Page 9 of Stolen Dreams

His brows tug together in confusion. “But it’s like all the other ones in the store.”

“True,” I agree. “Want to know why it’s different?”

Tucker nods rapidly.

“I have a box of special items I save in my desk. When I’m in a store, sometimes small items call out to me.”

“They talk to you?” he asks in wonderment, his eyes widening.

“Not like how people talk. It’s more of a feeling.” I lay a hand over my belly. “The items let me know that one day soon, someone I see will need them.” I hold the fire truck closer to Tucker. “When I was shopping two days ago, this fire truck called out. It knew I’d need to give it to you.”

Tucker stares at the fire truck, speechless.

“I want you to have it, Tucker. Every morning, I want you to hold it in your hand and say, ‘Today will be a good day.’ Can you do that for me?”

Gingerly, he reaches for and takes the fire truck from my palm. “Yes.”

“Good. In the afternoon or evening, I want you to do something different. It sounds funny, but I want you to tell your fire truck about your day. The good things that happened and the stuff that upset you. This fire truck will keep all your secrets safe.”

“Can I play with it?”

“Only after you do those two things, but not in school. You can carry it in your backpack, but it’s best to only have it out at home.” I tap the fire truck in his palm. “Special secret keeper.”

He stares at the toy that is now a way to release his frustrations. “The most special secret keeper,” he whispers before he shoves it in his pocket. “Thank you, Miss Kaya.”

“You’re welcome, Tucker. We should get you back to class.” I cross the office and open the door. “Don’t tell anyone else, but I think the fourth graders are getting a pizza party for lunch.”

“Yes,” he hisses then fist-pumps the air.

When we reach the front, I ask Enola to escort Tucker back to class. Once they are out the door, I audibly inhale.

Such a wonderful little boy. If only he got the attention and affection he so desperately craves.

Clarissa clinks her wineglass with mine. “Cheers to three more days of endless teenage hormones.”

I laugh, and the sound blends with the pub music. “So you know, I’m not drinking every night this week.”

Clarissa sticks out her tongue. “You’re no fun.”

“Maybe. But at least I won’t be on death’s door when one of those teenagers comes into my office tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Clarissa brings her glass to her lips and drinks a healthy sip. Then her body language shifts. She leans forward and shows a touch more cleavage.

Great.

I follow her line of sight across Dalton’s Pub to see who she is making eyes at. A man with salt-and-pepper hair sits on a stool at the end of the bar. Broad shoulders and a tall frame, he is dressed in a sharp, dark-colored suit. No tie around his neck, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. He appears to be alone, nursing a pint.

Clarissa has him in her sights, but he has yet to notice her.

I wave a hand in front of her face. “Want me to leave so you can flirt with Mr. Anonymous?”

“Not yet.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Joking, Kaya.” Clarissa rests a hand over mine on the table. “Can’t help but admire a beautiful man.” She arches a brow. “What about you?”

Knowing exactly where this is headed, I play stupid. “What about me?”

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