Page 25 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“Now it’s too high.”

Grayson looks at me.

I smile sweetly. “Less judgmental.”

His eyes promise revenge. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with fear. He starts again.

At first, his voice is stiff, every sentence delivered in the same serious tone. The children listen anyway. Then he reaches a page where the rabbit begs to come inside the bear’s cave.

“You have to do voices,” Lily tells him.

“I don’t do voices.”

“Yes, you do.”

He gives in.

“Please, Mr. Bear,” he reads in a high, squeaky voice. “The storm is going to blow my house away.”

The children erupt into laughter. So do I.

Grayson pauses. His eyes meet mine over the top of the book, and the corner of his mouth lifts. He makes the bear’s voice deep and growly. The fox sounds suspiciously like a cowboy. The owl speaks in a strange accent that seems to travel through three different countries before the end of the page.

By the time the storm reaches the cave, every child is leaning toward him. So am I. There’s something about seeing such a large, imposing man holding a picture book in his grease-marked hands. Something about the tenderness he tries to hide beneath gruff words and impatient glances.

Grayson’s voice changes near the end. It becomes quieter. Almost reflective.

“And for the first time,” he reads, “the bear understood that a home feels warmer when someone else is waiting inside.”

His eyes find mine. My throat tightens. I wonder if he knows I’m thinking about him.

A second later, Principal Hargrove appears in my doorway.

She looks from Grayson to the children gathered around him, then to the book in his hand. Her polite smile tightens.

“Molly?”

My stomach drops.

“Mrs. Hargrove.” I stand so quickly my knee strikes the underside of the table. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that.” Her gaze returns to Grayson. “Good afternoon.”

Grayson places the book on my desk. “Ma’am.”

Principal Hargrove waits for an introduction. I know I need to give her one. My mind should be able to produce a simple sentence. Instead, all I can think about is the volunteer policy.

Every adult who spends time in a classroom must complete an application. The school conducts a background check before adding the person to its approved visitor list. We reviewed the procedure at the beginning of the year, then again after a parent walked into the second-grade hallway without signing in.

Grayson isn’t wearing a visitor sticker. He isn’t an approved volunteer. And he has a criminal record.

“This is Grayson,” I say. “He’s…he fixed my car.”

Principal Hargrove’s eyebrows rise. “Your mechanic? The one from two days ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why is your mechanic reading to the class?”