by C J Burright
For the first time that week, she almost smiled.
Chapter Four
The power-eating, whiteout, carnival-canceling blizzard Adara had hoped for left only a worthless dusting, nothing to slow a crowd. She joined the mob of bobbing and weaving children with stained hands, big eyes and even bigger voices and navigated to the sidelines, where the fifth-grade teacher and current security overseer, Olivia, argued with a parent.
“I don’t make the rules, Mr. Vergara.” Olivia’s jowls wobbled with each word and she looked ready to stab Mr. Vergara with the crochet needles she always kept handy. “Billy violated rule twelve—”
Mr. Vergara stormed away, muttering words in Spanish that definitely violated school language policy, a wailing Billy in tow.
“You’re two minutes late,” Olivia crowed above the surround-sound cacophony, the buzz of too many people stuffed in one place. “Two eternal, torturous minutes.” She struggled out of the neon-green security vest and shoved the eye-burning garment into Adara’s arms. “The monsters are all yours, and I’m not talking about the kids. If I have to tell one more Mr. or Mrs. I’m Better Than You that they need to control their perfect child, my inner ninja will come out—and nobody wants that.”
Imagining the rotund woman cartwheeling in her gingham dress and flinging crochet needles like shrunken stars into the prim and proper behinds of a few football dads and their trophy wives inspired a small grin. “Great idea for our next fundraiser.”
Olivia laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and leaned near, close enough for Adara to count the ready-to-retire wrinkles around her eyes. “Honey, some things I don’t do for free, and the school couldn’t afford me.” She straightened and her eyes flared, usually a sign of gossip to be spilled. “I stumbled into your new music mentor in Austin’s office after school.”
Adara ground her molars.
“If you don’t have babies with him—”
“Not happening. Not with him or anyone else.” She added a growl to her tone and let her glare fly free. “I like being alone, and that’s never going to change. Ever. End of discussion.” Adara didn’t need nudges added to the knowing glances she already got in the breakroom. What was it with everyone trying to hook her up with Mr. Musicality?
“Just saying.” Olivia shrugged, clearly unfazed by her lingering Mr. T glower. “Good luck tonight. I have a date with my needles and a new spool of red for the sweater I’m making you. I’m tired of seeing you in black.” She bulldozed through the crowd toward the door.
“I like black,” Adara said to her retreating back. “It’s my happy color.”
Olivia waggled her fingers in farewell.
Adara took in the carnival layout. What a nightmare. Unchaperoned kids ran in all directions, chittering and screaming with handfuls of plastic prizes and balloons. It was a wonder there hadn’t been any bloodshed yet. Paint changed faces into clowns, tigers and demented fairies. Temporary hair dye added neon rainbows to tiny heads. Some of the more dutiful parents trailed their children or held hands while others huddled in their invitation-only cliques, dismissing the rules and letting their spawn run free.
Interactive games circled the gym and the stuffy air was choked with a junk food blend of buttered popcorn, hotdogs and grease. It was enough to clog her pores by simply breathing. In one corner, the ever-popular bouncy house shivered and huffed, as if possessed. Joey used to love climbing into the bouncy house with the kids. He’d refuse to come out until Gia threatened him.
She cast the memory away, refocusing on the here and now. What a way to spend her Friday night. She’d rather be studying the budget and figuring out how to keep her job.
Unwadding the security vest, Adara pulled the pink note stuck crookedly on the back of the mesh material. It read in rough, penciled handwriting ‘I want to marry Principal Austin’. Whichever brave kid had stuck this on Olivia’s back was lucky she hadn’t noticed. She shrugged into the garment, leaving the Velcro straps free. That made it easier to take it off and check for stray notes on her back.
“Miss Dumont!” Tatum, her best student despite the girl’s love for shenanigans aimed at whatever boy she happened to be crushing on, skidded to a stop. Purple replaced her golden hair, clashing with the green snake painted from her forehead to her chin. Its red tongue flickered between her eyebrows. No typical girly hearts or flowers for Tatum. “Look what I won!”
Adara accepted the stick of cotton candy from Tatum’s pink, sticky hands. “Aren’t you supposed to stay close to your parents?”
