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I turn in my seat and catch the end of Krew hugging his dad. It’s a cute scene. Mr. Dixon has one knee on the ground so they are fully embracing, and Krew’s arms wrap around his dad’s neck. I can see Krew’s face as his chin rests on his father’s shoulder, and I feel like an intruder watching this intimate moment, so I turn back around to Diane and offer a small smile.
“Krew loves his father,” she explains.
“The relationship between a father and a son is so important,” I say, as if I know something about that kind of thing, which I don’t.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Mr. Dixon says as he rounds my desk.
I glance up with my professional-teacher smile on my lips, but my expression falters when I see his face.
Oh, crap.
Mr. Dixon is the man I met on the pier three days ago?
The floor drops out from under me, and I feel like I’m spiraling through the air.
MR. DIXON IS THE MAN I MET ON THE PIER THREE DAYS AGO.
“Meg?” he asks with a hint of a surprise.
Diane looks between us. “Do you two know each other?”
He’s dressed differently. Tonight he has on worn jeans, a fitted gray t-shirt, work boots, and a black baseball cap turned backward. I like this style better than his business casual. It suits him more.
“No!” my pipsqueak voice comes out. They might as well cast me as the mouse sidekick in the next Disney movie.
Diane looks at Mr. Dixon. “Then how did you know Meg’s name?”
My boss cannot know I tried to make out with her son-in-law. My panicked eyes plead with him.
He leans down, giving Diane a side hug, greeting her. “I must’ve seen her name online or something when I was checking Krew’s grades.”
She pats his shoulder. “Youwere checking Krew’s grades this early in the year?”
I spring from my chair, standing up before Diane can question him further. My hand shoots out in front of him. “I’m Ms. Johnson. It’s nice to meet you.”
He takes my hand, and I flush with embarrassment. His handshake is slow and deadly.
Deadly? Really?
I don’t know why I thought that, but something about his touch is killing me, sodeadlyit is.
“Krew always calls you Mrs. Johnson,” he says, with emphasis on theMrs.And did he just glance at my ring finger? Oh my gosh.
I pull my hand out of his grasp, taking my seat again. “No. Just Ms.” I drag out theSso it sounds like aZ. “Krew has told me so much about you.”
So has Charlene.
The corner of his mouth rises. “You can call me Tyler.”
“I’m not sure that would be professional.” I look at Diane. My expression probably conveys all my dirty secrets—I tried to kiss him, he became intimate with my calves, he proposed, and I slapped him. At any moment, she’s going to fire me.
“If a parent asks you to call them by their first name, then you probably should,” Diane says, and suddenly I feel like I’m five and just got caught shotgunning an apple juice. Sticky and guilty.
“Everyone calls him Tyler,” Krew says.
“Okay.”
Mr. Dixon—Tyler, as I’m supposed to call him now—tousles Krew’s hair, but his gaze stays focused on me. “So what has Krew said about me?”
