My pulse quickens at the confirmation I’ll be seeing her again after today, and whatever we’ve been building over the last week won’t end here.
“Tuesday works,” I say, while flutters start up beneath my ribcage. “I can come by after dropping Quinn at school.”
“It’s a plan.” Emily flips off the workshop lights, and as we step outside into the September afternoon, cool air washes over my skin.
“We should leave soon if we want to beat the dismissal rush,” I say, checking the time again. “The line can become a complete nightmare.”
“Wash up, and we’ll head out.” After I finish, Emily locks the workshop door, the key turning with a solid click.
As we head back toward the house, I find myself noticing the way sunlight catches in her silver hair and how, when I’m with her, I never feel pressured to fill the silence.
Five days ago, I couldn’t sand a straight edge. Now I’m building shelves and inviting Emily Wilson to join Quinn and me at the bookstore.
Small steps in different directions.
Both terrifying. Both strangely right.
As predicted, by the time we arrive, parents are already clustered near the brick entrance of Pinecrest Academy, their conversations creating a buzz of white noise that helps mask my unease.
Emily stands beside me, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, her body relaxed in a way I can’t quite manage. I scan the entrance for a familiar sandy-haired figure who might emerge at any moment.
For five days, I’ve managed the drop-off and pickup routine without a direct encounter, calculating timing and quick exits, but the weight of Carson’s presence within these walls pricks at my awareness even when he’s nowhere in sight.
“Big place,” Emily comments, squinting at the flagpole where the state flag snaps in the breeze.
“The inside is like a maze.” I gesture toward the building. “Thank goodness the second graders are near the entrance.”
The bell rings inside the building, its muffled peal sending a ripple of anticipation through the waiting parents, and conversations pause as everyone turns toward the double doors.
“Here they come,” I murmur as the doors burst open.
Children pour from the building in waves of color and noise, backpacks bouncing, lunch boxes swinging, and voices calling out in farewell. I scan the crowd for Quinn, my height an advantage as I search for her purple backpack.
“There.” Emily points toward the left side of the steps.
Quinn appears in the doorway, Sprinkles at her side. Her head turns as she searches the crowd, and when she spots us, her whole face transforms. Pure joy radiates from her as she breaks into a run, Sprinkles keeping pace beside her.
“Ms. Emily!” Quinn’s shriek of delight carries across the schoolyard. “Mr. Leif!”
Quinn reaches us in a blur of motion, but instead of crashing into me as expected, she flings herself at Emily. Her small arms wrap around Emily’s waist in a tight embrace.
“You came! You came!” Quinn bounces on her toes, face tilted up toward Emily with unfiltered delight. “I told Jamie, my friend, that I knew the person who built my home, but she didn’t believe me, but you’re here!”
Emily’s hand comes to rest on Quinn’s shoulder with natural ease. “When I heard you had earned a trip to the bookstore, there’s no way I could miss out on your little adventure.”
Quinn beams as she turns to include me in her excitement. “Mr. Leif! We have frog eggs in the science room. Ms. Peterson says they’ll hatch and become little frogs by the end of the school year!”
I crouch to her level, accepting her quick hug. “That’s exciting. We should search for a book about frogs at the bookstore.”
Sprinkles nudges my hand with his cold nose in greeting, and I scratch behind his ears. “How was your last day, Quinn?”
“Amazing!” She barely pauses for breath. “We learned where everything goes, and we practiced our spelling words, but it wasn’t a test yet, and at lunch, Jamie shared her cookies with me, and in art we made leaf rubbings, and?—”
She sucks in air. “And now we get to go to the bookstore!”
Emily listens to this torrent of information with genuine interest. “Leaf prints? What kind of leaves did you use?”
Quinn launches into a detailed explanation of the art project as we begin walking away from the school. Parents and children stream around us, heading toward parked cars and bus stops.