The Late Bloomer's Road to Love

by Marie Ferrarella

  He was tall, at least six feet, with the lean athletic build of a swimmer or surfer. His hair was dark and thick, and just long enough to look a bit messy. In contrast, his beard was neatly trimmed. His necktie, purple with a pattern of small starfish, was perfectly straight. She’d had enough of these meetings to notice you could tell the time of day by his tie. Early in the day, it looked like it did now. By noon, he would have loosened it. By the end of the day, it would be hanging on the back of his chair, discarded with the jacket she’d never actually seen him wear.

  Megan focused on the tie; it kept her from staring at his eyes. The eyes of a poet, she’d secretly thought the first time they’d met. They were dark, ringed with thick black lashes that any woman would envy, and they seemed too see way too much. His eyes made her nervous. He made her nervous. Her and every other woman on the island.

  But unlike them, she couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by the man’s looks or his legendary charm. This was about her son. Everything in her life was about Owen now. He was the reason she’d busted her butt to get her computer science degree in half the normal time. He was the reason she’d taken a coding job that she could do during the day while he was at school, and at night while he slept. He was the reason she spent every other available minute researching therapies for children with autism. Owen was everything to her, and no one was going to keep her from doing what was right by him.

  * * *

  Luke knew he was being rude, but hanging up on the school’s wealthiest donor wasn’t an option. Not that he hadn’t considered it a time or two—Mrs. Cristoff was nothing if not long-winded—and, unlike him, she seemed to have endless time on her hands. He, on the other hand, had a day of scheduled back-to-back meetings and was already running behind.

  He didn’t mind the chaos that came with a building full of schoolchildren, or the need to multitask. He was good at that. But he hated this part of job, the fundraising and political nice-making. He had too damn much to do to be discussing linen colors for the upcoming charity gala. But, of course, he couldn’t say that without risking a huge chunk of his budget for next year. It also didn’t help that Mrs. Cristoff lived across the street from him, which she believed gave her instant access at all times.

  All Saints was a small school, and the tuition was low to keep it within reach of the island’s working-class families. Donations kept the lights on, so he grit his teeth and assured Mrs. Cristoff that yes, he was sure chartreuse would look lovely. “In fact, why don’t you call right now to arrange the rentals, so you can be sure to get the shade you want... Yes, right now... We can touch base later. Bye.” He hung up and caught Owen’s mom smirking at him.

  That’s how he always referred to her—“Owen’s mom”—to remind himself that she was a parent of one of his students. It would be easier if she looked more matronly, but between her petite size and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, Megan Palmer looked more like a college coed than a woman with a school-age child. Too bad his body hadn’t gotten the off-limits memo. Every time he saw her, his libido kicked into high gear. Today was no different.

  Annoyed at the phone call, at the delay, and mostly at his own inappropriate reaction, he found himself taking his frustration out on her. “Something funny?”

  If she was put off by his tone, she didn’t show it. Instead, a full grin broke over her face. “Actually, I was just wondering if you had any idea what color chartreuse was.”

  “None.” Despite the situation, her smile was contagious and he felt his tension ratchet down a few degrees. “Some kind of pink?”

  “Green.” Her blue eyes danced in amusement. “Actually, about halfway between green and yellow.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded, the movement shaking free a few loose tendrils from the bun she always seemed to wear. He’d spent more time than he wanted to admit wondering what all that long blond hair would look like loose, how it would feel if he ran his hands through it.

  “Is that a problem?”

  His attraction for her? Definitely. But he didn’t think that was what she was asking. “Is what a problem?”

  “That whatever it is you were talking about is going to be green instead of pink? Wouldn’t want you to end up with your house painted the wrong color or something.”

  She thought he lived in a pink house? He shook his head at the image. “No, it doesn’t matter. Not to me anyway. I’m sure it’s vitally important to Mrs. Cristoff, though. She’s picking out tablecloths or something for the Scholar’s Banquet, our biggest fundraiser of the year. She can have purple polka dots as far as I’m concerned.” He grimaced; he shouldn’t be venting to a parent. But Owen’s mom didn’t seem offended, her smile growing.

