“I know Miss Collins isn’t like Gemma’s kindergarten teacher,” Danielle said. “She’s been super sweet with Gemma all year, very patient and understanding, but I can’t help being a little nervous about it.”
She stopped in front of Gemma’s silent classroom, hesitating before walking through the door. Isaac turned to look at her. “There’s nothing to worry about, sis.” He placed a hand on her forearm. “She is one happy, smart kid. The partnership between you and Miss Collins has only helped that.” He had a hard time getting Danielle to look him in the eye. “Gemma is surrounded by people who care about her. Yes, this is hard right now, but it won’t be forever. You’ve got her the help she needs; you’ve made great parenting decisions—”
Isaac patted her arm to emphasize his words and to get her to look up. She was thinking of her stupid ex-husband, Evan, who blamed the whole selective mutism issue on Danielle. If only she would believe the good about herself as easily as she believed Evan’s harsh criticisms. If she had PTSD from anything, it was Evan. “Come on.” He turned resolutely to face the door. “We’ve got this.”
Maddie Collins, Gemma’s first-grade teacher, turned from the side counter where she’d been distributing classwork into manila folders with students’ names on them. “Welcome.” She drew them in with a wide smile and a wave of her hand. “Welcome to the countdown.” She laughed self-consciously and picked up the folder with Gemma’s name. “I probably shouldn’t admit I’m as excited as the kids are for the end of school this year.”
“Of course you’re anxious for summer vacation.” Danielle dismissed Maddie’s concern with a wave of her hand. “Having a wedding to look forward to will do that to a person.”
Maddie blushed pink and placed her left hand on her chest, her engagement ring sparkling with newness. “That might have everything to do with it. I love my kiddos, but . . .”
“We totally get it,” Danielle assured her.
Like a guy tricked into watching a sappy movie, Isaac remained a silent observer, removed from the conversation. On the one hand was Maddie Collins, so immersed in the throes of shiny new love Isaac had to wonder if she had an inkling of the trials ahead for the happy couple. On the other hand was Danielle, her own relationship dulled by rusty blame until it broke apart completely. It was enough to dissuade Isaac from ever wanting to take a chance on love. In fact, if love were permanent, he wouldn’t even have been here with his sister. Not that he didn’t want to support her, but it hardly felt fair to Gemma that Uncle Isaac was here instead of her own father.
No matter what everyone wanted you to think, love sucked.
And yet, even amidst the patina of a marriage gone bad, Danielle was giving love another shot with Cody. What did these two women know—what did they feel—that Isaac had never experienced?
Following Maddie’s lead, the three of them settled around a semicircular table at the back of the classroom. “I’m so glad you suggested this visit,” Maddie said, her professionalism settling around her so much that Isaac found himself thinking of her as Miss Collins again. “Gemma has done so well this year.” She clasped her hands over the folder. If she hadn’t led with what she did, Isaac might wonder if she was protecting them from something. “She and I have taught each other a lot. I feel lucky to have had the opportunity to teach her.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Isaac noticed Danielle lower her purse to the floor from where she’d clutched it in her lap and then lean forward slightly. Isaac, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair. Maybe he wasn’t needed here after all.
Miss Collins waved her arm, indicating the arrangement of the classroom. All of the desks were paired, and each had a laminated strip at the top with five boxes—red, green, a question mark, a light bulb, and RR. “You might remember I showed you the laminated idea card at the beginning of the year. The counselor thought it would help Gemma communicate with me, but I wasn’t really seeing any indication that she understood what I was looking for until I made cards for everyone—and you know what? It’s been kind of nice to have them. That way, I can see from a glance who is understanding and who is not.”
She pointed at the strip on the nearest desk. “As long as I can tell which one they mean, the students can use anything to mark their box—an eraser, a pencil, their finger. Green means either yes to a question or that they are understanding the concept I am teaching. Red means no or I don’t get it. The question mark means they have a question—most of the students raise hands at this point to ask, but in the last few weeks, Gemma has actually become brave enough to point to it if she doesn’t want to ask through Callie, so I do my best to explain things another way until she moves to green.”
As Maddie went on about the accommodations in place to help Gemma, Isaac looked around the classroom. In his hazy memory, he could see Brooke leaning over his spiral, drawing a simple daisy on the corner with a pink marker in a room much like this one. “What are you doing?” he’d demanded, frustrated to have anything girly on his notebook. “It’s my logo,” she’d said, and Isaac had been so confused at the term, he’d forgotten to protest.
The room now was painted in cheerier colors than the drab off-white he remembered, and the desks were oriented differently. However, when he looked out the window at the large cottonwood just to the right of the room, he couldn’t be certain, but it was possible Isaac had met Brooke in this very room. They’d been young, he knew that. Whether it was this room or not, it was in this building that they’d first become friends, and now he was here, thinking about her again all these years later.
He turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. Miss Collins was still explaining about the communication card at the top of the desks. “I was so excited when she used the light bulb the other day. As soon as I saw she was pointing to that, I stopped and had the students talk to their partner about the lesson. From what Callie reported later, Gemma made an important connection between two concepts. I was so proud of her.”
