He hit send and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Everything okay?” Greta asked.
He peeked out at her from the corner of his eye then offered a tight, thin-lipped smile. “Yeah, just dealing with the bed-and-breakfast. It’s my second full-time job.” It felt like a relief, confessing to her. Plus, she already knew about it, so maybe she’d understand. “We’re having a hard time finding a night manager, as you can probably guess by now.” As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he was reminded why Greta posed a danger to him. Or, actually, why Luke posed a danger to himself when he was talking to Greta.
It was the wrong thing to say, and he could see it in her eyes. Maybe she felt slighted. Maybe she thought he was passively aggressively reminding her about Fry-day and how she blew him off when he and his aunt spelled out an opportunity for her to move from Maggie’s barn into her own place.
“Sure, sure,” she replied, then took a sip from her water bottle as her eyes slid past him and around the room. “I was almost a landlord back in Indianapolis,” she began, her voice low. Their eyes locked, and he knew the almost family story was there, somewhere. He could see she wanted to share it, but feedback screeched across the cafeteria. Greta and others threw their hands to their ears.
Mrs. Cook stood at the podium and held the microphone out away from herself, dragging everyone off their extended break with an apology. “Sorry! Technical difficulties,” she joked as the projector in the back finally buzzed to life, and a PowerPoint illuminated the drop-down screen. “Next, I’d like to go over some of the data and survey results I mentioned earlier. Barb will bring around paper and markers.” She then went on to explain that they weren’t only going to look at data. They were going to dig into it!
A quiet moan rippled across the cafeteria, but Mrs. Cook, in her position behind the podium, was immune, pushing ahead with enthusiasm for getting to practice what we preach and turn the content into a student-led learning activity!
“I sort of hate this stuff,” he whispered to his table, glancing at Greta to see if he could bring her back around. The others agreed in hushed giggles, and Mark let out a long sigh, launching into a tirade against buzzwords and busy work.
Greta, however, was frowning down at the phone in her lap, her focus elsewhere again.
A chill climbed up his spine. Was she dealing with the family stuff? Did it have to do with her almost rental property? Or her current living situation thing, again? He didn’t dare ask. It was not his business.
Discreetly checking his own phone for a reply from the interested tenant, he started to feel hot. Suffocated, even. He pinched the fabric of his polo and tugged it quickly a few times then put his phone to sleep, determined to set the issue aside and focus on school for the day. Liesel said she’d handle it. So, if the person did need to talk urgently, well, they’d have to wait for him to get out of work or call Liesel again. Maybe he ought to text that exact message, in fact. Especially if there was some confusion over where the house was. The house that this person obviously saw already.
Pushing air through his teeth, he dragged his phone back out to send the follow-up text. The recipient, whose name he didn’t know, had not yet replied. He began to write that she would have to call the other number on the sign. You know, he typed, the sign at the house you looked at?
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Greta, furiously tapping away on her own device. He couldn’t make out her message or the contact she was writing to, but something felt, well, funny.
That’s when it clicked.
His chest tightened. He swallowed and looked again at Greta. A thrill zipped through him.
He hesitated only momentarily before picking his phone back up and deleting his draft. He started again, as she sat next to him, clearly struggling with what he had written.
Can we talk in person?
Glancing up to ensure the others were sufficiently absorbed in Mark’s tale about the glory days of teaching when you got a roster and a blackboard and lecture for an hour straight, Luke bit down on his lip and hit send. Adjacent to him, Susan dragged a marker across the paper, dutifully following Mrs. Cook’s directions on how to shape their graphic organizer and begin analyzing the data. Next to him, Greta paused in her frantic texting and tucked her phone between her legs then looked up, her features softer, now.
“What do you think, Miss Houston?” Luke asked, amusement glinting in his eyes. Her face reddened, and he felt a little guilty. Still, he couldn’t resist. “The data Mrs. Cook is projecting. About phones in the classroom. Should we limit our technology in our lessons or expand on it?”
Mark’s voice faded away. The others waited, Susan with her marker ready to document whatever brilliant thing the new teacher had to share.
Greta pushed her hair out of her face and smiled at him. “Technology is important,” she started, the others rapt. “Especially in a rural community. We should provide opportunities for it. Not shy away.”
“But don’t you think...” Luke went on, propping his elbows on the table, his own secret acting as ammunition. Suddenly, the beautiful new hire was no longer bringing him to his knees. Suddenly, he had the upper hand. And though Luke knew that teasing her like this could totally backfire, he figured he had nothing to lose.
After all, the person texting him wasn’t really interested in renting his mamaw’s house.
The person texting him didn’t know it was Mamaw’s house at all. She didn’t know that she stumbled across The Hickory Grove Inn, and that it wasn’t just a house for rent. It was the Innkeeper’s House.
“Don’t I think what?” Greta replied, a little edge to her voice that time.
The person texting him didn’t know she was texting him at all.
Luke met her gaze, pausing only briefly. “Don’t you think we should put the phones away and talk in person?”
Chapter 15—Greta
If swooning were an option, she’d have swooned. Right then and there.