  “Party planning probably wasn’t part of your doctorate program, huh?” she asked, nodding at his diploma on the wall.

  “Not exactly. Nor fundraising.” Luke glanced at the file folder on his desk, the one with Owen’s name printed on it, and sobered. He hated that he had to keep calling her in for these meetings. Hated even more that Owen was struggling so much.

  He took his job as principal seriously and, if one of his students was having a hard time, he felt a personal obligation to help. The problem was that nothing seemed to be working for Owen. Luke had done some research on autism since the six-year-old had come to the school, but the information was all so general, so abstract. And Luke was growing increasingly worried that his elementary school wouldn’t be able to offer the boy what he needed.

  Since All Saints was a church-related private school, it wasn’t required to follow ADA guidelines to accommodate special needs students. But that also meant no federal or state money to help with the costs of even trying. It was frustrating all the way around, and admitting defeat wasn’t Luke’s style. Regardless, he was running out of options. In the middle of his quandaries was Owen, a flesh-and-blood little boy whose pain was real.

  As if reading his mind, Megan’s smile vanished and what he thought of as her “mama bear face” fell into place. Concerned. Fierce. Ready for battle. “I assume there’s been a problem in the classroom again?” Her words were clipped, but he sensed the apprehension behind them.

  “The lunchroom, actually.” He removed the incident report from the folder and passed it to her. “Owen got upset because there was a menu change. He threw his lasagna at the cafeteria worker.”

  Disappointment and embarrassment clouded her features as she skimmed the brief report. By the time she handed it back, her game face was in place. “I was promised that any changes to the menu would be communicated ahead of time. You know Owen gets anxious making choices, so we always decide ahead of time what he’s going to order.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” His regret was sincere. They had agreed to do that, and he planned to track down and deal with whomever had let things fall through the cracks. “But that doesn’t excuse violence.”

  “Did he mean to throw it at someone? He has meltdowns, but I’ve never known him to be violent.”

  “I honestly don’t know. But, frankly, it doesn’t matter. The outcome is the same. We want to help Owen, but I have to consider the safety of the other students and staff, as well. And as much as we want to make this work, perhaps it is time to consider an alternate school environment for Owen.” He hated saying it, because Owen really was a wonderful little boy most of the time. Nevertheless, his outbursts hadn’t lessened and it was only a matter of time before he injured himself or someone else.

  She flinched at the words as if he’d physically struck her. But, true to form, she didn’t back down. Straightening her slight shoulders, she looked him square in the eye and said what no one at the school had yet dared to say. “No.”

  * * *

  Megan felt her hands tremble, but she kept her head high as Luke Wright raised an eyebrow at her words.

  “Excuse me?”

  “With
all due respect, Principal Wright, I know my son and what’s best for him. He’s making friends here, and he’s growing both socially and academically. All Saints is where he needs to be.”

  “I sympathize with your concern for your son, but the truth is, his behavior is becoming more than we can handle.” The compassionate look in his eyes did little to ease the sting of his words.

  She’d expected this, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

  “I know.” Megan tried to keep her voice calm and authoritative, even as her pulse pounded a desperate rhythm in her temples. Leaning down, she felt more hair slip from her bun as she retrieved a packet of papers from her bag. “He’s trying. But when things change, like they did today, it triggers his anxiety, and when he gets anxious he has meltdowns. We do have a plan in place for that, to prevent things from escalating. It works at home. It could work here, too. If you’d just let him bring Lily—”

  He held up a hand, stopping her in midsentence. “No. We’ve discussed this before, and school is no place for a dog. Pets need to stay at home.”

  Megan bristled. “Lily isn’t a pet. She’s a trained service dog. Think of her like a personal aide for Owen.” The idea of an aide had been floated before, but since All Saints was a private school, she’d been told she’d have to pay out of pocket. The cost was well outside her stretched-to-the-breaking-point budget. “Public schools allow aides for special needs children on a regular basis.”

  “But Lily would be an aide who might pee on the carpet or bite a child.”

