“What do you say?” Mark prompted his niece.
“Thank you,” Ivy sang.
Mark took her hand. “Thanks, Lette Mae.”
“Don’t be a stranger. Number twenty-eight?”
Just as Mark and Ivy turned, Riley stepped toward the counter. To avoid colliding, Mark had to yield, giving her his right side. He quickly ducked his head. “Excuse us,” he muttered.
“My fault. Too eager to get to the Bavarian cream.”
He raised his gaze at the normalcy of her comment.
She met his eyes easily. “I’m a sucker for Bavarian cream.”
For reasons beyond his comprehension, he said, “I’ll have to remember that.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction, but not in anger. It was that thing she’d done the other night. Daring him to move.
“For the next time you’re waving a bat in my direction,” he said.
Her mouth twitched into a smile. He nodded goodbye, trying desperately to ignore that warm mix of awkward and pleasure in his gut.
She stepped up to the counter to collect her order.
“Hey, Mark,” Nate called. “We’re having a bonfire at my folks’ house tonight. You should come.”
Mark froze. Any pleasure he’d felt shattered on the floor. Gus immediately hit Nate in the arm.
“What was that for?” Nate asked Gus.
Gus gave Nate a significant look that Mark both appreciated and despised. But he didn’t blame either of them.
“I might have to pass on that,” he was able to say. “But thanks.”
Understanding broke across Nate’s face. He slapped his forehead. “Dude.”
Mark raised his hand. “Tell Joslyn I said hi.” He looked at Gus. “And Heidi. Good to see you guys.”
Gus waved.
As Mark opened the door, the bell jingled, and Ivy asked, “Why don’t you want to go to the bonfire?”
He held his breath, then let it out. “Because fire and Uncle Mark don’t get along too well these days.”
“Aww,” she said, clearly dissatisfied. “Dumb ol’ fire.”
“Yep.” The door closed behind them. “Dumb ol’ fire.”
Riley both liked and loathed prep days. She got a break from the usual daily grind and was able to plan assignments and inventory materials. It also meant hours of teacher instruction and menial tasks like grading projects and entering those grades into the computer.
But as she drove to school, her mind wasn’t on the stack of game boards she’d had the kids design for their mixed-media unit, or the box of clay and glazes she needed to order, or even the photography club proposal she was considering.
It was on Mark Rivers.
The bakery had been cheery and bright with customers. A far cry from that night on her dark street a week ago. She’d recognized the hooded figure right away but was captivated by the small girl who flitted and jumped around him as they waited, pulling on his arm and calling him “Uncle Mark” all while he absently twirled her around and . . . smiled.
And then his friends had entered, and he’d lifted his face and . . .
Yvette’s words came back to her.
Mark was in a serious accident . . . He was critically injured and another firefighter died . . . It’s a shock at first.
Riley parked her car in the teacher’s lot and cut the engine.
He’d been burned.
That’s what she’d missed that night as he’d sat in his truck in the dark, avoiding looking at her outright. That’s what she’d missed when she’d threatened him with a bat.
Riley closed her eyes and groaned. “I threatened him with a bat.” She leaned against the seat. Shame had filled her in the bakery, but it had faded some as she watched Mark interact with people who obviously cared about him. He was careful. Self-conscious about where he looked and where he stood. Who he faced.
His hood had fallen back as he’d laughed. Red scarring outlined his eye, cheek, and jaw along the right side of his face, seeming to continue down his neck. More than anything, though, Riley noticed the laugh. The laugh had bubbled out of him like a solid reminder that behind whatever made him wear that hood was only surface. The laugh was who he was. The smile that broke across his face when he’d caught her studying him was who he was.
A smile that stole hearts.
A couple of teachers were talking over their coffee in the staff room as Riley entered. She greeted them and set the box of pastries on the table next to another. As she turned to go, Dalton Gainer entered and smiled brightly.
“Hey, new girl.”
“Oh, hey,” Riley said. They were almost past the first semester, but that never stopped Dalton from using the greeting anytime he saw her.
“Ready for the weekend?” He drew closer and leaned against the table next to her. The scent of his aftershave filled the air, mixing with the smell of maple bars.
“I will be after today,” she said.
“Isn’t that the truth?” He reached back and grabbed a donut from one of the boxes with a napkin. “Got any big plans later?”
“Nothing specific.” Riley didn’t know what to think of Dalton. He taught history and coached both football and basketball, and, she had to admit, was very easy to look at.
“The Crandalls are having a bonfire at their place tonight, and a bunch of people are going. I thought maybe you’d like to go.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “With you?”
He laughed, tossing his fair head back. “Don’t look so skeptical. I just thought that with you being new in town, this might be a good chance to get to know people.”
“And you,” she challenged.
He shrugged, not the least bit concerned. “And me. What could it hurt?”
“Don’t you have a football game to coach?”
“It’s tomorrow. We play Entiat.”
She vaguely remembered. These smaller schools didn’t have lights on the fields, so a lot of games were played Saturday afternoons before dark.
“Are you chaperoning the dance after?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I think with all of the play hours I logged, they let me sit this one out.”
“Shame,” he said, his gaze lingering.
“Yes,” she said. “Chaperoning high school dances is the absolute highlight of my career.”
He arched a
