“Yes, and we’re late. I have some merchandise I’d like to mark down before we open.”
“When do you want me to come in?”
“You can stay home today. We’re covered.”
“But—”
“Really, sweetheart. Just relax. Tomorrow is soon enough.”
I would’ve said more, but my father was hurrying into the room.
“Ready to go?” he asked, helping her off the stool.
“Hey, Mom, Dad,” I said. They turned and faced me. “Do you have a minute? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Can it keep until another time, princess? We’re running behind.”
I gave Dad a light smile. “Sure. That’s fine.”
“Great.” He leaned over and dropped a kiss on my hair. “Enjoy your day.”
“You too.”
The door banged shut, and then the garage door whined up and down. I was alone in this big house for the next eight hours with a pile of dirty clothes, three annoyed cats intent on punishing me for my absence, and plenty of wayward thoughts.
Might as well get started on my morning full of fun. After rummaging in the pantry for a protein bar, I headed back upstairs. I wanted to review my explanation to Piedmont again.
An hour (and three changed words) later, I hit Send.
It would be enough, right?
Hold on. It would be fine. The counselors would understand the circumstances, and worrying wouldn’t make them respond any faster. I would take my mom’s advice and use this day to relax. To re-center myself.
The place where I could do that best was outside, surrounded by the charm of our garden. After sliding my feet into a pair of flip-flops, I went downstairs, out through the sunroom, and across the patio to the back lawn. An old wooden swing awaited me, nearly hidden under a canopy of trees. I dropped onto it and gave a hard push, setting me and the swing into motion.
It was quiet on our street. There weren’t too many small kids left in the neighborhood. Homeowners were already busy with work or chores. Somewhere nearby, a lawnmower growled to life.
I hugged my knees to my chest and allowed my mind to become as still as the shadows.
Fifteen minutes passed before the growling grew louder. The riding mower entered the back yard, steered by a guy wearing shades and headphones. On his first pass by me, he glanced into the trees and then jerked in surprise and stopped. As the noise died, he yanked the headphones down to his neck and pulled off his shades.
It was Scott Fuentes. Even covered in grime and grass clippings, his hair darkened to black by sweat, he was one of the hottest guys I’d ever met.
“Hi, Sara.” He came over to me, a friendly smile lighting his face.
I nodded. “How long have you been taking care of our yard?”
The smile dimmed. “Two years.”
I flushed with a double dose of embarrassment, for being rude and for not noticing something as basic as having a classmate maintaining our lawn. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No problem.” He slipped the safety gear back on and climbed on the mower. Seconds later, it roared off.
I sat there in frozen contemplation, eyes tracking his movements as he mowed. When that was done, he used the weed whacker to edge the beds, and finished with the leaf blower. He and the equipment disappeared from view. Straining to hear the sounds of his truck leaving, I bowed my head and frowned at the pine straw beneath my feet.
A pair of scuffed boots appeared in front of me. “Sara, are you okay?”
Wow. My bad manners hadn’t driven him away. Instead, he’d opened himself up to more. His kindness chipped a crack in my shell. “Not really.”
