My fingers tighten around my car key until the metal edge digs into my palm. “I appreciate your concern, but Quinn needs Sprinkles for emotional regulation. The accommodation was approved?—”
“By my predecessor, yes.” Carson shakes his head with atsk. “And I have no intention of reversing that decision. Not at this time.”
The qualifier hangs in the air in silent threat.
Carson shifts his briefcase to his other hand, and he turns his head to survey the emptying parking lot. “How are you finding Pinecrest? Getting settled in your routines?”
The abrupt change of subject throws me off balance. “Fine. It’s convenient to live someplace where so much is within walking distance.”
“I imagine traveling to and from Misty Pines took some getting used to,” he muses. “It must be boring to have so much free time with Quinn in classes. You were never one to be idle.”
My pulse quickens. Did Carson speak to Blake and Nathaniel about my schedule? I don’t like him knowing I have free time after drop-off.
“I manage,” I reply, taking a half-step toward my car. “Speaking of which, I should?—”
“I saw you in town last week,” Carson continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “At Stitch & Yarn, I believe? With Quinn and that Alphawoman from the construction crew. Emily Wilson, if I recall correctly.”
My blood runs cold. “Ms. Wilson is a friend of the Wright Pack. She was helping Quinn pick out yarn.”
Carson’s eyebrows lift. “Is that all? Interesting. You seemed quite comfortable together.”
The insinuation sends panic coursing through me, and my vision tunnels, the edges darkening as I struggle to maintain composure.
“The Wright Pack considers her family,” I explain, the words tumbling out too fast. “Quinn wanted her opinion on colors.”
“Of course.” Carson’s brow puckers in concern. “But you should keep in mind that Pinecrest isn’t like where we used to live. In small communities, people notice things and form impressions. As educators, we’re held to certain standards.”
“There’s nothing but professionalism between us,” I insist, the lie turning my burgeoning hopes of a fresh start to ash in my mouth.
Carson studies me, his head tilted. “Perhaps. But you might want to be more circumspect, given how quick parents are to gossip. And some of them can be so nosy. I’d hate for them to dig into yourhistory.”
The veiled reference to Westbrook steals the air from my lungs. Carson never crosses the line into threats. He doesn’t have to. He just presses where it already hurts and waits for a reaction.
“Emily Wilson is a family friend of the Wright Pack, and an upstanding citizen in Pinecrest,” I repeat, each word measured. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
A satisfied smile spreads across Carson’s face at my dismissal of Emily, and I resist the urge to take it back and defend what’s been growing between us.
“I was disappointed to miss you at the celebration party,” he says, reclaiming control of our conversation. “Blake Wright mentioned you were present but left before I had a chance to say hello.”
My fingers twitch at my side. “It was a long day, and I needed to prep for Quinn’s first day at school.”
“Of course, the child comes first,” he agrees. “That’s what I always respected about your teaching style, Leif. Your dedication to your students.”
The compliment slides under my skin like a splinter. At Westbrook, his method had always been to give criticism wrapped in praise, expectations disguised as observations.
“Westbrook lost a rising star when you up and vanished,” Carson continues, taking on a chastising quality. “If you had spoken to me about your concerns, I would have been able to lay your worries to rest.”
Lies. And I won’t let him gaslight me into questioning whether I did everything within my power to stop what was happening before I reported him to the Westbrook school board.
“We’d already said everything there was to say.” I shove my hands into my pockets to hide my clenching fists. “But it appears you’ve managed to advance your career, regardless.”
“Yes, Westbrook was more than happy to find me a position better suited to my years of experience.”
Because it was better for them to move Carson outside their district than to have a blemish on their record by actually investigating my accusations. I should have known better and just left quietly.
He shifts his weight, his posture relaxing as mine tenses. “Watching you with Quinn this past week, I can’t help but think your talents and education are being underutilized.”
He doesn’t say “wasted” or “squandered,” but his meaning is clear in the careful selection of a gentler term and the slight pause that follows.