Must Be a Mistake

by Fiona West

  “Can you swing by the school tomorrow and look at it?” He knew Philip was off, and he could sacrifice some sleep to do this for her.

  “Sure, man.” Philip turned to Winnie and Daniel. “How about you guys? What’s new with you?” he asked, looking at the couple, and Kyle felt himself grimace. Were they so joined at the hip now that he couldn’t even ask them individually? They had to be a unit all the time? Even now, sitting on the couch, they were as close as close could be.

  Daniel put down his orange pop bottle and rubbed his palms on his khaki pants. “We kind of have an announcement, actually.” The TV was already muted, but Kyle had the impulse to turn it off. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this. Everyone quieted, waiting.

  “You guys know the old Foster place? Hattie told me it’s going up for sale. We’re going to put an offer on it.”

  “Hey, that’s great, you guys!” Philip stood up to give Winnie a hug and shake Daniel’s hand. Kyle stayed where he was, his eyes fixed on the screen again. Was it suddenly colder in here? That made no sense; there were more people here than usual. Their body heat should be contributing to the temperature of the room in a positive way, not the opposite . . .

  “It’s a little closer to the hospital, right?” Maggie asked. “You’d have plenty of room for kids, too.” Kyle felt his body tightening, like someone was turning a key in his back, winding him tighter and tighter inside, the pressure growing unbearable.

  “Scheming for more nieces and nephews already?” Daniel smirked, and she grinned at him as Winnie blushed a little.

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with my kids?” Philip asked, throwing his arms wide. Kyle couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Excuse me,” Kyle said, jumping up and heading upstairs.

  “Hey,” Daniel called after him. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder, fighting to keep his voice steady. And he would be. No matter how much he was freaking out inside, this was his house. He couldn’t leave guests down there alone, even if they were his family. Kyle closed his door quietly and sat down on the edge of his bed, unable to keep himself from rocking forward and backward. It was better than jumping; they’d hear jumping on these old floors.

  This was out of order. Daniel had said he was staying until their wedding in January. This was only the end of September. September. Even if the house took a while to close, he’d still be leaving early. He was breaking his promise. Kyle felt that two sides of him had drawn rapiers, masked and ready to fence with each other. The brotherly side, the side that cared about Daniel, had an offense prepared: This is a good thing. Winnie is good for Daniel; you wanted to see your brother get married and have a family. A family you’ll be part of. That part insisted that he would still see Daniel, that this was the start of something and not the end.

  But the other side, the scared side, parried back: He’s breaking his word. He doesn’t care what he told you, because he doesn’t care about you. He’ll say that you’ll see each other, but he’s putting Winnie ahead of you. He’s changing plans without even talking to you. He used to tell you stuff. Now he tells her.

  Still rocking because the stimulation felt necessary, Kyle snapped at his brain to shut up: he didn’t believe that. They were still close. They would still be close. Change was just hard, it was always hard, hard, hard. It was hard when he went to college; he pushed back. Change was hard when he moved into this house, but he got through it. Change was hard with every new school year, every new soccer team, but every time, he found a new equilibrium, a new . . . A quiet knock at his bedroom door made him go still.

  “What?”

  “You okay in there?” Daniel asked, his voice muffled by the wood.

  “Yes.” He felt bad about the amount of disdain that leaked into his tone and tried to soften it. “I’m fine. I said I’ll be down in a minute.”

  He could feel his brother hesitating, deciding if he believed him. “Okay. I know we both have to get to work soon, and Winnie just got called in for a birth if you want to say goodbye.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute.” He waited until his brother’s footsteps faded before he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Oh, good. Something new to worry about.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  COOPER WAS QUIET ALL morning. He didn’t poke at Harmony during morning calendar. He didn’t get up for five drinks of water during his small reading group. He didn’t talk when she was giving directions. In other words, something was obviously very wrong. Ainsley pulled him aside as they went outside to morning recess.

  “Hey, Coop. How are you?”