“I’m not with my parents.” She swiped the candy back, tore off a piece and stuffed it in her mouth. “Dad’s volunteering at the Potty Toss. Mom stayed home with baby G, so my uncle’s chap’roning.”
“Total chaperone fail.” She tweaked Tatum’s nose. “Tell your uncle to step it up.”
“It’s not really his fault. I waited until he helped Bryan with a game so I could chase Zachary.”
Zachary. Current Tatum crush. Third-grade romance was so simple—catch and release. “Did you snag him?”
“I cornered him at the cakewalk but he got away. He runs really, really fast. I’ll get him next time.” She grinned, a little scary with all those teeth and a snake coiled around half her face. Zachary was smart to run.
“No running in the gym, remember?”
Tatum shuffled her feet, pasting on an appropriate guilty look.
“Let’s track your uncle down before he gets into trouble for losing you.” She took the girl’s small, gluey hand. “Shall we?”
“We shall, Mr. Collins,” Tatum replied in a lofty tone, nose in the air and her cotton candy hand on her hip.
Adara pressed her lips together until the urge to smile passed. “You didn’t learn that in my class. Who teaches you these things?”
“Mom. We have Pride and Prejudice nights,” she said in a sing-song voice, “No boys allowed.”
“That’s…awesome.” She hadn’t been old enough to appreciate P and P with her mom before the car accident had taken both her parents, but she vaguely remembered snuggle sessions on the couch. She could imagine gushing with her mom over a bowl of popcorn, watching Mr. Darcy win Elizabeth over and over—the television version, not the movie.
Shaking off the if-only, she joined in the third-grade fantasy. “But I protest. I will not stand to be named Mr. Collins. He is a dolt, madam.”
Tatum giggled as they waited for some boys horsing around with balloons to get out of the way. “How about Kitty?”
“Kitty?” She snorted. “Please. She’s a follower, and don’t even suggest Mrs. Bennet or Lydia.”
Tatum twisted her mouth to one side. “What about Lady de Bourgh?”
Adara gasped, only partly pretending. Did Tatum really think she was as old and pompous as Lady Catherine? “How dare you?”
“All right.” Tatum added a skip to her step. “You’re Jane. You can’t be Lizzy, ’cause that’s me. But if you’re Jane,” Tatum said, her eyes narrowed, “you need a Mr. Bingley.”
“Indeed, I do not.”
The little girl jerked on her hand, surprisingly hard, towing her in a determined path. She cut off other kids and pushed through a knot of parents without slowing down.
Adara barely avoided colliding with a dad holding a giant stuffed neon-pink dinosaur under his other arm. She should hand her security vest over to Tatum. The girl had some serious authority going on. “Slow down, Tatum. We need to find your—”
“Uncle Garret!”
Garret.
The name clicked before Adara’s eyes could signal a warning to her brain, and there he was, the captain without his ship, Tatum’s brother Bryan at his side. He’d ditched his instrument, but his appearance hadn’t changed much—blond hair pulled neatly back, two-day stubble giving him the ruffian look, jeans with a few strategically placed holes, same black rocker boots and a more casual flannel over an abstract T-shirt. Today, he looked less like a pirate and closer to a panicked uncle who’d lost his niece in
wild-child chaos. The relief on his face almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost.
His gaze flicked from her to Tatum and back to her. “I almost didn’t recognize you in direct light without a monstrous reindeer bowing at your feet.”
Adara tried to subtly pry free of Tatum’s hold and escape, without success. How did she not know he was Tatum’s uncle? Maybe she should’ve paid more attention to her surroundings instead of blocking the Graywood small-town snoopiness whenever possible. After three years living here, she still hadn’t adjusted to it.
“Garret Ambrose, Tatum’s favorite uncle.” He held out his hand. If he thought his smile would soften her, he was sadly mistaken.
She hid a sigh, facing the inevitable. As of Monday, they’d be working together, and Austin had undoubtedly already told him her name. She couldn’t escape, but she didn’t have to play nice. “Adara Dumont.” She took his introduction in a quick shake and release, ignoring how his big hand swallowed hers. “Teacher extraordinaire.”
