Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“What?” I smile slightly.

“We were wrestling in the bed of our grandfather’s truck while he was inside the hardware store. The tailgate was down. Blake tackled me, and I fell sideways on the springs. Cut me good.”

When my gaze meets his again, he’s still holding my hand, pressed against his abdomen. My mouth is suddenly dry, but I can’t help darting my tongue out and licking my lips. His mouth parts slightly and his shoulders rise as he breathes in deeply as his eyes move from my eyes to my mouth.

I’m transfixed as I watch him, but the moment is broken when the pot boils over on the stove and makes sizzling sounds as the water meets the hot burner.

“Shit,” Connor grunts as he spins around and turns the burner down.

“I’m going to throw this in the wash,” I blurt, as he fights the chaos on the stove. I rush away and into the utility room where I close the door behind me.

“What the hell, Demi?” I whisper to myself. I just touched him . . . like touched-touched him. “You really need to get laid,” I tell myself.

After I start the wash, I return to the kitchen where Connor is dumping the pasta into the strainer over the sink. He’s still shirtless, and I curse myself for making him remove his shirt. How am I not supposed to stare at him in all his tattooed glory?

“I should grab a shirt, but dinner is ready,” he informs me. He must think I’m uncomfortable. And I am. But I’m not going to make him run out in the middle of cooking for a shirt. We’re adults here. I can handle it.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him.

“Have a seat,” he orders as he swipes at the steam rising from the pasta. “I’ll make us a plate.”

Moments later, he places two heaping plates of spaghetti on the table and sits beside me. There’s enough spaghetti on my plate to feed three grown men, and I can’t help chuckling.

“What?” he asks as he smiles at me, his dark eyes filled with curious humor.

“Nothing. It looks great,” I assure him. “It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Oh, sorry,” he laughs. “Don’t feel like you have to eat it all . . . or any of it for that matter.”

“Oh, I’m eating it,” I confirm enthusiastically. I love spaghetti. It’s my favorite food. There’s no way I’m not eating it.

“Well, bon appetite,” he smirks.

“Thank you.” Picking up my fork, I start twirling the pasta on it as Connor begins shoveling food in his mouth, like a starved man. I imagine it’s been a while since he’s had to use table manners. I’m sure etiquette in prison is of low priority.

“When do you go back to work?” he manages between bites.

“Next week. It’s only summer school right now, so my days are short anyway. I’ll have the month of August off before the new school year starts.”

“Any plans for August?” he asks before wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Um . . . not right now, no. What about you? Do you have any plans to catch up with some of your old friends in the area?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Maybe. I’d like to be busy with work first. That Brian guy stopped by today. He was pretty nice. He said he’ll spread word about me to his friends and family.”

“That’s great.” I smile brightly.

“Thank you for everything, Demi,” he sighs.

“Please stop thanking me, Connor. I’m happy to help you in any way that I can.”

“Well, I ordered the new AC adapter for your car. Should come in tomorrow and I’ll have it fixed for you.”

“Thank you,” I moan. “It’ll be so nice to have AC in my car again.”

We both take another bite of pasta and as we chew my gaze moves to his chest where he has a quote tattooed on his chest.

“Return good for good; return evil with justice”

“Confucius?” I ask around the pasta in my mouth.

His gaze meets mine as his brows furrow in question.

“The quote on your chest. It’s Confucius, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as he looks down at his chest. “Yeah. Got it about eight years ago.”

“May I ask what it means to you?”

Placing his fork on his plate, he wipes his mouth before leaning back and crossing his massive arms. The corner of his mouth lifts as he looks at me. “May I ask what it means to you?”

I sit back as well, my gaze never leaving his. “To me, it means be good to those who are good to you and make the evil pay.” I’m so not a philosopher. I wished my wording was more elegant or intelligent, but that’s just not me.

“I agree.” He nods but doesn’t offer more.