  He shrugged, eyes on the carpet.

  “You having a good day?”

  He nodded, but he dug the toe of his sneaker into the thin pile, kicking at it. She knelt to see him better.

  “Because if you weren’t, we could talk about it. Might make you feel better.” He launched himself at her so hard, he nearly knocked her over.

  “She’s gone,” he sobbed. Ainsley rubbed his back, glancing around. They weren’t supposed to have a lot of physical contact with the students; she understood why, on a legal and abuse-prevention level, but at times like this, the rules clearly did not apply.

  “Who’s gone, sweetheart?”

  “O-O-Orangesicle. She ran away.”

  “Your kitty ran away? Oh, that’s so sad. Honey, I’m so sorry.” She squeezed him tighter as he cried. She didn’t shush him. She whispered that it would be okay, that they would find her, that she was probably just exploring the woods and she’d be back in a day or two when she got hungry—all the things parents had been telling children about lost pets for hundreds of years.

  His tears slowed, his breathing became more steady, and he wiped his face without shame. “I hope she comes back. I can’t sleep without her.”

  “I hope so, too. I tell you what, if you want to make some posters during journal time, I’d be fine with that. I’ll even make you some copies to hang up on the way home. How does that sound?”

  “I’m gonna start now . . . Miss B, can I use your orange crayon? I lost mine.”

  “Sure, honey. My box is under my desk.” It was too big to fit inside. She used it as a reward from time to time. Surely a lost kitty counted as trauma worthy of two hundred available colors.

  She looked online for a lost cat poster they could print out and color, and it only took about thirty seconds. But Cooper insisted that those cats weren’t a close enough facsimile of his cat, and his drawing would provide a better likeness of her. He worked quietly, dedicated to his task, right up until lunch. She made him take a break: even brokenhearted artists needed sustenance. But his sad moment had prompted a deeper ache inside her: Ainsley wanted to be a mother. She’d been denying it for some time now, telling herself that her students were enough for her, but it wasn’t true. She wanted to be able to hug her kids without worrying about the legal ramifications or whether someone would take it the wrong way. She was staring off into space, still deep in thought, when Starla rapped on her classroom door.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure,” she said, shaking herself back to the present. “Ready for lunch?”

  “Been craving Annie’s burgers all day . . .”

  “Great. Let’s go get it, girl. Grab that box for me, will you, Star?” Ainsley asked. “Just out to the car for me?”

  “Sure.” She rummaged through the top of its contents as they walked. “Spoons? Bowls?”

  “We had a birthday,” Ainsley explained. “I don’t like to use the throw-away stuff, so I got some random ones at the thrift store, and it’s easier to just stick it all in the dishwasher at home.”

  “Except then you have to drag it all the way home and all the way back . . .”

  Ainsley grinned. “Nope, I got someone else to drag it for me.”

  Starla rolled her eyes, then stopped on the curb. “Where’s your car?”

  “It’s in the back,” Ainsley said, digging around i
n her purse for her keys. “I like to let the parents have the spots close up. I don’t like kids wandering through the parking lot after . . .” She stopped. “Wait, where’s my car?”

  The women stood in the middle of the parking lot. They looked at each other. They looked at Ainsley’s usual spot, empty. They looked at each other again.

  “Could someone have borrowed it?” Starla asked, shifting the heavy box higher against her hip as if it were a child. That felt like something that would happen around here. Her dad had had quite a few calls as a cop where it ended up that a friend or relative had just borrowed a car because it was unlocked. But hers had been locked; she was sure of it.

  “No, I don’t . . . I don’t think so.”

  “Who would steal your car right out of the school parking lot? That’s fairly audacious,” Starla said, turning back toward the building. “Do you have security cameras or anything?”

  Ainsley followed, shaking her head. “Just on the front of the school. Intruder awareness and all that.” She sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll be eating candy for lunch and spending my free time on the phone with our beloved Officer Painter . . .” Their friend Lizzie was the newest member of the sheriff’s office.

