Daddy’s Law by K.C. Crowne

 

Chapter 1

Ava

The kids were rowdier than usual, but I chalked that up to the fact that this was their last period on a Friday.

My students were practically buzzing with excitement, the promise of the freedom only weekends could provide distracting them from the project I assigned. They were supposed to be painting a still life in any medium they wanted, but the majority of them were far more interested in talking about their plans.

I couldn’t exactly blame them. I had plans to meet Cindy once the school day was done, and I was personally looking forward to spending a lazy morning at home tomorrow, sipping a cup of tea while grading essays about the Impressionist era.

Dad would probably scold me and tell me I was thinking too small if he knew, but that wasn’t going to deter me. Calm, quiet mornings while reading my —often hilarious— students’ attempts at art theory was my idea of a fun time.

“Don’t splatter me!” grumbled one of the girls, Lily, sitting in the corner of the art room. One of the boys was flinging paint at his canvas, headphones in with music blaring.

I walked over and smiled, speaking gently. “Is everything alright over here?”

“Miss Cruise-uh,” the girl whined, lengthening my name by an entire syllable. “Cory keeps getting paint all over my sketch.”

Cory was none the wiser, totally engrossed in his art. I could recognize the spark behind his eyes: pure inspiration. His strokes were broad, his colors were vibrant. His piece was in abstract form, taking in the general shapes and shades of the bowl of plastic fruit set out before him on the worktable. Out of all my students, he seemed to be the only one taking the class seriously.

They were far and few between, but kids like him reminded me this was exactly where I belonged.

He was also the youngest of all my students; only eleven amongst a sea of thirteen-year-olds. Physically smaller than the rest, but certainly my brightest. Cory had transferred to Willingham Academy in January, two grades ahead of his age group. I could still remember the day he first walked into my classroom, dark black hair trimmed neatly with adorably large ears and not a wrinkle on his uniform. He was mature for his age, and incredibly quiet. I was glad he had been enrolled in our gifted summer program as I relished the ability to continue to work with him.

As a teacher, I knew I wasn’t allowed to have favorites. Parents would have a field day if they heard even so much as a whisper that a student was receiving preferential treatment over their own child. But if I was allowed, it’d probably be him.

I wasn’t deliberately going out of my way to give Cory extra attention, but I could tell he was having difficulty adjusting. I felt bad for the kid. From what I’d heard from his other teachers, he was exceeding expectations academically. Math, chemistry, music, art with me —passing with flying colors.

Socially, however, it he wasn’t doing very well. When I had supervisory duty during lunch, I always saw him eating alone. I stopped giving the option for students in my class to partner on their own for group projects because he was always the last selected. He was always the last in my classroom and the last out, the older students barging ahead of him like some kind of inconvenience.

If I checked in with him a little more often than others, who could honestly blame me?

Probably the Karens of the PTA, but they didn’t scare me.

Much.

I tapped him on his shoulder softly, not wanting to startle him.

Cory pulled his headphones out and looked up at me with his big, green eyes. “Hi, Miss Cruise.” He gestured to his canvas, puffing his chest out slightly with pride. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely. I really enjoy your use of negative space. I get the sense you were inspired by Jackson Pollock?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I was. I really like his work.”

“I can tell.” I winked at him, grinning. “Unfortunately, it looks like you’ve been Jackson Pollock-ing all over Lily’s work, too.”

Cory’s eyes fell to Lily’s sketchbook and the drops of red paint scattered across the page. His brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Ugh, whatever.”

I put a hand on my hip and arched a brow at her. “That’s not what we say when someone apologizes, young lady. Try again.”

The girl huffed, turning her attention to Cory. “Fine. I forgive you. Just… be more careful, okay?”

I smiled, quite pleased with myself. I wasn’t one of those shouty, strict teachers —it wasn’t, in my opinion, conducive to a creative work environment— which was probably why when I spoke in a firm tone, my kids took me seriously.

I patted Cory on the shoulder and crouched down next to him, examining his canvas. “This is beautiful work.”

Cory beamed up at me. “Thanks, Miss Cruise.”

Once we were fifteen minutes away from the last bell, I instructed everyone to clean up their workstations and get ready to go. I tidied my work desk and packed away all the papers I needed to grade over the weekend.

As always, Cory was the last out the door as the halls filled with lively chatter and the shuffling of shoes. “See you on Monday, Miss Cruise,” he said, waving politely over his shoulder.