“Why that quote, though? I mean, what drove you to put that specific quote in permanent ink on your body?”

His gaze moves down to his plate, and his lips flatten, as if he’s thinking. “Because sometimes serving justice to the evil is paying the good for good. Sometimes evil touches the good, and sometimes you have to become a little evil yourself to right it.”

My eyes narrow slightly as I absorb his meaning. I open my mouth to question him again when the screen door creaks open and slams.

“Demi! Where are you ya dirty whor . . .” Lexi freezes in the doorway to my kitchen, her mouth open.

Rolling my eyes, I stand. “What are you doing here?”

Righting herself and smoothing her hair down, she clears her throat. “I was just stopping by to say hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt this . . .” she motions with her hand, “whatever.”

Dinner?” I offer. “You didn’t mean to interrupt dinner?”

Ignoring me, she slides by me and takes a seat at the other end of the table. “Well, hello, Connor.” She bats her eyes at him. “How are you?”

Connor straightens in his seat a little, my sister’s lustful gaze making him feel uncomfortable. “I’m good.”

“Good,” Lexi answers.

“Do you want a plate?” I huff.

“No, no,” she sighs. “I was only stopping by for a moment. I wanted to borrow your red dress.”

“You still have the black one you borrowed last month,” I point out.

“No offense, Demi, but it’s not like you’re wearing them anywhere.”

I glare at her, but she does have a point. “Go and get it,” I groan.

She winks at Connor before rushing upstairs to scour my closet. “I’m sorry, Connor. I know she can be a bit . . . intense.”

“No worries. I kind of enjoy the back and forth between you two.”

“I’m sure we’re very entertaining.”

Lexi flies back into the kitchen and grabs my hand. “Walk me out Demi. Bye, Connor. It was good seeing you again!”

“Bye,” Connor yells as we push through the screen door.

“What?” I snatch my hand from hers.

When she turns on me, her eyes are narrowed. “What was going on in there?”

“We’re having dinner, Lexi.”

“And he’s shirtless . . .”

“He got sauce on his shirt.” I shake my head dismissively. “Is this why you dragged me out here?”

“Things looked . . . cozy,” she notes giving me a wicked smile.

“It’s just a friendly dinner.”

“Riggghhttt . . .”

“Okay.” I mumble and kiss her chastely on the cheek. I know Connor is waiting to finish dinner, and I have no inclination to stand out here all night and argue with her. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too big sister,” she laughs as I stomp back up the stairs.

After we finish eating, we set about clearing the table and the counters. Connor begins washing the dishes as I wipe down the sauce that splattered on stove.

“I made a huge mess, didn’t I?” he snorts as I toss the sponge on the back of the sink. I can’t stop myself from letting my eyes graze over his exposed chest and abs. I want so badly to get closer and inspect each tattoo, trace them with my fingers. But if Connor notices my intrigue with his body and body art, he doesn’t let on, which I’m grateful for.

“Things just got a little out of hand,” I laugh. Yanking a dishtowel out of the drawer next to me, I join him at the sink and begin drying what he’s washed. The jukebox is clicking as the record changes and after a few moments, Hey, Baby by Bruce Channel begins to play.

Connor raises his head as he listens for a moment. “Dirty Dancing?”

I can’t help laughing. “Yeah, it’s in Dirty Dancing. I love that movie.”

“Patrick Swayze was boss,” Connor notes.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I sigh. “All I ever wanted was to be Baby.”

We continue doing the dishes, and before I know it we’re swaying side to side as we stand next to each other. It’s a moment before either of us realizes we’re doing it. When we do, we both bust out laughing, but Connor surprises me. He grabs my hand with his soapy one and pulls me to him. Warm water drips down my arm, from where our hands are joined, tickling my skin, but I don’t pull away. My back arches as instinct tells me to move closer to him, but Connor holds me steady, preventing it. There’s space between our bodies as we move, but we’re both smiling. I can’t remember the last time I danced. Feels like it’s been a million years. As we move, my gaze follows the thick vein that runs up his arm and the one that runs from his neck to the back part of his jaw. Connor sings the words and twirls me a few times before he lets me go.