  “Sorry,” Starla said, and she looked like she meant it as she passed Ainsley the box. “Let’s just take my car.”

  “No”—Ainsley waved away the offer—“I’ve got food. I’ll be fine. You can give me a ride home tonight, though, if you want. I was going to walk your kids down anyway.” She sighed again. “And I’ll have to cancel all my meetings and stuff unless I can borrow Winnie’s car, provided she’s not working.” Ainsley groaned. “So much for our lunch date.”

  “Bummer.” Starla nodded somberly. “Why don’t you call Kyle? I’m sure he’d run you around if he’s off.”

  “I think he works tonight, so he might be asleep.”

  “Just text him. This is what partners are for, right?” Are we partners, though? There was a touch of irony in the statement, and Ainsley wasn’t sure if Starla realized it.

  “Here, I’ll take the box back. Thanks, Star.”

  “Good luck,” she said over her shoulder as she headed to her car.

  Ainsley texted with her thumb as she lugged the box and her large bag back inside.

  Ainsley: Some jerkface stole my car. Can you believe that?

  Kyle: No, he just moved it where the ground was level.

  Ainsley: What? Who did?

  Kyle: My brother. I asked him to fix your door.

  Kyle: You’re welcome.

  Annoyance didn’t begin to describe it. Ainsley stalked back into her classroom and shoved the box behind her desk. Gretchen B. was digging around in her desk, her small face hidden behind the open top. Ainsley took a deep breath and tried to calm down before she spoke to her.

  “You’re supposed to be at lunch, kiddo,” she gently chided.

  “I know, but I just wanted to show Devin my new—”

  “Whatever it is, it can wait until after lunch. Now scoot.”

  “But Miss B—”

  “Gretchen!” she snapped. “Go. Now.” The crestfallen look on the child’s face told her that she’d gone too far, but the girl darted from the room before she could say anything more. Her phone dinged.

  Kyle: I didn’t think you used it during the day.

  Kyle: You’re not saying anything.

  Kyle: I was doing a nice thing . . . and it was really easy to break into it with the door broken.

  He added a smirk emoji. That does it. Ainsley calmly silenced her phone, opened her top desk drawer, dropped it inside, and slammed the drawer shut. She’d had enough of that conversation for one afternoon. She was officially over this day.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SURE ENOUGH, AFTER school, her truck was right where it belonged, with a little something extra on the hood: a nervous doctor and his nephew. Kyle hopped down, tossing his keys to himself.

  “I moved your car back.”

  Ainsley marched directly to the driver’s side door, Aiden and Emily right behind her. She opened the door for them, watching them slide across; they could ride without boosters this one time. She vaulted herself into the driver’s seat, tossing her bag at their feet. Her grading slipped out and fluttered to the floor of the truck, which was cleaner than usual. Come to think of it, the outside was cleaner, too. Did he detail her funky old truck? You can’t buy your way out of this one, Durand.

  “Did you have a good day?”

  She breathed a humorless laugh. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I had to miss lunch with my friend, we are concerned about the lost kitty situation, and I thought my car had been stolen. So my day su—” Her gaze fell to Cooper. “. . . uh, stunk.”

  “Got your truck door fixed, though. That’s good, right?”

  Ainsley shook her head slowly. He obviously was not getting what he’d done wrong, but she wasn’t about to get into it with him in the school parking lot. Her silence seemed to upset him. His expression grew stormy, his eyebrows snapping together.

  “You said the barrier to fixing your car was money; I got it done for free. What’s the problem?”

  Ainsley closed her eyes as her temper flared up like a grease fire. Smother it. Just don’t give it air. “Dr. Durand, I am at work. This is not a discussion for my place of business.”

  “When, then?”

  “Pardon?”

  He shifted restlessly, his hands on his hips. “Coop, go wait in the car, bud.” The boy trudged off as Ainsley watched to make sure he wasn’t going to get hit, even though the parking lot was mostly empty. “When are we going to discuss it?” he repeated. “I’m headed to work soon.”

