Mama’s Boy by Avery Flynn
Chapter Forty-One
Fiona
Fiona’s students were hyped up on the possibility of a very unlikely September snow day—all it had taken was one wild rumor during Specials time, and now her third graders were popping out of their seats at the slightest excuse to go look out the window in hopes of spotting a snowflake. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that a 2-percent chance of snow wasn’t a lot to hope on. When it came to her kids, she was forever a soft touch, and she wouldn’t change that for the world.
“Ms. Hartigan,” a voice said over the speaker. “Please report to the office.”
Every kid in class turned to her as they let out a collective, “Ooooooooohhhhhh,” as if she was in trouble and was about to lose out on recess—which would be a blessing today.
“Mrs. Franks, are we in a good spot? Lunch is in five,” Fiona said to the class paraprofessional and her favorite classroom fairy godmother.
“Go ahead,” the older woman said as she pulled out a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows that she was reading to the class. “I’ve got these rascally rabbits.”
Mentally going through the short list of possible infractions that could have resulted in her getting called down to Dr. Cartwright’s office—because like the kids, that was the first place her mind went to, always—and coming up blank, Fiona was all jittery nerves by the time she walked through the door leading to what they called the holding pen. It was a small area encased in glass that looked out into the main part of the office, accessible by parents and people walking in off the street. In the middle of one side was a locked door that could only be opened with a buzzer controlled by the school security officer, who sat watching everyone from his spot in the main office.
She gave a wave. The buzzer sounded. She walked through the door. Head down as she continued to try to figure out what she’d done wrong, she’d already made the right turn down the short hall leading to Dr. Cartwright’s office when Ms. Steele called out to her.
“Fiona, you have a visitor,” she said, then lowered her voice. “And he’s hot.”
Dixon stood in the visitors’ waiting area holding a takeout bag from the diner where they’d made their deal that first day. The warm and fuzzies were wrapped around her like a weighted blanket with a heating option when she called herself back to reality. No. Whoa there, Fiona. That wasn’t sweet. He hadn’t thought about the meaning. It had just been a convenient stop between his office and her school. Well, wherever he’d been and the school because his office was in completely the opposite direction for the diner to be even kinda on the way.
She walked through the door to the visitors’ side. “Hey.”
He lifted the bag, obviously getting the what-are-you-doing-here subtext. “I remembered how you looked like you were going to cry when I’d considered not getting the gravy on the chicken fried steak, so I got extra for you.”
Before she could say anything. Ms. Steele held out her hand. “If you can just show me your driver’s license,” she said to Dixon. “I’ll put you on the visitors’ list, and you can go in for lunch.”
He turned on a charming smile that Fiona had never once seen in all their dates. Smug? Yes. Snarky? Absolutely. Sexy as sin? Without a doubt. Aw-shucks-ma’am? Not even a once, until now.
“I don’t have a driver’s license.”
Ms. Steele, who had at least half the staff and 99 percent of the student population cowering in fear on a regular basis, giggled. “Do you have any picture ID?”
“My employee ID.” He handed over a plastic rectangle with his photo on it and listing him as CEO of Beckett Cosmetics.
Ms. Steele shot Fiona a way-to-go look and then gave Dixon back his ID. She nodded to the guard, who buzzed the door, and they walked into the secure side of the office. As she led him out into the hallway, she couldn’t help but sneak several peeks at him. Really? She’d have to be mostly dead not to notice him. He was a guy who always got noticed. He was in a suit that probably cost as much as her rent for a few months at least. It was dark navy and it fit him as if it were made especially for him, which—come on—it probably was.
“What are you doing here?” she asked once they were beyond all the ears in the office.
He reached out with his free hand and tucked an errant hair behind her ear, the move sending a very-not-school-appropriate shiver across her skin.
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said.
“Your office is three train stops away,” she said, stepping closer to deep inhale the scent of the food—okay, and his cologne.
“Good thing I took the town car, then, otherwise your food would have gotten cold.”
The bell rang and half a heartbeat later, kids started to pour out of the classrooms, walking in a line toward the cafeteria. It was her turn to take the lunch watch for her class, which meant he was coming with her. Oh boy, this was going to be interesting.
“You ready to have lunch in a grade-school cafeteria?” she asked.
“Why not?” He shrugged. “We can enjoy our lunch and have a quiet conversation about the plans for our next date.”
She laughed loud enough to get a knee-jerk shushing from the librarian walking a class of first graders toward the cafeteria. “I can’t wait to see how this goes.”
They’d no more than sat down at one of the short tables with the attached seats when the first set of kids found a reason to stop by. They weren’t supposed to be walking around, but it still happened—usually it was the younger kids needing help getting the plastic straw into the CapriSun pouch or something like that. Today, however, it was all third graders, specifically the ones from her class finding reasons to stop by the so-called teacher’s table.
“Are you Ms. Hartigan’s boyfriend?”
“Kyler,” Fiona said, her cheeks burning. “That isn’t your business.”
A few bites later and two more of her students used a half-hearted excuse to stop by. “She’s the prettiest, isn’t she?”
“That’s very sweet of you, Adele, but you need to go back to your table.”
The girl tugged the end of her ponytail and adjusted her unicorn sweatshirt hood before heading back to her assigned table. One student stayed behind.
“If you aren’t dating her,” one of the quieter kids with a great sense of humor said, “do you want my mom’s number?”
“Razkin,” Fiona said, fighting back her grin. “Do not hand out your mom’s phone number to strangers.”
After a few rounds of that, Dixon looked properly terrified. He also looked adorable. The man was sitting there in his expensive suit looking like a giant in comparison to the kid-size table and eating a patty melt from the best diner in Harbor City.
Stop it, Fiona. He’s just a guy. Who you have orgasms with. That’s it. He’s not allowed to be adorable.
Desperate not to get lost in the kids and hot dude sweetness of the moment, she couldn’t help but ask again, “Why are you here?”
He kept his gaze locked on his patty melt. “I told you I was in the neighborhood.”
“Dixon,” she said, using the same tone that did wonders on getting the truth out of nine-year-olds.
“Fine.” He looked up, his gaze intense enough to make her catch her breath. “I wanted to see you.”
Oh my God. OH. MY. GOD.
All the warning sirens went off in her head because she wasn’t just in danger, she was in DANGER. Old Fiona was about to pull a jailbreak and declare her intentions when it came to one Dixon Beckett.
“Is the next date that bad that you have to tell me about it in person?” she asked, hoping her tone sounded more teasing than desperate to change the subject.
“No idea.” He took a small bite and made quick work of it. “It’s Nash’s turn, and I have no clue what he’s planning.”
“So you brought me lunch just because?”
Shut up, Old Fiona. You are not allowed to bring your crappy takes and shitty instincts to this table. You cannot sit with us.
He grinned at her, his dimples going deeper than she’d ever seen before. “Yeah.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Lucky for her, Harrison picked that moment to stop by with his little sister, Ash, and her CapriSun. Dixon took it and poked the straw in on the first try.
“Winner, winner chicken dinner,” he said, handing it back to Ash with a grin.
Oh. Ouch. That hit her right in the teacher feels. She loved her students—and all the ones she’d have in the future—so to see Dixon take the time to help them when he didn’t have to? Despite everything she’d been telling herself, it wormed its way right past all of New Fiona’s defenses.
She was in such a world of trouble and she couldn’t stop smiling about it.
