When the song ended, Tate and Bunny pulled away naturally. She stared awkwardly at the ground.
“Thank you, Bunny,” Tate said. “For the dance.”
She looked up, surprised and elated that he knew her name. Then she did something completely out of character. Without a forethought, she took his hand in hers. “I’m sorry about Wendy,” she said.
He gave her hand a squeeze and walked away, through the doors of the party room and out of her life. She’d seen him in the halls a few times before school ended for summer and once at the Rustic Woods Summer Jamboree where he caught her eye and smiled, but after he went to college, she’d never seen him again. She heard through the grapevine that he had stayed in Charlottesville the full four years and then moved out of the state afterward, but that was the extent of her knowledge.
She’d gone on to other crushes and had a real boyfriend by the end of her own senior year. And of course there were men in college, her husband, and Russ, the firefighter, but none of them ever remained as strongly attached to her heart as the boy she’d barely known—Tate Kilbourn.
Bunny pulled herself from the recollection of the night that happened so, so many years ago. She flipped pages until she found the senior photos and zeroed in on Tate’s portrait. He’d always looked good, but he wore a suit with brilliance. Brown eyes sparkled from the page and that smile, wide and natural, made her heart melt. Below, his accomplishments were listed: National Honor Society, Football, Baseball, Spanish Club, Ski Club, Nature Club, Voted Most Likely to Save the World.
Tate Kilbourn had been an active guy. An outgoing guy. A guy whose smile captured people and wouldn’t let go. What had happened since high school to turn this social person into a man who preferred to be alone? He had a daughter—she’d met her at Fiorenza’s. Very pretty and very sweet. She knew that the girl was playing opposite Charlie in the high school musical, but Charlie wasn’t the biggest talker in the world. She could only imagine that if she asked him about the girl’s father, he’d roll his eyes and say, “How should I know?” Yet, she sure would like to know why he had a daughter, but didn’t wear a wedding ring.
Bunny closed the yearbook and put it aside, yawning. Her computer hummed across the room on its little desk, reminding her of something she wanted to do.
She sent a second email to the theater teacher, since she’d never received a reply to the first. She double-checked the email address from the website, just to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake with the original.
Her latest note mentioned the same ideas—that she would love to help out in any capacity needed. Then she added that she knew putting on a play must involve a lot of work and that a theater teacher couldn’t possible manage alone, so please let Bunny know how she could assist. “Have a wonderful day, Bunny Bergen, Charlie’s mom.” Send.
If Bunny didn’t hear back, she would try calling. After all, Bunny thought, as a teacher and director of a school musical, the woman was probably very busy and too overwhelmed to answer every email she received.
CHAPTER TEN
THE CONFERENCE ON PRESERVING VIRGINIA’S natural wildlife had been mildly informative. Tate wasn’t sure if he was glad he had decided to attend. His choice had been prompted by a need to steer clear of Bunny Bergen for a few days. He knew he couldn’t avoid her altogether, but hopefully a few days away would drain him of the insane desire that kept invading his thoughts like the bamboo roots he fought to contain in his backyard.
Yes, she was beautiful and sexy and everything any man would find attractive—that wasn’t what scared him. What terrified him to the bone was the realization that his feelings transcended pure lust. Lust he could handle. But there was something about Bunny: an innocence and a sincerity that tugged at him. Made him think beyond lust and reminded him of the other L word, and that’s what terrified him. It had been too long. He wasn’t ready. At least, he didn’t think he was ready.
Yet, despite the time and distance, while sitting in a stuffy conference hall taking notes on dwindling beaver populations, Tate found himself fantasizing about kissing those soft, pink lips, caressing the naked small of her back, and inhaling the strawberry scent of her shiny brown hair. But that’s where the fantasy hit the breaks with a deafening screech. Admitting to himself, even in a fantasy, that he could feel this way again, unleashed a raging river of guilt. Accustomed to shutting off his feelings, Tate set his mind back on the lecture of the hour, pushing thoughts of Bunny behind a black screen—only to have her resurface later, taunting him, making him ache.
