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“Tyler, it’s been almost two years. Stop beating yourself up about it. It’s time.”
I know he’s right. Itistime. Krew needs a mom. I’m slowly seeing that. And I’m making small steps. I went out with Candi. I flirted with Meg. In fact, I’ve thought about Meg several times this week, specifically her smile. These are all signs that my heart is shifting. I know I need to stop fighting the shift, but it’s hard.
“Did you go to Meet the Teacher Night?” I ask.
“Yeah, Nikki made me go.”
“So you met Zander’s teacher, Miss Johnson?”
“Yeah.” He looks at me, and it takes him a few seconds to realize where I’m going with this. “Dude. You liked her, didn’t you?”
I’m suddenly embarrassed. “No.” I scratch the side of my ear. “I was just impressed with her as ateacher. I think she’s good for the kids.”
“No.” Wayne smiles. “You think she’s good foryou.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, holding back my smile.
“I love everything about this. I can really see you fitting with her.”
“You don’t even know her. Neither do I.”
I should’ve never mentioned Meg to Wayne.
It’s nothing.
But I can definitely picture Meg comforting Krew when he misses Kristen, and I can see Krew letting her.
“Okay, that’s enough. Bring it in,” I call out to the team, trying to end the conversation, because the visual in my head both breaks my heart and pieces it together at the same time.
CHAPTER11
MEG
I’ve got exciting Friday night plans.
I hook another cheap plastic toy to the fishing pole that was thrown over the painted-blue plywood and give the line a tug so the child knows to pull up.
I don’t actually mind that myexciting Friday night plansare meattending the school carnival alone. This is where I fit. I like volunteering at carnival games and watching the kids run around with cotton candy stuck to their lips. But this particular game isn’t too exciting. When I told Mr. Hunsaker that I would fill in for him at the “fishing pond,” I didn’t expect to be hiding behind a board, clipping toys onto wooden dowels. But better me than him, since he currently has a migraine.
My volunteer partner, some mom I don’t know, looks down at her watch. “My shift’s over. I’m supposed to switch to nachos. Do you want me to wait until the next volunteer comes to relieve me?”
“No, I’m sure I can do double duty for a few minutes.”
“Okay. Have fun.” The mom gives a little wave and leaves.
A new string snaps over the plywood, and I pick up a plastic frog hopper and attach it to the clothes pin. Then another string comes over, and another. I’m all business. This game will not be like real fishing. These children will not wait for their catch.
I’m so focused on getting toys on the poles that I jump when someone says “Hey!” behind me.
I turn around to none other than Tyler Dixon.
He’s in his jeans and tight, fitted t-shirt again, but this time he’s without his hat. His brown hair has the perfect amount of waves that makes me want to scream, “Don’t you dare get a haircut!”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m here to help with the fishing pond game.”
My brows climb. “You signed up for the fishing pond?”
What kind of glorious and terrible coincidence is this?
