here?”
“Student teaching!” She rubs her hands together. “Well, it doesn’t actually start for a few weeks, but Mrs. Monroe said I could come meet the kids for the first day of class and I just found out Gabby’s one of the students. This is going to be great!”
Relief swamps me. “I’m so glad you’ll be in there.”
She squeezes me into a tight hug and whispers, “She’ll love it. Have some faith.”
“I know.” I shrug. “This is what parents must feel like, huh? I think I’m more nervous than both the girls today.”
“They’ll be fine. But you? You look like you need some stress relief, and I know just the thing.” She grins. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Stress relief” sounds like code for “party,” and I don’t have time for that right now, not with finding a job and working on Dad’s house. I don’t want to seem unfriendly, though, so I return her smile. I can always let her down after the invitation comes. “Okay. Thanks.”
I’m heading out the front door when the secretary from the front office calls my name. She’s a tiny little thing with a gray bob and a sweet smile. “You’re Gabby Fisher’s sister?”
“I am.”
She presses an envelope into my hand and drops her voice low. “Your father’s textbook rental check bounced.”
“Oh.” Shit. “I’m sorry about that. He can be kind of…absentminded. I’ll have him…um…move some funds and write a new check.”
Her smile suggests she knows there are no funds to move. “There’s paperwork in that envelope for assistance. You just have your father fill it out, and Gabby’s textbooks will be taken care of. I also included the application for free lunch.”
Of course. Because the Fishers always need handouts. Nothing changes. I force myself to thank her before rushing from the building.
I’m unlocking the car when I hear someone call my name. I pin on my smile before turning.
“Cally Fisher, right?” the woman repeats. I don’t recognize her. She’s gorgeous and sophisticated in a black pencil skirt and a button-up pinstriped shirt, her long, blond hair pulled into a low ponytail.
“Yes, that’s right.” I offer my hand. “And you are?”
She drops her gaze to my hand and then brings it back to my face. “I’m Meredith Palmer. Owner of Venus Salon?”
She still hasn’t taken my hand. Feeling like an idiot, I tuck it back into my pocket. “It’s nice to meet you,” I manage. This woman may be smiling, but coldness radiates off her. For whatever reason, she doesn’t like me.
“I saw that you were interested in working as my massage therapist.”
I shift uncomfortably. I already know where this is going. “I was looking into it.”
“Yeah.” She straightens her shirt and repositions that plastic smile. “But you see, we’re not that kind of establishment, and I would rather watch my business wither and die than have someone like you giving—” she lifts her hands and makes air quotes, “ —‘massages.’”
Tuesday morning brings sunshine and clarity. Maggie’s right, of course. I need to let Cally go. Not that I have a choice. She’ll leave town soon—hell, maybe she’s already left—and I’ll forget there was ever a woman who owned me, body, heart, and soul, as much as she did.
I turn on the gallery lights and start up the computer. Maggie will be in soon, and she can watch the floor while I take care of some paperwork in my office upstairs. I need to finish the grant proposal for the downtown arts event and hopefully finish the syllabi for my fall classes.
When I unlock the front doors, I find Cally waiting on the sidewalk.
“William?” She blinks at me, as if she can’t figure out why I’d be here. I’m wondering the same about her.
“Good morning.” God, she’s beautiful. She left down her silky, dark hair today and it’s like a curtain over half her face. I clench my fists against the temptation to touch it, tuck it behind her ear to reveal the