Page 21

I’m the kind of excited like you see on Christmas morning when you know the big gift you asked for is in the big box wrapped under the tree…only I don’t really recall any Christmases like that in my family.

Regardless, I’m excited.

And it’s so strange because I can’t think of another time I’ve been this excited when the cause of the excitement had nothing to do with me .

Since Josh and Tristan left, I’ve spent the day making Harper’s room her room with a little help from some interior design friends, and when she gets home, I can’t wait to take her into the magical new land.

I wish I could’ve done it sooner, but I couldn’t—or at least, I couldn’t have done it in a way that would have been a surprise given that we’ve spent every moment together over the last week.

It was weird sending her off to school this morning. It felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind, but I’m trusting that the system will take care of her. Her teacher seemed nice, and knowing her teacher isn’t that Victoria chick helps.

I swing by the school to pick her up and find I’m stuck in another traffic jam of cars.

Some teacher or crossing guard stands at the front of the school yelling out names, and kids run to the cars and hop in before parents tear away.

I count the cars ahead of me.

Twenty-two.

Jesus.

I might have to take Trudy up on her offer to help out because sitting in this line is straight dumb.

I finally get to the front of the line, and the woman calling names gives me an exasperated look. I roll down my window.

“Harper Randall,” I say.

“Where’s your sign?” she asks, and her tone matches the look she gives me.

“Huh?”

“Your sign with the student’s name? It’s laminated and you hang it in your window so I can call the child to come to your car?”

“Uh, I don’t have one. Today’s her first day and I didn’t know—”

The teacher cuts me off. “You should have gotten it in your new parent orientation folder. Bring it tomorrow, but we really aren’t supposed to release kids without it. Who’s her teacher?”

“Uh…” I pause as I think back, and all I can come up with is Victoria Hartley.

Fuck.

“I can’t remember her name.”

“You’re holding up the line, sir,” she says.

Is everyone at this school a bitch or just this lady and Victoria?

I spot her walking over. “That’s her,” I say, pointing.

“He’s my ride,” Harper vouches.

“Who’s your teacher?” the mean lady asks, and her tone is definitely gentler with the kid than it is with me.

“Ms. Miller,” she says softly.

I spot Victoria walking out the front door. She’s wearing sunglasses, and a heavy looking bag is slung over her shoulder. I wonder what she does here at the school for a beat before I realize I don’t care. “She can vouch for me,” I say, pointing at her.

The mean lady looks over at her. “Ms. Hartley, this man is holding up the line and says you can vouch for him.”

Her eyes edge over to Harper, who looks like she’s about to cry. I swear I see her glare at me through her sunglasses, but then she turns toward the mean lady. “Yes, Harper is a new student, and this is her guardian. Hope you had a great first day, Harper!” She squeezes the mean lady’s arm and it feels more like a move of solidarity against me than anything else, and then she turns to walk away. Her dark blonde hair bounces and so does her sweet little ass.

God dammit. I don’t have time to be interested in her sweet little ass. She’s mean, and I hate her, end of story.

“You can go,” the mean lady says to Harper, and then she turns to me as she opens up the passenger backseat door. “Don’t forget your laminated sign tomorrow. And don’t hold up my line again.” She turns away from me. “Next!” she yells.

Harper closes her door, and I peel out like I saw the other parents do.

Except when I peel out, my tires screech and my engine revs just a little.

Oh well. It actually felt kind of good, and I’m not going to let some nasty old lady ruin my day.

“How was your day?” I ask Harper once we’re out of the mess of the school traffic jam and headed toward home.

“Fine,” she mutters.

“Just fine? Not amazing?”

“Nope,” she says.

“Did you get to hang out with Bella at all?”

“A little at recess and stuff.”

“Did you make any friends?” I ask, and I finally get why my mother would ask me endless questions about school that I didn’t want to answer when I was a kid.

I care about her. I care about what her day was like when I wasn’t around to experience it with her. I want to know what she did, and I want to listen and help in any way I can.

It feels strange, this sudden connection with a person I’ve only known a week, but it also feels like the most natural thing in the world. It’s so contradictory and makes no sense whatsoever, yet at the same time…it makes all the sense in the world.

“Not yet.”

“What was it like?”

“I did some work in the morning, ate lunch, had recess, did more work, got pulled into Ms. Hartley’s office—”

“For what?” I practically snarl.

I don’t mean to snarl, and certainly not at Harper, but what the fuck would that woman want with my girl?

“She had me read some stuff and do some tests.”

I wonder again what her job is and I make a mental note to check into it later.

“Well, how did that go?”

“Okay.” She’s quiet, and I can tell there’s more to it.

I’m not sure how much to dig, so I ask about lunch, and eventually we’re pulling into my neighborhood. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

“I don’t really want to go back tomorrow,” she admits.

“Why? Did something happen?” I nearly slam on the brakes and pull over at the thought that someone was mean to her even though we’re two houses away from pulling into my driveaway.

“No, nothing like that,” she mutters.

I pull into the garage, and she hops out.

“What’s wrong, Harp?” I ask softly. I’ve never called her Harp before.

She makes her way toward the door into the house, and she pauses with her hand on the knob. “I just…the whole day made me feel kind of dumb. Maybe they’re more ahead here than I was back home.”

My heart breaks for her. She opens the door and heads inside, dropping her bag on the kitchen counter.

“Can I show you something?” I ask.

She nods, and I take her up to her room. I nod for her to go into it, and when she steps in, I hear her sharp intake of breath.

“Would someone dumb have been able to create this magical wonderland?” I ask her.

She walks over to the wall where the custom wallpaper now hangs, her jaw hanging open as she touches the wallpaper.

The background is pink ombre, and superimposed over the pink is her dinocorn—the one I snapped a photo of that she drew and colored. On her bed is Buddy, the stuffed dinocorn she’s been sleeping with in my room the past few nights, plus a new one that happened to arrive today—stuffed and designed to look exactly like the one in her drawing, and about five times the size of Buddy.

She twirls around in wonder. “You did this for me?”

I offer a sheepish smile. “I did.”

She rushes across the room, and I bend down just in time so she can link her arms around my neck. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome. I wanted you to know that this space is yours now.”

She offers a small laugh. “Nothing says Harper like dinocorns.”

I laugh with her, and then we head downstairs to grab an after school snack.