka rounded the corner, leaning a shoulder against the wall. He’d changed out of his work clothes into a pair of black sweats and a zippered hoodie that he’d left undone to reveal the hollow at the base of his throat.

Luka was undeniably handsome. Years ago, I would have fantasized about undoing that zipper the rest of the way.

“You look pretty,” he said, his gaze dragging down my dress from work.

I was pretty.

Like Jeff could declare he was a good dad, I was pretty. Sure, some days I had the same insecurities I suspected most women battled, but I felt comfortable in my skin. When I looked in the mirror, I saw more features that I liked than disliked.

So it wasn’t the declaration of me being pretty that made me pause. It was the fact that the compliment had come from Luka.

Had he ever called me pretty before? Most of his commentary about me was playful teasing. He’d joke about the rainbow stack of bracelets I wore at least once a week because rainbows made me happy. He’d tease me for the countless shoes stuffed in the hall closet. But a genuine compliment?

I racked my brain but couldn’t remember a time when he’d called me pretty.

“Thank you?” It came out as a question.

He grinned. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Sur—” Actually . No. “I think I’m going to read.”

His smile fell. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Really. I didn’t feel like a movie with Luka today. “Night.”

Without another word, I slipped past him and went upstairs to my bedroom.

After putting on some pajamas, I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.

Then I slipped into bed, pulling my Kindle from its charger.

But not even one paragraph into the book I’d started last night and my mind wandered.

So I swapped the Kindle for my phone, pulling up Instagram and searching for Alcott Landscaping.

The latest post was of a guy waving from his pickup.

On the front of the truck was a plow blade and the caption summarized Alcott’s snow removal services.

I scrolled through the other winter photos, scanning faces.

Searching. No Jeff. Not until the backdrops were snow-free and posted from this past fall.

He was wearing a buffalo-check flannel and a faded black baseball hat, washing his hands in some sort of old-fashioned fountain, seemingly unaware that someone close by had a camera.

Jeff’s strong jaw was dusted with stubble.

Beneath his flannel was an oatmeal Henley, similar to the one he’d been wearing the day we’d met.

I kept scrolling, searching for more. He wasn’t shown often. Whoever was in charge of their social media did a great job balancing numerous employees as well as projects, both in progress and completed. But there he was again from last May.

He was smiling in the photo, wearing that same faded hat.

His hands were covered in leather gloves as he carried a young sapling toward a hole in the dirt.

The muscles in his forearms were flexed.

His biceps strained the fabric of his sweaty, white T-shirt.

Beneath his dirt-streaked jeans, his thighs were thick, the denim molding around honed muscle.

A pulse bloomed between my legs. My mouth watered.

He was sexy and sweet and?—

“Della?” Luka knocked on my door.

I jerked, dropping my phone as I sat up straighter. “Y-yeah?”

“You decent?”

“Come on in.” I quickly turned the phone upside down as he turned the doorknob and poked his head inside. “What’s up?”

“Just seeing if you’re loving your book or if I could change your mind about that movie. But looks like you’re not even reading.”

“Just catching up on social media.” Drooling over my student’s father. Same thing.

“Still a no on the movie?”

“I’m going to chill up here.”

“All right.” He glanced around the room, lingering. What was he doing?

This was my space, and with his suite downstairs, he didn’t have a reason to come up here. Until tonight. What was up with him? Had the blond dumped him? That would serve him right, considering he was usually the one to break hearts. Maybe he’d be more careful if he learned how it felt.

Finally, he shifted, pulling the door closed. “Night.”

“Good night.” I waited until Luka was gone, then sagged against my pillows.

Why did I feel like I’d just been caught doing something bad?

“Because you were,” I muttered.

What the hell was I doing? Cyber stalking Katy’s father?

God, I was pathetic. This had to stop. So I put my phone away once more.

And spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about Jeff Dawson.