Still smiling, he turns back to the dishes. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

I like this playful side of him. He looks so dangerous and rough on the outside, but he’s quite funny and easy going. “That was fun. You’re a good dancer,” I note, as I take the dish he’s just washed and dry it. “I can’t remember the last time I even danced.”

“Well, there weren’t many dance offs where I’ve been for the last eight years,” he jokes. “Maybe we need to get out one night, hmm?”

“Maybe. Lexi knows all of the cool places to go. Maybe I’ll make her our escort.”

He smirks. “Let me know. I’ll see if I can pencil you in,” he jests.

Connor joined me for dinner two more times the same week. The first night we grilled burgers, and I taught him how to use his cell phone. On the second night, he helped me rearrange my living room furniture. But other nights he took off on his Harley. I never asked him where he went, but I was curious. If I had asked, I’m sure he would have told me, but I know it was none of my business.

We decide to go into town on Sunday to visit his grandmother, Grams, at her nursing home. Meryl Elouise Stevens is eighty-three-years-old and the life of the party even in her motorized wheelchair. The nursing home has called me a few times over the last few years to discuss her ‘flamboyant behavior.’ Meryl apparently had a gentlemen friend visiting her in her room late at night. They were caught a few times, but the last straw was when the guy had a heart attack.

On top of her.

She woke the whole floor up yelling for help because she couldn’t get out from under him.

Luckily he survived, but his family moved him to another facility, concerned for his well-being in Grams presence. I decided not to share this tidbit of information with Connor, figuring it might be a little much for him to digest.

Blake worshiped her, and as I watch Connor practically run up to her as she pushes herself up out of her wheelchair, I can see Connor holds her in the same esteem. Watching this giant of a man bend down and hug his practically hobbit-sized grandmother like she’s made of porcelain makes my heart squeeze.

“My darling boy,” she coos as he embraces her gently, her frail, wrinkled arms wrapped around his neck as best she can. “I’m so happy you’re home, boy,” she croaks with emotion, as she pats his back before they pull away from one another.

“It’s so good to see you, Grams,” he beams. The genuine smile on his face is amazing, and Gram’s eyes go teary. He holds her steady as she slowly sits in her chair again, but she doesn’t let go of his hand, which forces Connor to stand a little hunched over, but he doesn’t complain.

“Demi, love. Where’s my hug?” It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t. In Grams language that translates as: Get your ass over here and hug me.

“Hi, Grams. You’re looking beautiful today.” I lean down and close my eyes as she wraps her one free arm around me, loving the warmth in her hug. Her other hand still grips Connor’s tightly. My grandparents passed before I was born and my mother, while overbearing and meddling, was never very affectionate. But Meryl’s love more than made up for it.

So many people talk about purpose. Why are we here? What were we meant to do with our time here? I haven’t quite figured out my purpose just yet, but I know, with all certainty, Meryl Stevens was put here to love those who lacked love in their lives. That saying when God closes a door, he opens a window; well Blake and Connor had shit for mothers—that door closed for them. But Meryl was their big beautiful window. She gave them the love they desperately needed. And even had some left over for the rest of us.

“You look stunning, Demi. Have you lost weight?”

I chuckle as I stand and put my hands on my hips. “Not since I saw you last week.”

“Well, you do,” she states. Then she looks up at Connor. “She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?”

Connor’s smile softens as he looks from Meryl to me, his gaze certain. “Inside and out,” he answers simply. Guess what. My face feels hot. I smile and push some hair behind my ear.

“Well, you two are going to inflate my ego and make my head five times bigger.”

They both watch me for a moment, but it’s Connor I’m looking at. In my peripheral vision, I see Meryl smile and pat Connor’s hand she’s holding with her free hand.

