Free Somewhere Between Luck and Trust by Emilie Richards

swiftly behind her.
    “Do you have a son or daughter here?” she asked, as pleasantly as fatigue would allow.
    “No, but I’d still like to talk to you about a student. Can you spare a little time now, or would you rather I made an appointment?”
    “Which student?”
    “Dawson Nedley.”
    Had it been anyone else, she would have turned the man over to Marianne, who would have been happy to make the appointment. But Dawson was of such immediate concern that Georgia knew better than to put this off.
    “Let’s go in my office,” she said.
    She led him there, then stayed on her feet until she could close the door. Her desk was piled so high she knew better than to sit behind it. There was no sense in trying to establish authority with a tower of paper between them.
    She motioned him to a love seat in the corner and took the armchair beside it. Outside her windows the sky was gray, and she noted his umbrella was dripping on the carpet. “Before you say anything—I can’t give you information about Dawson, not without his permission and his family’s.”
    She was taller than average, but even seated, Lucas Ramsey had to look down at her. “That’s fair enough, but if we need it, they’ll probably give it to you. His mother knew I was coming. And I told Dawson I planned to drop by. It’s no secret.”
    “Would you like to tell me why you’re here?”
    He flashed a smile that cut straight through her exhaustion. “I’m his neighbor. I think he’s a great kid, maybe even a brilliant kid. But I know he’s not lifting a finger at school. I’d like to help any way I can. He should be college bound.”
    She pondered this; she pondered him. She pondered how tired she was and how slowly her brain was processing information.
    He seemed to sense the latter. “Long day? You’re clearly wiped.”
    “I came in at six, and I’ve been running ever since. I’m not surprised it shows.” She sat back because she was too tired not to. “We ought to do this another time. It sounds important.”
    “How about tonight over pizza?”
    She stared at him. The invitation had come straight out of left field and still, somehow, seemed exactly right.
    He held up his hands, as if to say the request was completely innocent. “Nothing fancy. Pizza, beer if you drink it. And some brainstorming. You don’t have to reveal a thing about how he’s doing. Just help me come up with some way to prop him up a little.” He hesitated and his eyes flicked to her left hand. She wore no wedding ring—hadn’t since a year after Samantha’s father’s death—and he seemed to note that with a glance.
    “Of course, the weather’s awful, and somebody’s probably expecting you at home,” he said. “I’m being presumptuous.”
    “That’s not it.”
    “I hate to see this kid ruin his life.”
    She was too tired to be tactful, and too thrown off balance. “Why do you care?”
    “I’m new here, but there’s a little place in Weaverville, not that far from my house, that makes everything from scratch. I can tell you the whole story while we eat. Outside this building you’ll feel more like listening.”
    He seemed to understand exactly how she was feeling, and he didn’t even know her. For a moment that, coupled with her visceral reaction to Lucas Ramsey, seemed like enough reason to say no. But Dawson’s future was too important to play games with.
    “Nobody’s expecting you? ” she asked, since he’d brought up the subject.
    “I’m more or less a stranger here. I live alone. There’s a stray cat I feed, but he comes by late.”
    She thought about the ground they’d covered in a few sentences. Her exhaustion had drifted away, and something like anticipation was filling the void.
    “Tell me where, and I’ll meet you there,” she said at last. “Six, seven?”
    He got to his feet. “Six. I think you need the pizza transfusion sooner than later. And if this storm continues, you’ll want to get home early.”
    She couldn’t