“I do too. Maybe we can teach you to listen differently.”
She gave him a quick hug. The girls clasped hands and skipped from the room.
“Your timing is perfect,” Sara said to Ezreal. “I’m almost ready for another fitting on your costume. Not yet, but when you’re ready for a break. I’ll be in my sewing room.”
“I hope it won’t be like the last one.” His ears had gone a charming red that made her smile. He was so cute.
“You mean when we took your measurements?” Sara’s face went hot at the memory. “It won’t be anything like that, but there will be pins involved, so I’ll try not to draw blood.”
She stepped into the small office that she’d turned into a craft room. She paused before sitting down and glanced back into the living room. Ezreal had taken up position in a recliner and was pulling out some headphones.
“You don’t need to use those,” she said. “I like to listen to your music.”
“Even the rough beginnings?”
“Even those.”
His face lit up with a warm smile. She sat at her work table. Never before had having a man in her house felt right. It was like he fit here, belonged.
Sara pinned the pieces of fabric together, listening for the sound of the children playing but also of Ezreal. She enjoyed hearing him work. He’d type furiously, and then he’d play back what he’d created. Sometimes it would be a new section while other times he’d keep tweaking the same one. She found the creative process happening before her to be fascinating.
Even when the four children ran screaming through the house, he wasn’t fazed. He wouldn’t pause, and after the first time, she thought he hadn’t heard them. But then, in the next section, he wrote a frenzied descant that perfectly suited the children’s game, proving he’d been listening. He’d mentioned that he could work in chaos, and she believed it.
He had a rare talent and one that would be useful in group lessons. She’d tried to set up music lessons for underprivileged kids in her last place, but then she’d gotten word from Tia, forcing Sara and the children to flee.
Once established in Boone, she’d tried to get the support of the school district. Too many people resisted the idea. They thought music was a fluff subject and didn’t give credence to studies that showed an improvement in math skills. If she could only convince them it was one part of an overall program to broaden the exposure of young minds. Anything that could help them succeed was important.
She’d learned early on that it could be difficult to identify the right kind of people to work with the children. Kids had energy that needed to be channeled in constructive ways. One coworker had once described the children in her kindergarten class as having six-foot-tall spirits in tiny bodies, and it was no wonder they wiggled so much.
Her thoughts drifted to Ezreal. He seemed to understand that. With his help, she should be able to give a step up to some of the kids from poor families. Learning to understand rhythm and read music would help them succeed in junior high and high school bands. Some might even get music scholarships they might not otherwise have qualified for. Sara let out her breath. She was getting ahead of herself, but she’d been denied so many opportunities herself growing up that she meant to do everything in her power to provide them now.
As she finished the seam, Ezreal's music came to a stop. Once again, the man had good timing. She rose from her chair, the shirt in hand, and stepped to the doorway.
He sat in the recliner, his head back and eyes closed. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep. His dark blond hair had natural body to it, and she thought it would probably have some curl if he let it grow out. He usually wore his hair carefully groomed, but a strand had fallen across his forehead. Sara felt an unexpected impulse to brush it aside.
That was a dangerous thought though, something she shouldn’t allow herself. Because she wanted to do more than touch his curls. That would require trust, however, and trust was something she rarely gave. She’d learned the hard way, first from her father and then from her husband.
In the two years since she’d freed herself from his mental manipulation and physical abuse, she’d had plenty of time to do research. Her father had started it, destroying her self-esteem. Sara hadn’t recognized it for what it was at the time, not fully. She’d thought his behavior was just on the strict side of normal, that all her school friends lived like she did. It’d prepared her to walk right into Landon’s not-so-tender care. It hadn’t helped that he’d been so good at gaslighting, making her question her understanding of whatever had happened, that she’d misread him.
Sara shook her head in disgust at the memory. He’d broken her rib, but he’d twisted it around soshe’dapologized tohim. It made her sick. She’d asked herself repeatedly why she’d stayed with him. Someday, she might be ready to seek out counseling. Once again, it was a trust issue.
Landon hadn’t been violent at first. It had grown slowly, starting with negative comments. They were the same things her father had told her, that she was worthless. She’d believed them.
Janna had been two months old when Landon had hit Sara for the first time. He’d been jealous of the time she spent caring for his daughter. His apology had been so sincere, and he’d started treating her like he had when they’d first met. Sara had wanted to believe it had been a one-time thing. Over time, his anger had grown again. She’d been pregnant with Brand when Landon broke her wrist. She’d talked to her minister about it, and the man’s lame response had been that she shouldn’t make Landon mad. Like she ever knew what would set him off. She’d stopped going to that church and ended up even more isolated than ever.
Sara stared at the seemingly gentle man sitting in her recliner. Was he also hiding an inner demon who would break free and hurt her and her children? Were all men violent? How long before he showed his true character? Or wasthishis true self? She wanted to believe it was.
She swallowed a lump in her throat. Why was she being like this? It wasn’t like she needed a man in her life. She had two beautiful children and a good job.
Sara looked back at Ezreal and found him watching her.
“Are you up for a break? Your jacket is ready to try on.”
When he stood, she handed it to him. He put in on over his T-shirt. She brought the pins with her and started working on the hem.
“Have you ever taken a tour of our offices?” Ezreal asked.
“I haven’t,” she mumbled around some pins. “Are there public tours there?”