I tear my eyes away and clear my throat. “Shall we play a game today?”

“Oh, yes,” Meryl replies. “I have a good one.”

We spend the next hour in the rec room of the nursing home playing ‘Who am I?’

Everyone writes down a name and passes it to the person next to them, but that person can’t look. They have to lick the back of the paper and stick it to their foreheads. Then you take turns asking questions trying to figure out who you are. Again, I loved watching Connor with Meryl. I never brought Connor up when I visited her. Blake said she became too emotional. The first time I ever breathed his name to her was when I told her I was going to pick him up and bring him home. She immediately fell into a fit of tears. Now I see why. She’s missed him. These boys may have been her grandsons, put upon her by her worthless daughters, but they were her babies and always will be. She lost one baby, now she gets one back. And with that thought, my heart swells a little. There’s no denying that Blake wanted to help Connor, no doubt about that. But bringing Connor home wasn’t all about helping Connor. It was for Grams, too. And because of my beautiful husband, I get to be a part of this. I get to see two people overwhelmed with happiness because they’ve been reunited.

After we finish playing, I excuse myself to give them some time alone. I walk around outside and call Wendy to let her know we’ll be stopping by her house in a bit after we go to Meryl’s storage unit and collect some of Connor’s things she had kept for him.

When I go back in, Connor is gone, and Meryl is sitting alone at the table where we played. I sit beside her, and she takes my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Demi. Thank you for all you’re doing for him.”

“Blake arranged everything. I’m just carrying out his wishes,” I point out.

She gives me a sideways look, her mouth twisting. “All for Blake is it?” As I said before, Meryl is loving, sweet, cute as a button. Now, let me add blunt to the list. She doesn’t mince words.

I look at her and open my mouth to speak, but she stops me by saying, “You two are attracted to one another. Anyone can see it. Even a half-blind old lady like me.”

“Meryl, I—”

“Blake would have liked it, ya know? He loved you so much Demi. And he loved Connor too. He would’ve loved the two of you together.”

My brows rise. Is she trying to set me and up . . . with Connor? “Meryl—”

“You ready to go Demi?” Connor asks from behind us, making me jump.

“Oh, uh, yes,” I stutter, awkwardly. Leaning over, I kiss Meryl’s cheek. “See you next week?”

“I hope so.” She smiles. Connor hugs her goodbye and promises to visit every other day. We leave her just as she takes off for lunch. Connor whistles all the way to the car, and I wonder if it’s to avoid speaking to me. Did he overhear what Meryl said?

After the quick detour to Meryl’s storage unit to pick up some boxes of Connor’s belongings, we make a quick stop at the Quick Mart. It’s the only place in town where you can get groceries unless you want to drive forty-five minutes away to the bigger stores. It’s also one of the only gas stations in town as well. I decide to fill my tank before we head to Wendy’s house, and Connor insists on paying even when I argue it’s not necessary. Unfortunately, I lose because he rushes inside to pay. I decide to run in and grab a few candy bars for Jeff and Wendy’s kids since we’re heading there next. I can’t pump the gas until after Connor pays and they turn the pump on, anyway.

When I walk in, Connor is in line behind a lady with a baby on one hip and two small children beside her. The baby is crying, and the other two children are bickering as the cashier rings up the woman’s items. The mother of these children looks exhausted; pale with huge bags under her eyes. I want to take the baby from her just to give her a little break.

“Stop it,” she hisses at her two children squabbling beside her.

“It says your card is declined,” the cashier drones out, clearly annoyed.

The woman gives Connor an embarrassed glance, before asking the cashier quietly, “Can you try it again?”

The cashier lets out an annoyed sigh but swipes the card again. “Declined,” he huffs. “Do you have another card you’d like to try?”

Fumbling through her wallet, quite the feat while holding a baby, she pulls out another card and hands it to the cashier. “Try this one.”

