Page 11 of Fall for You (Flirting with Forever 4)

“I think I’ve seen her in passing at the cider mill. You remember I told you a while back that Ms. Caringello had reserved the mill for her wedding reception, right?” Oh please, Olivia. I don’t like keeping things from you. Please pick up on this and talk about the wedding all you want.

“Right. They work together, I guess. Science teachers and all. Ms. Caringello is marrying Mr. Mitchell, so there will be two Mitchells at school next year.” She huffs. “Talk about confusing.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Let’s just forget all about my little blunder. “What do they teach?”

She pops a chunk of cheese into her mouth, thinking for a few seconds before answering. “Ms. Caringello has mostly chemistry classes, and Mr. Mitchell teaches physics. I think he actually teaches one period of chemistry. I can’t imagine being so lucky to get him twice, two years in a row. But then I’d really not be paying attention to the lessons.”

I’m pleasantly surprised she’s opening up to me for once and want to keep the conversation going as long as I can, but I’m also slightly uncomfortable at the direction I think it’s just taken. “Oh? Why’s that?”

She gives me a sheepish smile and mumbles, “He’s really cute.”

I close my eyes for a few seconds and clear my throat. “Well, all right, then.” I’m not sure I needed to know my child thinks of adult men in that way, but … dammit, I know she’s growing up. And now I’m wondering if that’s not what this is all about in the first place. A guy. I debate internally for a few seconds before I decide to continue. “Is there someone in particular distracting you in biology?”

Her face immediately colors and her eyes flare. “Dad …”

“What? Is that why your grade is slipping? Are you doing a little too much flirting or something?”

Her gaze drops to the counter where her fingers trace patterns on the granite counter. She presses her lips together. Quietly, she whispers, “Not really. The boy I like doesn’t really know I exist.”

I work my jaw back and forth. Well, how the hell is that possible? Maybe I’m biased, but Olivia is a kind, beautiful girl. Any guy would be lucky to have her for a girlfriend. I frown inwardly, trying not to let Olivia see how disturbed I am by the notion that she’s invisible to this dumb boy she’s mooning over.

In all honesty, I’d always assumed she’d have had a boyfriend by this point, so I’d been congratulating myself, thinking I’d dodged a pretty big bullet when she’d never talked about anyone in particular. It was either that or the possibility she’d been hiding a boyfriend from me this whole time. But it’s not really like Olivia to conceal something like that, and from the look on her face, I don’t think that’s the case. But I can tell there’s something she’s not saying.

“Is he in that class?” I busy myself pulling out bowls and spoons, discreetly eyeing her as I do so.

She shakes her head. “No. Just some of his friends.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“And what’s going on there?” I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering what the real story is.

“Can we just drop it, Dad?” she mumbles.

My brow furrows, and I sigh, pausing to make eye contact with her. “Olivia, I just want to make sure we fix whatever is messing with your grades. Mom has texted Ms. Lockmore about the tutoring, and you can start tomorrow.” I pause, noting her grim expression. “I’d like to make sure the tutoring is going to be effective. I don’t want to get you all caught up, only to fall behind again because of some underlying issue.”

She jerks up off the stool, knocking it back a foot. “It’s nothing! Can I go upstairs until dinner is ready?” She bites down on her lip so hard, I think she’s going to break the skin.

Studying her pale, freckled face, I blow out a deep breath before saying, “Yeah, baby girl. I’ll call you down when it’s ready.” No sense in pushing the issue right now. I’m now one hundred percent sure something is going on in that class.

She doesn’t hesitate, racing off toward the stairs, a blur of long blonde hair and canary-yellow shoes.

With only the whir of the cooking blender for company, I pull out my phone and notice I’ve missed a few texts from Becky.

Becky: I’ve arranged tutoring with Ms. Lockmore on Wednesdays from 3:30-4:30.

Becky: Can you do pick up? I can if I have to, but that’s quite a drive.

I inhale and close my mouth, holding my breath so my cheeks puff out. Slowly, I let it out as I reply to her.

Me: Pick up is not an issue. I’ll make sure I block off Wednesday afternoons.

Becky: Good. Because you know how hard it would be for me to get away.

Yes, Becky. I don’t really hold any ill feelings toward her anymore, but I’m not sure why she feels she has to remind me. The all-encompassing importance of her job is why we are in this position right now. I’m well aware of how tough her schedule was—and continues to be—on our family.

Becky: Also, I assume since I pay child support that you’ll be covering the tutoring costs.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. It’s just like Becky to make the arrangements with Quinn, then stick me with the bill. It’s not that I can’t afford it. And yes, I’m aware she pays child support. But it really makes me laugh that she’d spouted off a sky-high amount to get Quinn on board, and now I’m responsible for coming through with it. I’d do anything for Olivia—including paying Quinn for tutoring services—but Becky’s methods are irksome. And totally typical.

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