"You should've said she looks pretty."
"I haven't seen her yet today."
"You could've said you're EXCITED to see her."
"Ivy---"
"Or that you think about her ALL THE TIME."
I close my eyes. Count to five. "Where did you get that idea?"
"You stare at the back porch a lot."
"I do not stare at the back porch."
"You do. From the kitchen window. When you think I'm not looking."
Note to self: stop looking out the kitchen window.
I grab the bag of supplies Ivy's teacher requested and climb out of the truck. Ivy hops down, already scanning the parking lot for Gemma's car.
"There!" She points. "That's her car!"
It is. An ancient Honda Civic with a dent in the passenger door and a bumper sticker that says Paramedics: Because Even Firefighters Need Heroes Sometimes.
Of course she has that bumper sticker.
Ivy grabs my hand and drags me toward the entrance. The main hallway is already chaos---parents milling around with cameras, kids running between them, construction paper everywhere, and a faint smell of Elmer's glue mixed with cafeteria pizza.
A woman I don't recognize appears in front of us. Blonde hair in a perfect ponytail, yoga pants that probably cost more than my mortgage payment, smile that's too bright for someone dealing with this level of noise.
"You must be Ivy's father!" She extends her hand. "I'm Courtney Walsh. PTA president."
I shake her hand. "Beck Delano."
"Oh, I know." Her smile gets wider. "You're the new fire captain. Single father. Just moved here from Seattle."
How does she know---
"Small town," she says, reading my expression. "Word travels fast. Especially when handsome firefighters move in."
Ivy tugs on my hand, completely oblivious to the subtext happening above her head. "Daddy, I need to find my station."
"Right. We should---"
"I'll walk with you!" Courtney falls into step beside us like this was always the plan. "I was just telling the other moms we should organize a welcome committee for the new Station 7 staff. Maybe a potluck?"
"That's not necessary."
"Oh, but we love supporting our first responders. And I'm sure it's been hard, adjusting to a new town with a daughter to raise on your own." She gives me a look that's equal parts sympathy and speculation. "If you ever need anything---babysitting, home-cooked meals, adult conversation---you just let me know."
Translation: I'm available and interested and everyone in this hallway is watching this interaction.
I spot Gemma across the room, and my shoulders drop half an inch before I've decided to let them. I refuse to examine why.
She's crouched next to a kid who looks about Ivy's age, helping him attach googly eyes to a cardboard pteranodon. Hair pulled back in a messy bun, jeans and a flannel shirt, laughing at something the kid said. The bun is already coming loose on one side and she hasn't noticed. Probably won't until glitter is involved.
I pull my attention back to the hallway.