“Declined,” the cashier grumbles after he swipes it. He’s not even trying to be discreet about it which makes me want to wring his neck.

“I don’t understand. I know there’s money in the account,” the woman explains quietly. “Will you try it one more time?”

With a dramatic huff, the cashier swipes her card one more time, almost immediately handing it back to her. “Declined,” he sneers. “Ma’am, I have other customers in line.”

Her face goes bright red as she lifts the baby higher on her hip and grabs the hand of one of the children. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, shooting an apologetic look to Connor. “Come on you two,” she orders to her children. The cashier rolls his eyes and picks up a phone receiver. Over the store speaker, he gripes, “I need someone upfront to grab items that need to be put back.”

The poor woman looks mortified as she moves to rush out, but Connor stops her.

“Hold on a minute,” Connor calls. Looking to the cashier, he asks, “How much does she owe?”

“One-hundred-forty-two,” the cashier replies, annoyed. I’m in line behind Connor now, grabbing candy bars from the display. “I got this,” Connor tells the cashier, giving him a pointed look that clearly states he’s pissed.

“Oh, thank you, but no. I couldn’t let you do that,” the woman sniffles. She’s so humiliated, she’s tearing up.

“I want to,” he tells her. “I’m paying for her groceries, and I need to add forty dollars in gas on pump seven.” Then looking back at me, as I stare at him in awe while holding five candy bars, says, “And those candy bars, too.”

With everything, the total is one-hundred-eighty-six dollars. Connor tosses bills on the counter, grabs the ladies four bags of groceries, and heads for the exit.

“Sir, you gave me too much. I owe you change,” the pimply face cashier calls. When Connor turns back, his expression is one of disgust. “Keep it, man. Maybe you can buy yourself some fucking manners with it.” Then he turns and carries the groceries outside to the woman’s car. She was parked close to the pumps, and as I filled the tank, I watched as she belted her children in the car while Connor put her bags in the trunk.

“Can I have your address so I can pay you back?” she asked when he slammed the trunk closed.

“No,” he says. “No need to repay me. I’ve had a lot of kindness thrown my way lately. It was about time I paid it forward.”

He stiffens when she flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around him. He wasn’t expecting a hug, and I giggle at the look on his face. When she pulls away, I wouldn’t quite say he’s blushing, but he looks like he’s on the verge of it. “Thank you,” she insists, one more time. With a nod, he leaves her and heads back over to me. After the tank is full, we climb back in the car and continue our trip to Jeff and Wendy’s.

“That was . . . that was really nice, Connor,” I tell him. “You’re a good guy.”

“No, I’m not. Make no mistake about that. I’m just a very lucky guy.”

Although I want to, I don’t ask him what he means. I’ve learned in life, sometimes the hardest forgiveness to earn is forgiveness from ourselves. Clearly he thinks he’s undeserving, and that luck just fell upon him. And maybe it did. Or maybe it wasn’t good luck. I don’t know why he killed a man; frankly, I’m not sure I want to know. Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever happened, right or wrong, good luck or bad, there’s no doubt there is more to Connor Stevens than meets the eye.

And I find it very intriguing.

On the way home we stop by Jeff and Wendy’s so I can give him cash to buy the materials he’ll need for my house. Jeff starts on my house projects Monday after next, so for now, Connor has to come down and use my bathroom. Which is no big deal for me. I just feel bad he has to go through the trouble. In addition to the plumbing, Jeff is going to paint my living room and put up crown molding.

“This is a nice house,” Connor notes as we climb the steps of the front stoop. Jeff and Wendy live in a beautiful colonial with a wide front porch. Even with five kids, Jeff manages to take excellent care of the outside.

“Jeff’s a great handyman,” I note as I open the front door. I never knock. Neither does Wendy when she comes to my house.

“Now the inside is a different story,” I whisper to Connor as I move aside allowing him to step in. There’s a staircase to the left strewn with clothes, toys, and books. The bench to our right has approximately fifty pairs of shoes on and under it and the wall above it with several jackets, coats, and book bags. I shut the door behind Connor as he takes quick inventory of the place.

