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“We can help you with that. Coastal Hardware operates a shooting range just outside of town. Coincidentally, I teach there two mornings a week.” She hands me her business card. “You can reserve your space in the class online, but I wouldn’t wait. On average, we book out a couple of weeks.”
I read her contact information and drop her card in my purse. “Thank you, Courtney.”
When I sit down with my computer thirty minutes later, I sign up for the next available class, two weeks from tomorrow. I create a new document in my writing software and begin typing the opening chapter of the novel I’ve been mentally plotting these past few months. I stop when I reach eight hundred words. Everything about this story feels wrong. The thriller novel in my head is based on my life of late. And it’s entirely too close to home. I’m not a thriller writer at heart. I love my cozy mysteries. I need to find a genre more lighthearted and geared towards women.
Closing my computer, I go for a long walk on the beach, killing time until I have to pick Conrad up from school. I finally have some me time, and I’m counting the minutes until I see my son again. I hope his day is going well, and I’m relieved to see him wearing a big smile when he climbs into the car a few minutes past twelve.
When he climbs into the back seat, he thrusts a crumpled yellow flyer at me. “Here, Mommy. This is for you.”
“What is it?” I ask, smoothing out the crumpled paper.
“The teacher is having an important meeting for parents tonight, and you have to go.”
I fold the flyer and slip it into my purse. “Sorry, Buddy. But I can’t leave you at home alone.”
“You could get me a babysitter,” Conrad suggests as we drive away from the school.
“I don’t know any babysitters,” I say, and think to myself, I can’t afford to pay for one if I did.
When I stop at a red light, I shift in my seat to look at him. “So? How was your first day?”
He bobs his head. “Really good. I made a new friend.”
The light turns green, and I return my attention to the road as we cross over the Merriweather Bridge. “That’s exciting. What’s his name?”
“It’s a girl. Her name is Caroline. She’s really pretty. And she’s nice.”
I chuckle. If my son is already interested in girls at age four, I’m in big trouble when he becomes a teenager.
“Can I invite Caroline over for a playdate soon?” Conrad asks.
“Give me a few more days to get settled first.” I can’t invite another child into our fold until I’m certain we’re out of danger.
I’ve no sooner parked in front of the cottage than Fry pulls into the driveway. “What’re you up to? I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“I finally got the part to fix the running toilet,” he says, waving the packaged part at me.
Conrad runs over to Fry and hugs him around the waist. “Fry, can you babysit for me tonight? Mommy has to go to a parents’ meeting at my new school.”
I pry my son off our landlord. “Conrad! You’re being rude. We can’t impose on Fry like that.”
“I don’t mind. My wife has her book group tonight. I could use the company. What time is your meeting?”
I fish the flyer out of my purse. “At seven o’clock. I won’t be gone long. I can have him ready for bed. You won’t have to do a thing.”
Fry smiles down at Conrad. “I’ll bring a bag of popcorn, and we can watch some television.”
* * *
I arrive at school a few minutes late, and the meeting is already in progress. The door opens from the hall into the back of the classroom. Noticing all the seats are taken, I slip into the room and inch my way along the back wall towards the window.
“Hello again,” says a voice near my ear.
I look up, startled to see the jerk who made fun of my hair at the hardware store leaning against the wall next to me. I say under my breath, “You again.”
Directing my attention to the front of the classroom, I try to absorb what Mrs. Rogers is telling us about field trips, birthday treats, and what to do when your child is sick. But the jerk’s presence distracts me, and I observe him out of the corner of my eye. He’s tall and handsome with broad shoulders and blue eyes the color of an ice glacier. He wears a silicone ring on his left hand. Is that in place of a wedding band? If he’s married, where is his wife? If one of them had to stay at home with their child, wouldn’t the father be the obvious choice?
Another couple arrives late to the meeting, jostling me closer to the jerk. The heat of his body sends a jolt of electricity through me, landing in the pit of my stomach and sending a flood of warmth further south. What is this about? I can’t possibly be attracted to him. He’s a jerk. And he’s married. And I don’t even know his name.