Maybe, he decided after several nights of restless sleep, he needed to face this thing, whatever it was, head-on. Because surely he couldn’t continue hiding from her forever.
He arrived at work early and spotted her car in the parking lot. Wasn’t hard—it was the only other car there. Instead of parking in the rear and entering through the back door, he parked next to her, and entered bravely through the front.
He’d play it cool. Professional. Not overly friendly, but not antagonistic either. He breathed a sigh of relief when he passed the empty reception desk. As he moved toward his office, his head turned instinctively to the kitchen where he caught sight of her rinsing something in the sink. Before he could turn away, she had spun around.
“Hi!” she said, her smile instant. “You’re back. Was the conference good?”
He returned the smile, but controlled it consciously. Remember, man, not too much. “Uh, yeah. Good information.” He tipped his head to her, his way to gesture a hello without saying the words. That was what cool guys did. “I’ll, uh, be in my office if anyone calls.”
“Okay.” She continued to smile while drying a mug with a dishtowel. “I made a pot of coffee.” She made a motion as if she was about to turn away from him, but then stopped and added, “Welcome back.”
In his office, the red light on his phone blinked incessantly, a sure sign that he had voicemails to sift through. At least ten of them would be from George, asking him to report on the conference and to submit any receipts.
Tate set his briefcase down, his gaze focused on a large plastic white box on his desk. A first-aid kit. Balanced across the kit was a long pinching grabber like those used to pick up trash along roadsides and highways.
A pink sticky-note secured to the box read: Use one so you won’t need the other, with a smiley face drawn underneath. Bunny hadn’t signed her name, but Tate assumed it wasn’t Crabby Abby. Crabby’s handwriting wasn’t nearly as feminine, and she’d probably never drawn a smiley face in her life.
Tate lifted the pincher, wrapped his fingers around the handle and squeezed. The prongs at the opposite end closed. He smiled. Lead naturalist of the Nature Center, and he hadn’t thought to equip his own truck with standard equipment given to volunteers.
He released the pincher, then squeezed again. Release, squeeze, release squeeze. A mindless task to perform while trying to decide how to thank Bunny.
A voice in the doorway startled him. “Glad we don’t shoot video of you on the job for aspiring young naturalists. The disappointment would be crushing.”
Tate turned and glared at Abigail. No words were necessary.
“But,” she continued, “it’s good that you’re here. I’m calling an emergency meeting. Eleven a.m. conference room.”
“Last time I checked, you didn’t have authority to call me to any meeting. Now, if you asked nicely...”
“George has authority.” She held up a piece of paper, letting it dangle. “Do you need to see the memo?”
Tate pulled his chair from under the desk and, turning his back to her, sat down. “See you at eleven. With bells on.” He grabbed the receiver from its cradle and punched the red button to play back his messages.
One of his thirteen messages was from a woman who wanted to rent the picnic pavilion for her son’s graduation. She’d been given his name as the contact to get that done. Unfortunately, picnic pavilion rental fell under Bunny’s job description.
He was
used to receiving these sorts of inquiries. Several times a year he handled phone calls, all from women, seeking to rent the pavilion. The pavilion was a hot commodity for graduation parties, so he decided rather than handling this one over the intercom with Bunny, he’d better talk to her about it in person. Give her a heads-up.
She was on the phone when he got there, so he hung out in front of her desk, resting an arm on the high counter top.
She smiled at him while she talked into the phone. “Mm, hm,” she said. “I’ll be sure to tell her. I’m sure she will find that idea very interesting, Mrs. Pichoff.” Bunny nodded, then shrugged at Tate. “Yes. Yes. Call any time. We love your suggestions.” She shook her head at Tate, which caused him to snicker out loud. “Okay. You take care of yourself, Mrs. Pichoff and think about seeing a doctor for that stomach ache if it doesn’t go away. Bye-bye.” She hung up the phone, giggling.