“I like that you are using them for the whole class,” Danielle said.
“It certainly seems to have helped Gemma. My theory? I think she felt singled out before, and with anxiety like hers, that’s almost as intimidating as having to speak. But when it’s everyone . . .”
Danielle nodded. “Is she speaking to anyone else other than Callie?”
Miss Collins shook her head. “I might have gotten a partial nod last week.” She grinned as if she’d been bestowed the royal nod. “She does read to Callie, though, and that seems like a great fit for both of them. I can see in her eyes when she knows the answers, and I tell her I know she’s answering in her head. I would love for Gemma to be able to share her ideas with the rest of the class. She’s not there yet, but she’ll get there someday, I’m sure.”
The parent-teacher conference moved forward with Miss Collins going over the assessments and drawings in the folder. Hypnotized by the flashing of Maddie’s diamond ring, Isaac lost track of what the two were talking about. As much as he loved his niece and wanted to be there for his sister, Isaac found himself thinking about his new favorite distraction—Brooke. She was the first person who made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could ever allow himself to get carried away in the fun of a new relationship. But that was all hypothetical. They were friends. Had been since they were ten.
Chapter Seven
Can I borrow a cup of sugar? Isaac texted Brooke a few days later.
This having a bet with her about Cody and Danielle had started out as a great way to reconnect, and reconnect they had. While they hadn’t run into each other face to face since Graham’s, Isaac and Brooke talked and texted on the phone almost every day. Conversations ranged from Brooke asking him if the Redrocks were in town, which would have been a great date if they had been, to celebrating the demise of the last slush pile hiding in the bushes at his house. He’d even sent a celebratory video of him boot-stomping it until it was gone.
It’ll cost you. If you’re making something go
od, I want some.
He loved how she usually texted back right away as if he were the most important person in her life.
If you want, I could cook it at your house. What are you up to?
What if she said yes? Isaac scrambled to figure out what he could do with a cup of sugar. The question had been more of a pretext to start the conversation, maybe finagle a way to see her, than actual necessity. Wasn’t that the typical item to borrow? Either that or an egg. Isaac grumbled to himself. If only he’d asked for that, dinner would have been easier to figure out. A cup of sugar meant baking.
Spring planting. Want to help? Brooke responded.
Sure. Do I still have to cook? I could bring sandwiches instead.
You have yourself a deal.
That was one of the many things Isaac liked about Brooke—she was easy-going and happy about everything. She wasn’t even going to seize the opportunity to call him out on the cup of sugar. She was just so unexpected. Someone might observe her always-pulled-together look and assume she wasn’t a hard worker, but he liked that she was willing to get dirty.
But was he? Isaac hadn’t exactly been the work on the farm type. Growing up in town as the son of an academic and a businessman, Isaac didn’t know the difference between a spade and a shovel, and he’d never be interested enough to care. But for Brooke? He was willing to learn.
As quickly as he could, Isaac rummaged through his closet until he found an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt. After changing out of his suit and tie from work, he threw together some pitas with some leftover grilled chicken, provolone cheese, pesto, cucumber, and sprouts he had in his fridge, adding tomato only to his since he knew Brooke wasn’t a fan. He wrapped them in wax paper and was out the door less than thirty minutes after leaving the office. Even if he got muddy and cold or his back hurt from digging in the dirt, it sounded a heck of a lot better than sitting at home in his quiet house. Besides, he needed to find out if Brooke had any updates on the saga between his sister and her brother. Or so he told himself.
A few minutes later, they were eating the pitas, lounging in the dusty chairs on her back patio.
“The nice thing about an herb garden is that most of it comes back on its own.” Brooke handed Isaac a water bottle and twisted the cap off her own. “In fact, when I first moved here, I was so upset that I had parsley instead of cilantro, I tried to kill it.” She motioned to a robust patch of it, a good six inches high already. “I never use it.” She pointed to another part of the yard. “But I do have my cilantro now. As well as mint and thyme and rosemary and basil.”
“And you know what to do with all of them?” Isaac looked at her skeptically.
“Except the parsley.” Brooke gave the patch an evil eye. “I still don’t want it.”
The woman was nuts—in a good way. She always had been very entertaining.
“So what’s on the docket, then?” he asked, using lame trial humor she probably wouldn’t even notice because it was so cliché.
“Before I can do my planting, we need to do some clearing out.” Brooke took a bite of her pita and chewed slowly, allowing her eyes to flutter. “This is so good.” She opened her eyes again, nodding toward his. “Thank you for remembering no tomato on mine.”
“Of course.” It was no big deal, but the way she was looking at him felt like she might think otherwise. His heart skipped in a syncopated rhythm. He needed to change the subject. “How was work?”
“Wonderful.” Brooke wiped her lips with her napkin, bringing his attention to her pink lips and perfect teeth. He knew what she looked like before braces. Even then she’d been cute. “Apparently Darcy had her baby. The sheriff’s office called and ordered flowers to be sent to Officer Gaines at his wife’s room at the hospital. Of course Benny and Darcy are all excited about their little deputy, deputy sheriff. With as much love showered on this baby, you might think she’s the first, not the second in two years.” She let out a laugh. “They are so adorable.” Brooke watched Isaac before turning the question on him. “How was your day?”
