Page 8 of My Single Dad Biker

He doesn't argue with this logic. "Can we invite her for tacos?"

I look at my son and something in my chest shifts. "We'll see."

I call Ray and arrange for his nephew to drive Katherine's car from the school to her house. Ray gives me the same tone he gave me earlier but doesn't push. I text him Katherine's address and tell him I'm leaving her keys in the ignition.

Then Louis and I get back in the truck.

We drive to the school first. I leave Katherine's keys in the ignition with the doors unlocked. Text Ray that it's ready. Then I drive to Oak Street with my eight-year-old son in the passenger seat and try to figure out how to explain why we're here.

"Are we checking on Ms. Hayes?" Louis asks.

"Yes."

"Because you want to make sure she's okay?"

"Yes."

"Do you like her?"

I look at him. "She's your teacher."

"I know. But do you like her?"

I don't lie to Louis. "I don't know her very well yet."

"But you want to know her."

Smart kid. "Maybe."

"I think you should know her. She's nice."

I pull up to her curb and put the truck in park. It's six-forty-five. Louis unbuckles and waits for me to come around and open his door, which is the rule. We walk up her front path together and I knock.

Movement inside. The porch light comes on. The door opens and Katherine is standing there in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt with her hair damp and loose around her shoulders. She looks different than she did three hours ago. Softer. More herself.

She sees Louis first and her whole face changes. "Hi Louis."

"Hi Ms. Hayes. Dad said we're checking on you."

"That's very kind." Her eyes move to me and there's something careful in her expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Ray's nephew is bringing your car back. I wanted to make sure you knew someone was coming and that he's safe."

"Oh. Thank you. You really didn't have to do that."

"You needed your car."

"I could have gotten it in the morning."

"This way you have it tonight."

We look at each other. Louis is watching both of us with the specific attention that eight-year-olds bring to situations they find interesting.

Katherine steps back. "Do you want to come in?"

I should say no. "For a minute."

Her house is small and feels lived-in in a good way. Books on the shelves, plants that look healthy, a blanket folded over the couch. It smells like tea and something else. Maybe lavender.