“You are far kinder toward Ethel Pichoff than our last receptionist.”
“She just wants someone to talk to, the poor thing. Of course, I’ve only had to deal with her for five days now. The last receptionist was someone named Jenny, right? How long was she here?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. She was working here when I started last summer.” He paused, captivated by the green of Bunny’s eyes. It was the green of fresh new leaves sprouting from an ash tree in the spring.
He remembered the note in his hand. “I, uh...the picnic pavilion.” He handed the piece of paper to Bunny. “This woman wants to rent it for a party in June.”
She took the paper from him, her smile dropping and concern washing across her face. “Was this in your voicemail? I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I forwarded it to you.”
“No, no. It’s not your fault. It happens. Which is why I, uh, came up here. Feel free to screen my calls—you know, double check before sending them back. You can just ask them if they’re inquiring about renting the picnic pavilion.”
Bunny tilted her head. “I don’t understand. Was handling rentals ever part of your job?”
“No.”
“But people call and ask specifically for you when they want to rent? That’s strange.”
“Yeah. Strange. Anyway...” He let the last word dangle only because his mouth seemed to be at odds with his brain.
Bunny glanced at the paper in her hands, and then a smile crept across her face. “Are they usually women?”
Tate felt his face flush. Thank goodness for the beard. He hoped it concealed his embarrassment. “Who knows? I’m not sure I pay attention.”
“Hey,” Bunny said, sitting straighter in her chair. “Your daughter is in the school musical, right?”
Relieved that the conversation had changed gears, Tate’s shoulders relaxed. He nodded.
“I’ve been sending emails to the theater teacher—Charlie said she’s the director—but she’s not responding. I had a question for her.”
“Why don’t you just ask her at the meeting tonight?”
“What meeting?”
“There’s a meeting for parents of the cast and crew. There was an email.”
Bunny frowned, then grabbed a piece of paper from the printer tray and a pen from the holder in front of her. “When? Where?”
“Seven. Hang on, it might be seven thirty.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, using his thumb to scroll. “Here it is. Seven o’clock in the auditorium.”
“Thank you.” Bunny’s face brightened. “I don’t know why I didn’t get that email. Are you going?”
“It’s mandatory. Willow says the teacher is headstrong. That’s my word, not Willow’s. She was a little more colorful.”
“Mandatory. Huh.” Bunny slumped a little in her chair. “I’m glad I asked you then.”
Olga’s head popped up beside his arm, and she peered over the counter at Bunny.
“Deed you hear about emergency meeting in conference room?” she asked Bunny. Then, without waiting for an answer, she bent her head way back and eyeballed Tate through her round glasses. “You?”
Tate and Bunny nodded.
Olga’s frown deepened. “Ack!” And off she bounded, silently down the hallway—all three feet of her.
Olga’s departure gave Tate the perfect momentum to get his butt moving as well. “I’d better prepare for,” he jumped into an imitation of Olga’s Russian accent, “Emergency meeting!”
Bunny saluted him and chuckled. “You don’t want to arrive unprepared.”
He gave the desk counter a little pat. “Nope.” On his way to his office, he stopped at the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. As he did so, he realized he was having trouble holding the mug still—his hand was shaking that badly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BUNNY ARRIVED AT THE SCHOOL auditorium a few minutes before seven and took a seat three rows back from the front. She was still shaken up from an argument with Michael—he wanted to go to his father’s house even though it wasn’t Richard’s weekend. This had been a recurring argument in her house lately, and she wondered if Richard was busy making trouble for her again.
A few parents had arrived already, mostly mothers. Two women she recognized sat in the row in front of her a few seats to her right. She knew them from her days attending PTA meetings at the elementary school, but their names escaped her.
One of them turned to scan the back of the auditorium, and when she did so, caught Bunny’s gaze. Bunny smiled and offered a tiny wave, but the woman offered nothing in return except to show Bunny the back of her head.