Greta’s head swelled to the point of near bursting. “Yes,” she murmured, blinking slowly. The conversation among the others drifted away, half the table arguing in favor of cell phones in the class, half opposed.
Meanwhile, Luke kept his eyes on her. Subtlety was nearly impossible, and Greta couldn’t bear to have her face flush again. Not on her first day. Not in front of him.
“It’s you?” she whispered, glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes.
His reply came low, even. “I thought you weren’t interested?”
“I never said that.”
Luke lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “You never said you were interested.”
Mrs. Cook strolled by, treating them like a group of students, inspecting and praising their four-square about the parent concern of Phones in the Classroom. Satisfied, she floated off. The rest of the table broke away into gossip and banter, leaving Greta and Luke to resume their conversation more comfortably. With less whispers. Less secrecy.
Though, Greta quite liked the secret conversation.
A chill danced up her spine, and goosebumps tingled across her limbs.
Not once in her years as a teacher or sub had she ever engaged in a flagrant flirtation at work.
“Are we talking about the same thing?” Greta couldn’t help it. Her cheeks burned. The skin on her arms turned cold and splotchy as if every bit of blood in her body had rushed to her head to help keep her brain functioning.
Luke cracked a grin. “Yes?”
She laughed, which helped to clear her head somewhat. “Maggie told me that your rental house comes with a stipulation.”
“And what’s that?” he replied.
“Whoever rents it must also take care of the bed-and-breakfast.”
His smile dissipated. “Well,” he began, “not exactly, but yes.”
She frowned.
Luke blew out a sigh and pushed his fingers through his hair. “We need someone on call at night. Someone on the property. We don’t keep the desk open past eight. S
o, it’s sort of like a twelve-hour shift, but you can go to sleep or whatever. Just keep your phone on. My aunt and I will handle the situation, but since we don’t have a night clerk, it’s nice to have an available staff member.” He shook his head. “It sounds weird, I know. Liesel would do it if she could stand to be in there, but she can’t. Not now. I’ve been staying over as much as possible, but with football season, it’s going to be hard. That’s why the rent is crazy low. Plus, if whoever moves in wants to take on more, we’ll cut the rent further.”
Greta mulled it over. It wasn’t as bad as she previously thought. Maggie mischaracterized the whole thing. Still, was it a good idea to complicate her life even further? First, she stole the barn from Gretchen. Now, she was going to take up in the Hart family heirloom? The worst thing she could do was become entangled in local drama.
What if there was more to it than just being “on call” overnight? What if she developed feelings for Luke then he broke her heart? What if she found a better job somewhere else the following summer?
“What are the other terms?” she asked.
He paused, glancing around the table then dipping his chin. “My aunt has a rental agreement typed up. I just need to run to my classroom to print it out. If you’d like, I could give it to you to look at during lunch?”
She swallowed. It already felt like a big commitment just to look at the agreement, even if she wasn’t signing it. What if she couldn’t handle taking phone calls over night? What if a real emergency did happen?
“What kind of emergencies?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed deep.
Luke chuckled. “Nothing, really. We’re hardly ever booked up, and people who stay there are often regulars. The ones who aren’t regulars, well, I give them my phone number. Mainly, we hope to cover household expenses like utilities. If I’m being honest with you, Greta,” he lowered his gaze, and she thought she saw a little color climb up his neck. “We just want someone to take care of Mamaw’s house. At least for a little while. Until we can get back on track.” He glanced up at her, an earnestness in his eyes.
“It could work,” she started to answer, chewing on her lower lip. “The price is right. It’s just... would it be, like a...” Words escaped her. Mrs. Cook had returned to the podium and was about to send them into another activity, no doubt.
“Conflict of interest,” Luke answered, his tone turning cold. He shook his head. “I understand. You don’t know me. I, well I don’t know you. Yeah, it’s weird. You’ve got enough on your plate without having to deal with living in your co-worker’s dead grandmother’s house.” Mirthlessness filled his face, and Greta tried to decide if he was being sincere or not. He made good points, but then, whenever did a landlord know his tenant before they signed a contract?
“Can I see it?” she said at last, hope clinging to each word.
Luke’s eyes flashed. “Of course you can. Yes, of course. We can go there right after work.”
“It’s a date,” she said, out of sheer habit. Wincing at herself as Luke chuckled, Greta shook her head. “Yes, I mean. That’s perfect.”
The rest of the day dragged on. At lunch, instead of going with Luke to print a copy of the lease agreement, Greta begged off to track down the secretary, Barb. Mrs. Cook had indicated that Barb would deliver her teaching contract before the end of the day and not to worry! You’ll be paid for showing up for pre-service training!
When she found the woman, Barb was juggling a tower of freshly printed packets.
“Let me help you,” Greta offered, taking half the stack and inhaling the sterile scent of hot paper and ink.
The woman was grateful, and Greta was happy to get to know her a little better.
“How’s your first day going?” Barb asked as she took short, choppy steps from the doorway of the cafeteria over to her table.
“It’s going well. Do you need help handing this out, or...?”
