“Rivers.”
Mark paused despite everything in him telling him to keep walking.
“When it comes to Riley, this is one record you won’t beat.” The subtle warning in Gainer’s tone came through loud and clear.
Mark took in a long, deep breath, trying to douse the wave of insecurity and anger flaming up inside him. It’s not like he’d felt any encouragement last night, but that wasn’t the point.
He turned, and Gainer stepped aside to avoid the swing of the boards.
“What do you mean?”
Gainer shrugged. “I mean I’m interested in getting to know her better, and let’s be honest, your game’s a little off.”
“How so?” Mark knew exactly how so, but he was curious to hear Gainer’s answer.
He lifted his hands as if in defense. “I’m only saying that I’ve been working on something here, and maybe you should take your warm-up somewhere else.”
Mark shook his head. “Is everything a sports analogy with you?” He squared himself against the man he’d once idolized. “I’ve got no game plan. No warm-up concerning Ms. Madigan. If you’ve been working on something, I’m sure you have no need to worry about the likes of me.” He almost turned, but stopped. “Oh, and if you’re going around referring to her as one of your goals on the scoreboard, I’d be very careful.”
Gainer chuckled. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”
Mark kept his own voice even, his gaze steady. “I happen to know she sleeps with a baseball bat under her bed.”
Gainer’s self-confident expression faltered slightly. Mark regretted that his words implied he and Riley had something more than a working relationship, but the guy was asking for it, so he made no correction. He turned, making sure the jerk had to duck out of the way of the boards once more, and headed toward the shop.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Gainer called after him. “And challenge accepted.”
“Unbelievable,” Mark muttered under his breath.
Any illusion of self-assurance he’d gained from his exchange with Gainer fizzled when he entered the shop. Tom Staley, who’d been the shop teacher since before Mark was in school, lifted his head and smiled. Riley, however, turned away with a box she was carrying and deposited it at the far end of a long worktable without so much as a “Hey.”
“Mark Rivers, good to see you.” Tom extended his hand, and Mark took it, painting on his smile and giving Tom the better half of his face. He’d left his hoodie at home, but kept a knit cap pulled over his ears.
“Mr. Staley. Thanks for letting us use the shop.”
“Just Tom. And you’re welcome. Riley tells me it’s a secret, but it’s one I’m happy to be in on. You can count on me.”
“Thanks, Tom.” He looked around the large industrial room. The smell of fresh-cut wood, machinery, and wood glue took him right back to freshman shop class. “Hasn’t changed much.”
“No, it hasn’t. I’m a bit dustier, but the shop’s the same. Same rules. Same kids doing what they can to break them.” He gave Mark a wink. “You and Jay nearly gave me a heart attack a couple of times, if I remember.”
Mark smiled, a real one. “Are you kidding? That safety movie you showed at the beginning of every semester scared the crap out of everyone.”
“Still, I recall someone not paying attention and nearly sending a block of mahogany through my office window.”
Mark grimaced. “Oh yeah. The table saw.” He chuckled and glanced toward Riley, who was closely examining a handful of pencils. “Sorry about that.”
Tom shook his head. “Job hazard. Still, I’ll miss it.”
“Miss it? Are you leaving?”
“Retiring. After next year.”
“Wow. Congratulations. I can’t believe that.”
“Me neither. But it’s time.” He rested his hand on Mark’s arm. “Good to see you here. Go on, and set your load down.” He nodded toward Riley. “You know where everything is.”
“Thanks.” Mark watched Tom retreat to his office, then turned to the worktable.
He noted a change in the air as he approached Riley. It was stiff and distant, and he didn’t like it. Not with her. He dropped the boards heavily onto the worktable, and she jumped.
“Ms. Madigan?”
She cast her green eyes his way, questioning his address like he knew she would.
He’d considered his next words over and over, but she hadn’t been staring at him when he’d practiced. “I need to apologize. To you.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and folded her arms.
“I think it’s twice now I’ve left you feeling like I’ve let you down in some way. Or maybe I’ve come across as a self-righteous blowhard.”
She bit her lip.
“I give you this song and dance about wanting to be treated just like everybody else, and then when you open up like I am anybody else, I use what I’ve been through to put you in your place. My dad would call me a fool. I’m sure you have better names.”
Her mouth pursed. Yeah. She had them, all right.
He shifted his weight and pushed on. “I was only trying to help. And I screwed up. Can you forgive me?” His fingers tightened around the strap of his backpack like he was a high school kid asking out his crush.
She studied him, her eyes round and her lips parted, and he allowed himself to consider how soft those lips might be.
Thoughts like that are trouble, Rivers. He quickly drew his gaze back to her eyes.
She blinked and looked away again, organizing the pencils on the table into an orderly row. “Thank you, Mr. Rivers.” She glanced at him sideways. “I wasn’t entirely undeserving of your . . . opinion,” she said quietly. “I was insensitive. At least, I didn’t consider—” She took a nervous breath. “Some of the things you said were hard to hear. But it wasn’t because of you.” She touched the last pencil on the table and faced him. He saw what he’d hoped to see.
A light behind her reserve. Acceptance of his lame apology. A willingness to make things right—or at least bearable—while they worked