“Wendy!” I shout as I make my way down the hall toward the kitchen in the back, Connor following close behind me.

“Kitchen,” Wendy yells back.

Entering the kitchen, we find Wendy plating grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates, and Grayson on the floor with tons of matchbox cars, lining them up.

“Hey, guys,” Wendy chirps. “Want a grilled cheese?” Although she smiles at us, I can’t help but notice it doesn’t quite seem authentic. I give her a concerned look, but she just shakes her head, letting me know she doesn’t want to talk about it.

“No, thank you,” Connor says, and I shake my head no.

“Jeff ran out to get some milk and butter.”

“Well, I’ll just leave the cash with you. We have to get home.” I’m speaking to Wendy, but my gaze won’t leave Grayson, the youngest Tuffman child, who has lined up matchbox cars along the length of the kitchen.

“You have a lovely home,” Connor notes, and he and Wendy start chatting as I continue to watch Grayson. He’s singing. It’s the opening song to the cartoon show Team Umizoomi. As soon as he finishes, he starts all over again, singing the same song.

“Grayson,” I call. But he doesn’t respond or give any indication that he even hears me.

“Grayson bug,” I say, lovingly, hoping the change in my tone will catch his attention. But he still doesn’t turn. He just keeps lining his cars up and singing the same song, seemingly oblivious to me.

My brows furrow just before Wendy snaps, “Grayson! Answer Demi!” He doesn’t acknowledge Wendy.

Wendy huffs, clearly aggravated. “I think we need to get his hearing checked. It’s like he doesn’t even hear me most of the time.”

When I look up, Connor is watching me, a questioning look on his face. Apparently I’m not doing a very good job hiding my thoughts.

“Later,” I mouth. He nods and I put the envelope of cash on the counter. “Here’s the money and I added a deposit.”

Wendy’s eyes fall to the plates in front of her. I was hoping I had been subtle. I know they need the money, and she’s embarrassed that I know. If Connor weren’t here, I would press her and tell her to stop feeling ashamed, but since he is, I move on. “Well, we have to go. Meet me tomorrow for dinner? My treat?” I can tell something I off with her. Maybe I can figure out what’s going on over dinner.

Wendy’s eyes light up. “Yes, please,” she groans.

Connor and I chuckle just as her three older kids come barreling in the kitchen. Mary-Anne comes to an abrupt halt when she catches sight of Connor and J.J plows into her, knocking her to her knees.

“You jerk!” she yells at him.

“Mary-Anne,” Wendy scolds.

“Stop being such a baby,” J.J. grunts as he stands.

McKenzie, the second oldest, rolls her eyes, and takes a seat at the kitchen table. She looks just like Wendy at her age, all blonde hair, and rocking body. But she’s fifteen and McKenzie has reached those fun teenage years where everyone and everything is a nuisance. Oh, and she has it all figured out.

“Yay,” J.J. chirps. “Grilled cheese.”

“Grilled cheese again?” McKenzie moans.

“Not tonight, Kenz. Spare me your whining for one night,” Wendy begs as she grabs a pot from the stove and starts scooping green beans on the plates.

“Who are you?” Mary-Anne asks, and I look down to see her staring at Connor.

He bends to one knee, so he’s at her height and reaches out a hand, “I’m Connor Stevens.”

She looks at his hand for a brief moment before slipping her tiny one in his. “Mary-Anne Louise Tuffman,” she replies, giving Connor her full name.

He grins, and I’m oddly enraptured as I watch him talk with Mary-Anne. There’s easiness about him and mirth in his eyes. He’s good with kids.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

Suddenly, J.J. lifts the back of Connor’s shirt before anyone knows what he’s doing and asks, “Who colored these pictures all over you?