“No, no. I’ll handle, darlin’. Go get you something to eat before those men make their way down the line.” She nodded toward the buffet tables and laughed to herself.
“Actually, Miss Barb,” Greta went on, stalling nervously, “Mrs. Cook said I could see you about getting my contract?” She hated that it came out like a question, but, well, it was awkward to have to prompt her employers. At previous districts, the contract was available well before Greta began working. There she was, half a day in and not yet on the payroll. She licked her lips.
“Oh, right. Yes, well, I haven’t gotten it down from the district office yet. Why don’t we check together right after the in-service today? Will that be all right?”
Greta flashed a smile. “Sure!”
***
The afternoon training meant a brief goodbye from Luke, which was okay. She could use the distance to really think about the rental and if she really wanted to make a go of entering into an agreement with someone she was... well, attracted to.
English department meetings, grade level meetings, and then classroom work time whirred by. Come quarter to three, Greta was exhausted. Mainly, she’d thumbed her way through the book closet that spread between her room and the other English teacher’s. Ideas for unit plans and lessons took shape in her imagination. She jotted notes onto a whiteboard that sat propped up against the doorway. Shakespeare was questionable at that age, but they did have copies of Twelfth Night, which might work. More interesting than that were volumes of Poe and an Agatha Christie title. The hint of excitement was starting to creep in where dread formerly lived, fluttering like butterflies in her stomach and her heart. Maybe Middle School wouldn’t be too bad, after all.
Still, unease persisted not in Greta’s heart but in her head. If there was one thing she’d taken from her time in Indianapolis... her time with Kadan, it was that words (and even fine diamonds) were never enough. Promises were not enough. Deals... not enough.
Closing the door to the book closet, Greta took up her satchel and the tote in which she had neatly stowed her New Teacher Packet and every single handout from the day. Then, she left to find Miss Barb.
“I was just coming by to scoop you on up and sweep you upstairs, dear heart.” The portly, kind secretary waddled down the hall toward Greta, who smiled with relief.
The district office hung squarely on the second floor of Hickory Grove Middle School’s building, convenient and intimidating, to be sure.
Greta remembered as a child once glimpsing the superintendent escaping from the second floor down to the parking lot, like Bigfoot or some legend. She shuddered even now at the thought. They climbed the stairs together, side by side, Miss Barb pausing every few steps to catch her breath.
Once they made it upstairs, Greta inspected the hallowed space. Blown-up photographs of Hickory Grove students from yesteryear glimmered from behind their frames, staring from the past at Greta, pulling her back to ancient history. A time when her mother was alive. A student there, probably.
An invisible magnetic force pulled her toward the images.
“Hello-ooo!” Barb yodeled at the barren front desk.
Greta turned around and followed the woman’s searching gaze down a seemingly empty corridor.
“Hmm.” Barb tapped a long, painted fingernail on the wooden desk. She appeared to be considering whether to breach the invisible barrier between her station as a school secretary and the world of district leadership. “They don’t usually leave until five,” she went on, offering a sympathetic smile. “Probably in a meeting, dear.”
Greta checked her wristwatch. She had promised to follow Luke to The Hickory Grove Inn at three sharp. She had his number. She could cancel. But should she?
Or should she trust that a contract was drawn up, ready for her signature, waiting on someone’s desk just yards away?
“That’s all right, Miss Barb.” Greta shrugged happily. “I’m sure I can get it tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere.”
But as she said it, her stomach churned. Her mind flitted back to Kadan again. The broken promises of pr
incipals who’d assured her that her sub gig would turn into a full-time classroom position. Then again, she hadn’t exactly heard from any other school anywhere she had applied.
Plus, she had a date now. A date with a bed-and-breakfast and the house next door and the man who owned it. The man who needed her help.
Chapter 16—Luke
Luke had exactly one hour before practice. One hour to woo Greta. Not necessarily into taking on the house, either. Sitting next to her all morning had rattled his brain and stirred his heart to life. Gone was the fleeting temptation to bounce out of Hickory Grove. Gone was the fear about what would become of the bed-and-breakfast. In fact, he wasn’t too concerned what would become of it at all. He’d figure it out. He would. Even football felt a little less important.
All Luke could think about now was being close to Greta again, even if just for an hour.
She appeared from the side door. Her large, preppy leather satchel overpowering her frame, Greta strode taller in matching leather sandals—were they high heels? He didn’t know the slightest thing about women’s fashion. He’d never taken notice! Now, everything about her mattered, even her shoes. If Luke didn’t know any better, he’d say he was falling for the girl.
Unfortunately, he was at risk for complicating matters. Serious risk. Maybe, though, that didn’t matter. So long as Greta found a safe place in town where she could hang her satchel and slip out of her leather high-heeled sandal shoes. A place for her to take care of... that would make him happy. Even if their growing flirtation went nowhere, it could be a good idea. It could be good for her, even. Especially, if the rumor was true.
If she was mending a broken heart. Something he knew little about but which he wasn’t afraid of. At least, he wasn’t afraid of other people’s broken hearts.
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