Page 7 of Forbidden Vows

“Cheap wine will do that.”

“What?”

“Make you spill your secrets.”

“It does go down quicker than the good stuff, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Tough times are the opposite of cheap wine.” She places her hand over mine. “They’re long, difficult, and painful to endure. Sometimes we need help.” Our eyes meet. “You should reach out to Blaze.”

“I’ll think about it.” I’m not going to call him.

The humiliation of having my lady folds on display to the world isn’t enough for me to invite Blaze back into my life.

The risk is too high.

After the wedding, I told myself I would never think of Blaze again, but lying under Keith as he pumped away, ignored my clit while the sweat beading on his forehead threatens to drip on me, I fantasized about Blaze.

After last night, I dream of him, too, apparently.

I’m not foolish enough to be the good girl who inevitably gets played by the bad boy. Who she was at one time related to. If only by law.

Still icky.

After a lukewarm shower, I pick a loose patchwork dress from my overnight bag and grab my orange carryall. Seraphina kisses my cheek as I leave for work.

When I finally get through the side-eyes and whispers from other teachers in the hall, I enter the safety of my kindergarten classroom, only to find my mind wandering to Dad’s voicemail. What woman is he upheaving his life for, now? Dropping my bag into a drawer, I slide into my cushy office chair, wheeling it behind my heavy wood desk.

Instantly, I’m greeted by a curious Poppy, one of my brightest students. I’ll probably recommend she skip a grade at the end of this year. She’s the kind of kid who could get into a lot of trouble if she gets bored.

She peers at me over the pink plastic frames of her glasses. “Why don’t you have eyebrows today?”

I squint at my reflection in the metal pencil cup on my desk. “I slept over at a friend’s house last night and forgot to grab my makeup bag.”

“Teachers have sleepovers?” she asks.

I shrug. “Sometimes.”

“My mom said I’m too young for sleepovers.” Poppy shrugs her little shoulders, mimicking me. “Kinda makes me think you might be too old.”

“Probably.”

“Your face is kinda scrunchy today, too,” she adds. “You look worried.”

“I got a voicemail this morning that told me to check my mail. But I wasn’t home?—”

“Cause the sleepover,” she interjects.

“Right,” I nod. “This is just my wondering face.” I lie to comfort her. “I’m wondering what was in the mail.”

She stares at me, her brow creasing for a moment before saying, “Maybe the mail was a card from your grandpa. Mine always sends me a ten-dollar bill on my birthday, but Mom says it’s just to peas his guilt for working on his tanin Florida with beary weevils instead of coming to visit me.”

Beary weevils?

Barely Legals…

“It’s not from my grandpa,” I say, hoping to close the subject.

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