  “I know.”

  “So?”

  She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “So I don’t know when we’re going to discuss it, because I don’t know when I’ll see you next.” And I’m still mad at you for messing with my car to prove a point. “You guys buckled?” she asked the kids, and both nodded.

  Kyle stared at her for a long moment. “No. That doesn’t work for me. I need a date and time.”

  She started her engine. “Life’s hard, then you die.”

  “Ainsley,” he growled, but the noise of the engine drowned out whatever else he was going to say as she pulled out of the spot, satisfied at having the last word. Her feeling of superiority was short-lived, because Kyle pulled out of the parking lot directly behind her. Instead of turning right toward Philip’s, he turned left to cross the bridge into the heart of town.

  What the . . . Is he chasing me? She gave him two more blocks to do the sane thing and turn around. He didn’t. She glared at him in her rearview mirror, then pulled into the library parking lot to let the Miller kids out, and he pulled up next to her. They both rolled down their windows.

  “What the . . . heck, Kyle?” He still had Cooper in the back, who was watching them, wide-eyed. “Are you following me?”

  “You said we couldn’t talk about this at work. We’re not at work now. Just tell me what I did wrong. Please.”

  Ainsley groaned and tipped forward to let her forehead hit the steering wheel. He was obviously not going to give up. “Come to my house. Go drop off Cooper and then come back.”

  “They feed me dinner . . .”

  “I’ll feed you. Just . . .”

  “Okay.” He backed out of his spot, and Ainsley sat there for a few moments, trying to figure out why she’d capitulated so easily. It wasn’t like she enjoyed holding grudges, but she usually at least waited until her temper had cooled before she tried to talk it over. She heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel and turned her head to see Starla peering into the truck.

  “Hey, you got your truck back.”

  “Kyle . . . borrowed it to get it fixed.”

  “I see.” She pursed her lips like she was holding back a smile.

  “What, Star? Just say it.”

  “That was rather possessive of him.”

  A
insley snorted. “You can say that again.”

  “A hot, neurodiverse alpha hero is wooing you, hon. This probably won’t be the last time he stomps on your boundaries without realizing it. Just explain it to him. Calmly, if possible. They don’t love yelling.” Starla’s brother-in-law Jason had ADD and might be on the autism spectrum as well, and they hadn’t always gotten along at first. Ainsley knew the advice was good.

  “I don’t, either.” She sighed. “Okay. I’m off to make pancakes for my . . .” How did she want to finish that sentence? Friend? Boyfriend? Best friend’s brother? Trailer make-out construction buddy? “. . . for my alpha hero.”

  But on the short drive home, she suddenly realized that wasn’t quite right: Kyle wasn’t a romance hero, Kyle was a dragon. She’d read, watched and listened to Lord of the Rings enough times that she should’ve seen it immediately. He was protective, intelligent, and often lacked commonly accepted manners. But when he found a treasure, he added it to his cache and let no one touch it. He certainly did seem concerned about her safety.

  Ainsley had just put the bacon in the oven when there was a quiet knock at the door.

  “Come in,” she yelled, and Kyle’s dark head poked into the room. “Hey.”

  He closed the door and silently slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Kyle drummed his fingers on the counter incessantly, watching her work.

  “So about earlier,” she started, but he held up a hand.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She glanced up at him from the batter she was pouring onto the griddle. “For?”

  “I talked to Philip, and he said I shouldn’t have fixed your car without asking, which now that I reflect on it, does make sense. I just saw a problem, wanted it solved, and I had the means to do so. I didn’t think about how it might inconvenience you or violate your sense of safety. And for that, I am sorry.”

  She crossed her arms playfully over her stomach and raised an eyebrow. “But not for actually fixing it?”

  His gaze slid sideways, his dark eyes thoughtful, and his brow wrinkled. “No. I can’t be sorry for that. You shouldn’t drive around with a broken door. It’s not—”