Tatum tugged on Garret’s shirt with her other hand, smearing pink cotton candy on the sleeve. “Miss Dumont’s Jane and I’m Lizzy.”
“Hey there, Lizzy.” He scratched his cheek and looked at Adara. “Jane?”
“You’re not family. You can’t use her first name.” Tatum performed a halfway decent curtsy. “Call her Miss Bennet, good sir.”
Bryan groaned and rolled his eyes. “Stupid Pride and Prejudice. How can anyone like that show? Except for the version with zombies. That one’s cool.” He held up a fist for Garret to bump.
Completely ignoring her brother, Tatum looked up at Garret, her blue eyes innocent and pleading. “Zachary’s my Mr. Darcy, but Jane needs her Mr. Bingley.”
No. Adara saw the train wreck coming at her but couldn’t move fast enough to get out of the way.
“Will you be Mr. Bingley, Uncle Garret? Puh-lease?”
“Sure.” Garret’s smile made a flashlight look dim.
“This particular Jane is on carnival security duty.” She met his gaze head-on. “She doesn’t want or need a Mr. Bingley.”
“Oh, come now, Miss Bennet. Every Jane needs her Charles,” Garret said.
Blast. He was familiar with Pride and Prejudice. Not helpful in her quest to dislike him.
Tatum’s persuasion tactics turned on her, those blue eyes huge in her elfin face, hopeful and pleading.
Adara stood firm beneath the assault. “On second thought, I choose Mary. With Mr. Collins married to Charlotte, no one else could meet her very particular standards.” She arched an eyebrow at Garret, which had no effect at all on his smile. “She preferred to be alone.”
“With her music,” he added.
“With her books.”
“Who cares?” Bryan gave Garret a look of betrayal. “You’re as bad as the girls.”
“I grew up with your mother. It twisted me.” He ruffled Bryan’s sandy hair. “But this matter must be settled.” He straightened to his full height and lifted his chin, imperious. “Miss Bennet, I propose a contest.”
“I accept!” Tatum jumped up and down, her cotton candy dangerously close to falling off its stick.
“My apologies, Miss Lizzy.” Garret planted his palm on Tatum’s head, holding her still. “I was challenging the other Miss Bennet.” Before Tatum’s crestfallen expression turned to tears, he added, “But, of course, you may join us. If I win, I shall be Mr. Bingley. If I lose, Miss Bennet shall remain unattached.”
Bryan groaned again and slouched. “Can I go get a hot dog?”
“Meet us at your dad’s game.” Garret forked out some cash and the boy dashed away.
“No running!” Adara dutifully called after him.
“I don’t believe he heard you.” He kept his tone smooth, but his mouth twitched in a poor attempt not to smile. He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
She eyed his arm, hoping she looked hostile. “I haven’t agreed to your challenge, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure the games are for the kids.”
Garret exchanged glances with Tatum, and as if they’d choreographed the move, Tatum broke into a chicken dance, flapping her wings, while Garret made loud clucking noises. Clearly, the entire family was mentally unstable and craved attention, no matter how it came about. Kids and adults alike paused to watch them. And I have to work with this insufferable man? As carnival security, Adara had the duty to escort disruptive attendees out, and as much as she’d love to kick Garret out of the door, Tatum and Bryan would have to go with him. She couldn’t do that to the kids.
“Fine,” she snapped. “Which game are you losing at?”
Tatum gave Garret a high-five. Jerks.
“The Potty Toss.” Garret gave her a sly look, so like Tatum’s it was uncanny. “Unless you prefer a more ladylike competition, such as the sumo wrestling ring.”
Fighting her way into one of those blow-up suits wasn’t happening, and rolling around with Garret Ambrose? Definitely not. She curled her lip. “The Potty Toss works.”
He offered his arm again, which she ignored again, and they weaved through the crowd toward the Potty Toss.
“Have you heard the good news?” Garret lifted his eyebrows at her. “I’m the new third-grade school music mentor. We’ll be working together.”
“I hoped if I ignored that nasty rumor, it would go away.” She forced her gaze on the Bozo contorting balloons into animals and the kids clamoring around him. Creepy clowns were preferable to musicians posing as pirates.
“I don’t go away that easily,” he said close to her ear.