“See you Monday, Cory,” I replied.

I made sure to double check that everything in the art room was properly stored before locking the door behind me. I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone, sending a quick text to Cindy to tell her I was on my way. I heaved a heavy sigh, very much ready to take a load off.

Thank God it’s Friday.

* * *

Cindy groaned into her palms. She was still dressed in her light purple scrubs, her grey zip-up sweater tossed over the back of her chair. “And then she had the nerve to demand to speak to the manager. Can you believe it? It’s like, this is a hospital, ma’am. Not your local Starbucks.”

I took a sip of my earl grey. I treated myself to a pot of tea and a slice of carrot cake the second I walked into the coffee house. “Sounds to me like yet another day in the pediatrics wing.”

She rolled her eyes, sweeping her hand over her hair. Her messy bun of dark blonde hair was coming apart, flyaways everywhere. “Don’t even get me started. I love my job, but if I have to deal with another helicopter parent telling me I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, I’m going to lose my shit. It’s like, I’m the nurse. I know how to administer a needle and check for vitals. Why are you telling me how to do my job?”

I smirked, holding back my laughter. “I’m sure they’re just being protective.”

“More like a giant pain in my ass.” She slumped back in her chair and sighed. “It doesn’t help that we’re short on employees, either. I’ve had double shifts all week. It feels like a million years since I got to hang out with you.”

“It’s literally been two days—”

“Years,” she stressed.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be such a drama queen. You really should have become an actor.”

“No offense, but—”

“I’m already offended.”

“—I don’t want to live my life as a starving artist.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her, patting my stomach. “Do I look like I’m starving?”

“Oh, shut up. I’d kill to have your boobs and butt.”

“Stop that,” I warned. “You’re beautiful and you know it.”

Cindy clicked her tongue, looking me over. “God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Just a little,” she replied with a chuckle. She took a long chug of her coffee. “But seriously. It’s a good thing you landed the teaching position. Otherwise, you’d be one of those poor souls out selling your art at the flea market.”

I hummed, staring into the bottom of my tea. “Yeah. Lucky.”

“Did your father ever get back to you about the money?”

I shook my head. “I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. I don’t think I’ll try again, though.”

Cindy frowned. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t feel right. Asking him to spot me for something so silly.”

“Come on, Ava. You said yourself this art gallery thing—”

“The Immersive Van Gogh Exhibit.”

“Yeah, that. You said it’s only going to be here for another couple of months. This could be your chance to go. I don’t think it’s silly at all.”

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “You know my father doesn’t… approve of my interests. Every time I get him on the phone, he talks my ear off about how he wants me to meet one of his buddies at the Chicago School of Law to discuss admission. I’d rather not have him try to guilt trip me. Again. He tried inviting me to this fancy fundraiser dinner thing, but I’m pretty sure he just wants to introduce me to some rich guy he can talk me into marrying.”

Cindy swallowed. “How much is it? I can just give you the money and—”

I put a hand up and shook my head. “Absolutely not.”

“How much are tickets? Fifty, sixty bucks? Come on, just let me.”

I looked her directly in the eyes. “No. I’m not taking your money, Cindy. I’ll look over my budget and make it work. Things are just a little tight right now, that’s all.”

Living on a teacher’s salary wasn’t exactly like living in the lap of luxury. And since I only recently graduated from my teaching program, my salary was still in the starting range. Between pricy Chicago rent, paying my bills, and trying to keep up with student loans, there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room for a discretionary fund.

Yes, I could reach out to my father to ask for help, but I could practically hear his usual speech playing on repeat inside my skull.

You could have gone to law school, Ava.

You need to apply yourself, Ava.

You can’t make a living as an artist, Ava.

“You know you’re allowed to ask for help when you need it, right?” Cindy asked. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

I smiled softly. “It’s a pride thing.”

Cindy scoffed, but I knew there wasn’t actually any heat behind it. “It’s a stupid thing.”

I was about to protest, but something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.

Or rather, someone caught my attention.

A tall, impressively massive man entered the coffee shop and stepped toward the counter. This was a popular spot, and Cindy and I came here frequently, but I’d never laid eyes on him before. The second I did, I couldn’t look away.