Would it ruin her mood to tell her the truth? He didn’t want to sound like a downer, but she had asked. Perhaps sharing his concerns would dispel the gloom that so often settled around him on days like this. “Today was my trial day.”
She must not have noticed the solemnity in his voice, because she asked excitedly how it had gone. “Did you win?”
“Yes.” He sighed, long and hard, and the exchange of air felt good but didn’t take away the feeling. “I suppose I should feel better about that. I used to. But lately I’ve realized I’ve lost some of the joy of winning in divorce court. When families are split like this, it seems people rarely win.”
“Profound.” Brooke studied him, probably waiting to see if he would expound.
“I guess lately I’ve been paying more attention, and I’m losing faith in marriage. It seems every marriage I know has eventually failed.” Why was he being so honest when he could disguise this with a little humor?
“Occupational hazard, I guess,” Brooke said, “because lately I’ve been realizing how many have lasted.” The thought shocked him enough to jar his perceptions. That was exactly true. Of course, he was only seeing the bad ones and she the good. “Springtime brings a lot of wedding anniversaries—nice for me, of course, to keep me busy, but I’m also always amazed at how many people have made it twenty, thirty, and even forty years or more and are extremely happy together.”
Isaac finished his pita and nodded. “I like that about you. You see the good in everything.”
The compliment seemed to bring a twinkle to Brooke’s eyes. “And you, not so much,” she teased.
“Whatever. But thanks for the perspective check.” He held a hand out for Brooke’s plate. She wadded her napkin and tossed it on top before handing it over. “You just keep sharing your joy with everyone; you might be able to balance all the misery I unleash into the world.”
“Hey now.” Brooke stopped him with her harsh tone. “None of that. You are just doing your job. Whether you worked divorces or not, people would still get them. They might as well have someone who cares in their corner, someone who will make sure things are fair. You look out for those who need help.”
Warm relief rushed through him. Brooke got him—truly understood what made him tick—and seemed to actually appreciate that about him. He hadn’t realized just how worried he’d been, yet there were no snide remarks about sharks or crazy lawyer jokes.
Brooke stood and stretched out her back. “Ready?” She picked up a pair of leather work gloves and waved them in his direction. “I’d offer you a pair, but I’m assuming your hands are bigger than mine.”
“Let me see.” Isaac stepped over to Brooke, his nearly six-foot frame not necessarily towering over her 5’6”, but enough taller that she looked petite and feminine next to him. He picked up her free hand, extending her fingers as he spread his palm against hers. “Yeah, the gloves might not fit,” he whispered, his voice husky. A tingle ran through him as he bent the tips of his fingers over her smaller ones. “But I can deal with a little dirt under my nails.” He forced some playfulness back into his voice—anything to mask the attraction that had grabbed him by the stomach. He didn’t want Brooke to know. Not yet. Not until he was sure she was feeling the same way. He couldn’t risk the rejection again when they’d only now become reacquainted. Until then, he’d just enjoy having his best friend back, because losing that—her friendship—wasn’t worth the risk.
* * *
Brooke’s heart pounded in her chest as she stepped back and pulled on the gloves, collecting herself. She’d been that close to Isaac before, many times, but never with that kind of reaction. When he’d placed his palm to hers, every one of her cells awakened with a latent desire she hadn’t thought about in months.
She walked toward the next patch of dirt she’d started breaking up before Isaac got there. “A lawyer with dirt under his nails? Even in Cobble Creek, I think that might be looked down up
on.”
Isaac beat her to the shovel standing up in the middle of the ground. He grasped the handle and started digging without looking at her. Her heart sank. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off. His friendship over the past few weeks had contributed greatly to her happiness, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. “It gives me a good excuse to go pay Connie a visit down at the salon,” he said.
Brooke eyed him from behind. Unable to see his face, she didn’t know if he was teasing her. Connie was well-known as Cobble Creek’s flirt, and even though she had no say in the matter, a seed of jealousy rankled in Brooke’s chest. “You get manicures?” She could handle it as long as it wasn’t an excuse to see Connie.
Isaac raised both arms as if lifting a barbell overhead in a mock military press, probably to prove his manliness. With his broad shoulders and chest and his flat abs, she could see him in a gym more easily than dwarfing a salon chair. “Expectation of the profession. Lawyers have enough of a reputation of being dirty—I can’t give anyone even a subliminal hint that I am.”
Brooke laughed at that. “Come on, pretty boy, let’s get some work done.” As if he weren’t already doing that.
The two of them fell into an easy rhythm of digging and weeding, teasing and talking. The spring sun warmed Brooke’s skin in the promise of the summer weather to come—ice cream cones, fireworks, lazy days at the lake—all things she loved, but the laughs she and Isaac shared sent her soaring with happiness.
The Practically Romantic Groom (Cobble Creek Romance Book 2) Page 6
