“I don’t know,” Chloe says. “But Madison said he burned the first three pizzas and they had to order takeout.”
I laugh. “I’ll have to ask him about it when I pick you up. Maybe get some tips on what not to do.”
“I hope he makes one with prosciutto,” she says, a little wistful. “But it’ll probably just be pepperoni.”
“Pepperoni’s good too,” I say, suppressing a smile because I know where this is going.
She sighs dramatically, like I’ve just suggested something deeply disappointing. “I mean, it’s fine and I won’t say anything. But if we had a pizza oven, I think I’d have prosciutto every night.”
“Every night might be a bit much. Even for something as good as prosciutto.”
“Hmm. Every other night then,” she concedes.
I’ve tried hard not to spoil her, but growing up around the restaurant has given Chloe a palate most seven-year-olds don’t have. By four she’d tried octopus and bone marrow, and her go-to breakfast was goat cheese frittata with arugula. For her sixth birthday she requested Alex’s wild mushroom risotto and his dark chocolate torte with sea salt for dessert. Thankfully, she’s a great kid and not snobby about it.
“You know what’s funny?” Chloe says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Miss Hayes’s favorite pizza is prosciutto too. I asked her at our class pizza party last week. We like all the same foods. Isn’t that so cool?”
“Thatiscool.” She’s been talking about Miss Hayes constantly since school started, which is good. Last year she barely mentioned Mrs. Patterson. The only problem is now that I’ve met Emma, all of Chloe’s constant mentions mean I can’t stop thinking about her either.
“She also likes the same gummy fish candy I do,” Chloe continues, completely oblivious to my internal struggle. “She said her grandma was Swedish, I think, and used to give them to her when she was little. And she does the best funny voicesduring story time. Yesterday she did this really high squeaky one for the mouse and everyone was laughing so hard.”
“Sounds like she makes it fun,” I say, trying to focus on the road.
“And she never gets mad when people make mistakes.” She kicks her feet in that happy rhythm again. “She just helps them fix it.”
“I’m glad, sweetheart. Having a good teacher makes a big difference.”
And she does seem like a good teacher. Engaged, creative, clearly cares about the kids. The problem is that she’s also attractive in a way I have no business noticing. The age gap alone would be enough to make this inappropriate, but she’s also Chloe’s teacher. The whole thing makes me feel vaguely creepy for even registering it.
It’s just one of those random attractions that doesn’t mean anything. It’ll fade. She’s definitely not interested, I’m definitely not pursuing it, and in a few weeks I probably won’t even remember I thought about it.
When I pull up to Madison’s house, Madison’s mom is already outside, crouched near the flower beds with gardening gloves on. She stands when she sees us, brushing dirt off her knees, and waves. Madison comes bursting out the front door before I’ve even shifted into park, blonde pigtails flying.
I get out and walk around to help with the backpack, though Chloe’s already unbuckling herself and practically launching out of the car.
“Hey, Theo,” Kimberly calls, pulling off her gloves as she walks over. “Thanks for drop-off. We’re planning pizza for dinner, then figured we’d let them have their girl time for a bit after that.”
“Sounds perfect.” I reach into the backseat for Chloe’s backpack and hand it to her. She slings it over one shoulder. “Be good, sweetheart. Listen to Madison’s mom, okay?”
“I will! Love you, Daddy!” She throws her arms around mywaist for a half-second hug, then breaks away and runs toward Madison. Both of them immediately start talking over each other about the puppy and friendship bracelets.
“Love you too,” I call after her, but she’s already disappeared inside.
“I’ll text you when they’re winding down,” Kimberly says. “Probably around eight or so.”
“Perfect. Thanks again for having her.”
“Anytime. These two are inseparable.” She laughs and heads back toward her flower beds.
I climb back into the car and I’m about to pull away when my phone buzzes in the cupholder. A text from Danny, my property manager.
Danny:Hey man, got an emergency at my place. Pipe burst in the main bathroom. Plumbers are here now and it’s a total disaster. Any chance you can cover the 10 AM showing at the studio?
Me:Sorry to hear that. Of course. Go deal with your pipes. I’ve got the showing covered.
Danny:You’re a lifesaver. I’ll get you the applicant info as soon as I can get to my laptop.
I set the phone back down and pull away from the curb. Danny handles most of the property management for the studio apartment I rent out, and he’s good at his job. He posted the listing three days ago and has been fielding applications since. I trust him to handle things while I deal with the restaurant and Chloe’s ever-expanding activity schedule.