Bunny’s smile dropped. She shifted in her chair, stomach knotting at the obvious snub. Okay, she told herself, maybe it wasn’t a snub. Maybe the woman didn’t remember Bunny.
Bunny crossed her legs and tried to appear comfortable in the chair and in her own skin. Nonchalantly looking this way and that, she strained for a glimpse of Tate Kilbourn. If he was here, she hadn’t spotted him yet. She checked the time on her cell phone and watched as a few more women and one man—not Tate, darn it—took seats. Some sat in pairs, some alone.
After a good forty people or so had arrived, Bunny heard a heavy metal door slam shut, followed by clacking heels. The clacking ceased when the feet in the small black heels hit carpeting. The owner of the shoes was a tall woman with long black hair and very pale skin. She bore a distressing resemblance to Morticia Addams, a resemblance that was reinforced by the long black dress she wore. She cradled a stack of notebooks and papers in her arms as she approached the front of the auditorium.
She placed the stack of items onto the stage and, wasting no time, turned to the awaiting audience of parents and clapped her hands three times. The sharp sound reverberated through the cavernous room, capturing everyone’s attention and silencing them instantly.
Bunny was impressed, but a little frightened at the same time. Brusque people had that effect on her.
“Good. Thank you.” The woman looked from one side of the auditorium to the other. “We have little time and much to cover. For those of you who don’t know: I am Ms. Steffler.”
The woman proceeded to grab the papers from behind her and walk up the nearest aisle, passing thin stacks to parents and asking them to take one and pass the rest down their row. Since Bunny was on the aisle, she took the offered handouts.
“Thank you,” she said, attempting to catch the woman’s attention with a smile.
Again, the smile was ignored. In fact, Bunny was ignored altogether, since the woman never bothered to look at her.
Ms. Steffler was busy frowning toward the back. “You people back there,” she said, raising her voice as she shoved the papers in Bunny’s face. “Please come and take these seats closer. I don’t feel like shouting to be heard this evening.”
Bunny followed directions, standing to reach several seats to her right and pass the handouts to a father sitting there, stone-faced. People sure are cranky tonight, Bunny thought. Would it hurt someone to smile just a little bit?
As parents migrated to seats near the front, t
he teacher began preaching the high expectations she had for the cast and crew, as well as her expectations for the parents. “Mothers, Fathers, Guardians,” she bellowed, raising her hands like a reverend before a Sunday service. “You set the example for your student. I count on you to make sure they arrive at rehearsal on time, that they are getting the rest they need at night, and the proper nutrition during the day.”
She shifted her hard stare from one side of the room to the other with a good deal of dramatic flair. “I cannot be expected to work with teenagers who show up ten minutes late, narcoleptic and ravenous. I am not their parent, you are. Do your job, and I will do mine.”
Hmm, thought Bunny, I guess in college she majored in Theater Arts and minored in Fascist Studies. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Bunny raised her hand to ask about volunteering. The time seemed right—Ms. Steffler was talking about parent responsibilities, after all.
The teacher seemed not to notice, so Bunny held her hand up higher, adding a little wave.
Apparently the wave worked. Ms. Steffler heaved a sigh and directed a chastising glare right at Bunny. A glare that went on for six long seconds. Bunny knew because she counted while fighting back the urge to vomit.
Ms. Steffler then spoke slowly and succinctly. “I’m sorry. Possibly the email was not clear enough: this is not a Q and A.”
The words sizzled in Bunny’s ears with the tight, patronizing tone of a superior addressing a dimwitted inferior. Her face flushed, and her fists tightened just as they had when Lois told her that Broom Hildie had called her a skank. Why did people have to be so nasty?
She bit her lip and nearly choked down her next comment, but somehow it slipped out anyway. “I didn’t get that email. In fact, I’ve sent you two emails, which you still haven’t answered.” Her voice cracked over each word. But, since she’d gone this far, she may as well go all the way. “I’m not sure how a person should get a question answered. I only wanted—”
Kiss Me, Tate (Love in Rustic Woods) Page 7
