Chapter 1
My breath and the clacking of claws on the hardwood were the only sounds echoing through my cottage as I went about my yoga routine.
Buster watched with wary feline eyes from his perch on the bed as Able risked a swipe of a claw by getting too close. Able, my lovable mutt, abandoned trying to play with a very unreceptive Buster and instead stretched out under my arched belly. After two years of turbulent coexistence, the two of them had formed a fragile truce of sorts—as long as Able stayed out of Buster’s way.
With a final stretch, I headed for the shower, ready for the day ahead. I woke early most mornings, needing a few minutes to myself before I was overrun by toddlers. I loved being a preschool teacher, but it was carefully controlled chaos more days than not—and some days the control slipped all together.
After a quick shower, I dressed in a polka-dot dress, tights, and my favorite ankle boots. I winced at the wrinkles in my dress and the hole in my tights, but it was too late to change if I was going to get Able out for a quick walk. I piled my unruly blonde curls on top of my head and swiped lipstick across my lips.
I looked around my small cottage in dismay, noting my clothes strewn about in disarray, the copious books I loved to read spilling from the shelves, and dirty dishes in the sink. One of these days maybe I’d magically develop a neat freak gene.
Not likely.
“Hello, dear!” Mable called from her back deck. My little in-law cottage sat at the very back of her large property, nestled in the trees. We’d formed a close friendship in the years I’d lived there. I knew she was lonely in the big house where she lived alone. Her family rarely came to visit, and over the years, her beautiful house had fallen in disrepair. I wished I had the skills or money to help her fix it up, but what I lacked in manual labor skills I tried to make up for with company, and when I had the time, baked goods.
“Morning, May!” I called back as Able bounded over to greet her. I’d worried at first that he’d knock her fragile frame right over, but he was surprisingly careful with her.
“Headed to work?” she asked as she bent to pat Abe’s head.
“Soon,” I replied. “I have a yoga class to teach afterwards, but I can swing by the store later if you need anything,” I offered, as I almost always did.
She offered a warm smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Plans for tonight?” she asked hopefully.
“Not tonight.” I shook my head, knowing what she was alluding to. My dating life, or lack thereof, was frequent fodder for conversation.
“Emerly, you are far too beautiful and kind to sit alone on a Friday night.” She tisked.
“You’re sweet. And biased,” I added dryly. “I’m fine, May,” I assured her. “Honestly, there’s nothing more I want than to curl up with some takeout and a book tonight,” I told her truthfully.
Working two jobs, I was too tired to think about dating. I found my romance in books or in my fantasies about the gorgeous uncle of one of my students. It had been a few months since I’d seen him, and I had to admit I was hungry for even a glance.
Sad, but true.
“Well, I need to head off, call me if you need anything,” I told her, clapping my hands for Able. I’d take him on a proper walk later.
“I’m fine.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Charlie is taking me out later.” She winked.
Perhaps I should be embarrassed that my eighty-year-old landlord, who also happened to be my best friend, had a more exciting dating life than I did, but I was genuinely happy for her.
“Have fun.” I smiled and with a final wave headed back into the cottage to get Able and Buster fed before heading off to work.
****
“Waaaaaaa!” Phoebe’s cry of dismay echoed through the room as I fought to teach class on a day where the control in the chaos had been absent from minute one.
I sat in my chair, the book I’d been reading to them poised in one hand.
“Hudson pulled my hair!” she wailed.
I looked over at Hudson, trying to keep my look stern. At three, with luminous green eyes and a darling dimpled grin, Hudson made it hard.
“Hudson?” I prompted.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he sat cross-legged, his eyes downcast.
He had a way of making you want to apologize even when he was in the wrong. His mother, Sam, who’d become a friend of mine, often complained about it.
“All right, let’s keep reading.” I got back toDon’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus, one of their favorites.