“They’re tattoos you idiot,” McKenzie snips.

“Enough McKenzie,” Wendy growls in frustration.

Connor stands, tugging his shirt back down and informs J.J., “A bunch of different people colored them.”

“Cool,” J.J. says, giving him a toothless grin, before moving past his mother at the counter, fixated on his feast of grilled cheese. McKenzie groans, clearly wanting attention, and against my better judgment, I fold and give it to her.

“Hey, McKenzie,” I wave. “What’s wrong?”

“My cell got cut off. That’s what’s wrong,” she complains as she crosses her arms and pouts.

“Well, it would be lovely to have a phone that you can talk on but can’t charge because we couldn’t afford to pay the power bill because we paid for said phone!” Wendy snaps.

“I hate this house! I hate being poor,” McKenzie shouts as she bolts out of her seat and flies past us to leave. But Wendy’s oldest son, Mark, is in the doorway and seeing she’s super pissed, and only being dutiful, fulfilling his role as her older brother, decides now’s the best time to mess with her. He holds both hands on the doorframe as McKenzie tries to push past him. When she starts hitting him, he laughs. Mark is sixteen and almost as big as Jeff. He can take a few girly hits which up until this point, that’s all McKenzie has doled out.

“What’s the matter Kenz?” Mark teases pouting his lip mockingly. “Got your period?”

McKenzie stops hitting him, and her eyes go wide with rage. He just brought up her period in front a stranger—Connor—there will definitely be hell to pay. He’s busy laughing when her knee pops up giving him a hard hit to the balls. He folds to the floor and yells out in pain as she steps over him and leaves the room.

“McKenzie!” Wendy shrieks as she rushes to Mark. But McKenzie ignores her as she tromps up the stairs and slams her bedroom door. As Wendy tends to Mark, I look back and find J.J. gorging on grilled cheese and Grayson still lining up matchbox cars completely oblivious to all the commotion.

“We should probably go,” I tell Connor.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Wendy stands, and we step over Mark to exit the kitchen where he’s laying in the fetal position, cupping his manhood. Wendy walks us to the door and hugs me.

“I’m sorry for all the commotion.”

“Don’t be,” I chuckle as I hand her the small paper bag of candy bars. “Connor bought these for the kids.”

“Well that was so nice of you,” Wendy grins.

Cutting me a sideways glance, Connor clarifies, “They’re from both of us.”

“Well thanks to both of you,” Wendy says, as she darts her eyes back and forth between us, her mouth quirked in a smirk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“If I survive the weekend,” she sighs. “Good to see you again Connor.” She hugs him, and he’s slow to return it, a little surprised by her affection, But after a beat, his arms wrap around her, and he says, “You too, Wendy.”

Once we’re outside, and Wendy shuts the door we hear Wendy yell, “Get up Mark. You’re not that big; she couldn’t have done but so much damage.”

Connor’s brows rise, and we both burst out laughing as we make our way to my car.

By the time Monday rolls around, I’m ready to go back to work even if it’s only three days a week for a few hours. The county’s budget is always short and because of that, they can’t afford a full-time staff in the summer for the special needs kids. My work day flies by, and it’s noon before I know it. All of my students have been picked up when Shelly from the front office enters my classroom with a flat, square package.

“You were out last week when this came.”

“What is it?” I ask as she hands me the parcel, which is also surprisingly light.

“I don’t know. Some guy dropped it off. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she calls as she hurries out of the room, eager to leave work for the day.

Tearing open the paper, I realize it’s a painting. It’s a painting of the autism symbol; a multi-colored puzzle piece. I don’t see a note until I turn the painting and find a card taped to the back of the canvas.

My face hurts I’m smiling so big. The painting is lovely, and I decide I’m going to hang it in the classroom. My students will love the bright colors. I can’t deny I’m impressed. This is probably one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me. If he delivered this last week, he must think I’ve blown him off. I yank my cell out of my purse and shoot him a text.