  “Oh please. Lily’s more potty trained than some of your students. And she doesn’t bite.” Unlike Owen, who had bitten a student at his last private school, resulting in his having to change schools. Paradise was a small town and if he was expelled from All Saints, she was pretty much out of options. The public schools for Paradise were on the mainland, and Megan wanted to avoid that kind of travel for Owen, if at all possible. She couldn’t let him be expelled.

  “Other schools have made it work, with no adverse outcomes.” Technically, only three schools—at least, that she had found. All small private schools, like All Saints. But that didn’t mean the idea wasn’t a good one, just that it wasn’t widely accepted yet. “I’ve brought a letter from the principal of one of them, detailing how having a service dog in the classroom has reduced behavioral problems and improved learning outcomes for his students with disabilities.” She practically threw the paper on his desk as she continued, afraid if she stopped talking he’d tell her to take Owen and leave.

  “This is an overview of the training Lily has had, and what she’s able to do—” she added the glossy brochure “—and, finally, this is the log showing the improvement in Owen’s anxiety and outbursts since getting Lily, as documented by his therapist.” She dropped the thick stack of handwritten notes onto the pile and took a much needed breath of air. “I’m sure, if you’d just consider it, you’d see the benefit of Owen having Lily with him.”

  “Be that as it may—”

  “Just read them.” This time it was her turn to interrupt. “Please,” she added, hating that she had to beg, that she was so utterly powerless. But then, it was a familiar feeling.

  After a much too long silence, he sighed and nodded, the furrow between his tired eyes deepening.

  “Really? I mean, thank you.”

  He shook off her gratitude and stood. “Don’t thank me, I’m not agreeing to anything other than reading the information you brought. Beyond that... I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  Too late. Hope was about all she had some days, and she guarded it as fiercely as she did her son. Without faith, she’d never had made it this far, and Luke Wright had just given her fading optimism a fresh infusion of the stuff. “Of course not,” she lied. “But I really think this could work. And I’m happy to answer any questions you have about how to implement things.”

  “I’ll contact you after I’ve had to a chance to work through it. In the meantime, you may want to consider pursuing...alternative arrangements.”

  In other words, she needed to look for yet another school. As if she hadn’t already researched to death every educational facility on the island. All Saints was the best. The public school system wanted him to attend a special program over an hour away, on the mainland. And the only private schools they hadn’t already tried had already politely but firmly declined her inquiries. Besides, All Saints was academically one of the top schools in the state and, despite his challenges, Owen was extremely bright. He deserved the kind of education he would get here.

  And the man who would decide everything was already standing, a not-so-subtle hint that it was time for her to go. Fine. She’d leave, for now.

  “I look forward to discussing this once you’ve had a chance to read everything over.” He nodded absently, but his gaze was already back on the spreadsheet program open on his laptop monitor. As far as he was concerned, the matter was settled. But Megan wasn’t giving up. When it came to Owen, she didn’t know how.

  “So when should we meet?” She smiled, enjoying the befuddled look on his face when he registered her words.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When should we meet to discuss your thoughts on the research material? About service dogs in the classroom?”

  He sighed, and she knew she’d won the battle if not the war. He opened a calendar app on his computer and, after a minute of searching, clicked on a blank space. “Let’s do Monday right before dismissal, say two thirty?”

  She nodded and stood. It was only fifteen minutes, but it was something. Extending a hand, she thanked him, her mind already racing to the possibilities that would open up for Owen if they could make this work.

  As his hand enveloped hers, a jolt of awareness shook Megan from her thoughts, tiny pinpricks of energy zinging from her fingertips all the way to her toes. Her head snapped up, searching for the source even as some long-dormant part of her brain registered and cataloged the sensation.

  Attraction. Pure, physical, sexual attraction.

  Jerking her hand back, she rubbed her palm on the leg of her jeans, as if lust was some kind of contamination that could just be wiped off. Yes, he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, not to mention intelligent and competent, but that didn’t mean her hormones had permission to come out to play. Not now, and not with this man. She had a mission to accomplish, and nothing was going to stand in her way.

  Copyright © 2021 by Katie Meyer

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  ISBN-13: 9780369710185

  The Late Bloomer’s Road to Love

  Copyright © 2021 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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