The man was devastatingly handsome. Older, maybe in his early to mid-forties. His dark black hair was cut short and incredibly neat with soft traces of grey streaking from his temples. His deep green eyes were curiously familiar. I wondered for a second if I’d seen him around the city before, though I couldn’t quite place him.

There was a confidence about him, an air of strength that he exuded in the way he walked. He walked straight over to the barista and ordered a cup of coffee. Even though I wasn’t close enough to hear the exact words he spoke, I could hear the low rumble of his voice.

Deep and strong.

I was caught in a loop, admiring the sharp line of his jaw to the width of his shoulders and the expanse of his chest. Everything about him looked hard and precise, strong muscles rolling under taut skin. The black shirt he had on was tight, maybe a size too small —thank you, God— showing off his massive arms and equally large hands.

Hands with no signs of a ring.

I shivered. What I wouldn’t give to paint him right now. Michelangelo’s David, move over. There’s a new hunk of marble in town.

Cindy nudged my shin with the tip of her sneaker, giving me a look. “Oh, wow,” she murmured, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“You’re totally checking him out!” she exclaimed, loud enough that everyone in the coffee shop could hear her.

I shushed her immediately, mortified at how hot my cheeks were burning. “Not so loud,” I murmured. “Does subtlety mean nothing to you?”

“Not when you’re so obviously drooling over the guy.”

“I am not.”

“Who knew you had a thing for sexy silver foxes?” she asked in a singsong tone. “No wonder you won’t let me set you up on a blind date.”

“I don’t let you set me up on a blind date because you keep trying to get me together with Steve.”

“What’s wrong with Steven?” Cindy questioned, sounding mildly offended. “What? A doctor who’s in the appropriate age range doesn’t do it for you?”

“Would you please lower your voice?”

Cindy glanced over her shoulder at the man. “He’s got to have at least twenty years on you.”

“Stop staring! He’s going to think—”

“What? That you’re interested in him?” She smirked, practically wiggling in her chair. “Just admit you have a thing for older guys.”

“I don’t—” I sighed heavily. “Fine. Alright? You got me. Mr. Tight Shirt is easily a twelve out of ten. Now will you please shut up before you embarrass me?”

“Do you get turned on when you let the kids watch Bob Ross episodes in class?”

“That is the creepiest thing that I’ve ever heard.” I stood up and gathered my things, flustered seven ways to Sunday.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Are you pouting right now?”

“I’m twenty-four. Pouting’s for children.”

“Then why are you pouting?”

“Bye, Cindy,” I said flatly. “Good luck with your helicopter parents.”

“Will I see you next week for coffee?”

“Not if you keep teasing me like this.”

“Face it, you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

I kissed her on the cheek before walking away. Just as I was about to turn and head for the door, something solid and heavy stopped me dead in my tracks.

Someonesolid.

I looked up with a gasp. The man I’d unabashedly been ogling stood before me, peering down his nose at me. His expression was unreadable. The look in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. His focused gaze seared into my skin, made me feel exposed in ways I didn’t know were possible. The man looked like he was about to say something, but never did. I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.

If I wasn’t blushing profusely before, I certainly was now.

“I’m s-so sorry, sir,” I bumbled. “A-are you okay? I mean, you’re obviously okay—” I sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, looking him up and down. “I mean, more than okay. Like fine. You’re very fine. You clearly work out. Wait, that’s not— um, what I meant to say was—”

Oh my God, Ava. Why are you still talking?

The man said nothing. All he did was crouch down and pick something up off the floor. It looked to be a driver’s license. My driver’s license. It must have fallen out of my purse when I was clumsily gathering my things.

He examined the piece of identification, scrutinizing its details. My face flushed with heat. The picture on my driver’s license was an absolute mess. I’d failed my test twice, so when the examiner informed me I passed, I broke out into happy tears. Unfortunately, my mascara wasn’t waterproof, so the picture the DMV clerk wound up taking was not of a petite blonde woman, but a crazed lunatic.

“Nice picture,” he said, handing it back to me before promptly leaving.

A little part of me died inside. This was so embarrassing.

I tried to brush the whole encounter off, telling myself that it was highly unlikely that I’d ever see him again. Chicago was a massive city with millions of people. The chances that we’d ever cross paths again was slim to none.

It was a good thing, too, because I was pretty sure my ego wouldn’t be able to take it.

Cindy gave me a thumbs up from her seat. “Smooth.”

I flipped her off with a smile.