“In her tell-all, Gia must have forgot to mention I have zero interest in the habits of music mentors.” She bared her teeth at him.
Garret had the grace to wince. “None of the blame belongs to Gia. Ian has a gift for persuasion…or coercion.” He cleared his throat. “His intentions were good.”
“Good intentions? Ian?” She snorted. “Right.”
He shrugged. “It happens more often than you’d think.”
Tatum’s father, Bob, manned the Potty Toss, a set-up of several toilet seats hanging from the ceiling at varying distances. The point was to throw rolls of toilet paper through the holes—the higher the seat, the higher the score. She had no idea who had thought up these twisted games.
“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and test your skills with the amazing Potty Toss!” As far as she knew, the carnival didn’t have a particular theme or costume requirement, but Bob went all out with a medieval faire vibe. Donning a multicolored tunic any gypsy would envy, high leather boots and what looked to be suede breeches, he topped it off with a hat spotlighting a long peacock feather.
“Tickets please, little miss,” he said to Tatum, his blue eyes sparkling, hand outstretched.
“Miss Bennet,” she corrected him in a snooty lady tone. “Although, I suppose you may call me Lizzy since you’re family.”
“Indeed. Even so, Miss Lizzy, I need a ticket before allowing you to play the great Potty Toss, where only skill and stamina will earn you a prize.”
Without looking back, Tatum snapped her fingers over her shoulder. “Mr. Bingley, three tickets.”
Bob’s smile switched to a disapproving frown. “Manners, Miss Lizzy.”
Tatum sighed. “Mr. Bingley, three tickets. Please.”
“Better,” Bob said as Garret fished three tickets from his pocket, grinning over the top of Tatum’s head. “Next time, no oppressed peasant sigh.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She huffed. “Can we play now?”
“First, we must name the stakes.” Garret handed a toilet paper roll to Tatum then Adara.
“You’re playing too, Miss Dumont?” Bob’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
Interaction Girl hadn’t been her MO since Joey. Last year, she hadn’t attended the carnival and no one had pushed her to volunteer, but she’d played tons of games the year before. Maybe everybody else had forgotten who she used to be too.
“Oh yeah, she’s playing.” Garret tossed his r
oll in the air.
“Not Miss Dumont, Daddy. Jane Bennet.” Tatum gave her father a serious look. “Uncle Garret’s trying to win so he can be her Mr. Bingley.”
Bob looked from Garret to Adara and back to Garret, his brow wrinkled in his ‘concerned father’ look.
Adara squeezed the soft tissue. Right. No one wanted their brother-in-law to be interested in the emotionally unavailable teacher. She got it, even agreed, but still… She hadn’t asked for any of this. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sullivan. He’s going to lose.”
“Fighting words, Miss Bennet.” Garret bumped her shoulder with his, almost making her stumble. “Want me to go first so you understand how truly overconfident you are?”
“Go ahead. Just don’t let the cheap toilet paper hurt those fragile violin fingers.”
His quick-fire grin appeared and the underlying dare awakened a mild echo of her sibling rivalry with Joey, although theirs had been much fiercer. It was her elbow that had broken Joey’s nose in a sheet music scuffle, not that he’d complained much afterward. All the girls seemed to love the permanent bump. She crushed the tissue, strangling the memory.
“Prepare to be courted Bingley-style.” Challenge glowing in his eyes, he lifted his gaze to the toilet seats hanging behind Bob. He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times and lobbed his roll at the highest ring. It missed.
Adara shook her head. Typical man… He didn’t even try for the lower one.
“I’ve got two more.” His tone was cool, confident.
“Can I try one first?” Tatum held her paper above her head and spun. Bob rescued the cotton candy as it flipped from her hand, catching it before it hit the gym floor. Score one for practiced dads everywhere.
“Go ahead, sweetheart.” Garret stepped beside Adara and tucked his hands behind his back as Tatum took her turn. “Missing once means nothing. It was a practice shot.”
“Whatever you say, Ambrose.” Adara shifted away from him, away from his heat and the faint nip of his citrusy cologne. Sadly, he didn’t smell like a pirate. “Not everyone has more than one skill.”
