Free Marrying the Northbridge Nanny by Victoria Pade

Street, let’s see if we can get into the middle school building. I left something there.”
     
    The school campus was comprised of three buildings—one for the elementary grades, one for the middle grades, and one for the high school. All grade levels shared the cafeteria, the auditorium, the administration offices, the gym, the playground and the sports field.
    “You left something in the middle school? Recently or when you went to middle school?” Meg asked as they turned in that direction.
    “When I went to middle school. But it might still be there.”
    The building’s front doors were open when they reached it and they understood why after going past what appeared to be a knitting class in the first classroom. No one took any notice of them entering, so Logan led the way to the center of the building and a bay of lockers.
    “These look the same,” Logan observed. “And if I’m remembering right, it was locker 56—I was sure that even if I lived to be that old I wouldn’t get over Libby Weaver.”
    Meg laughed. “Libby Weaver? The manicurist?”
    “She might be the manicurist now, but in the eighth grade? She was the girl of my dreams,” he said with mock rapture as he located locker number 56.
    When he did, he took a leap, caught the top edge of the row of lockers that were barely two heads from the ceiling and stayed hanging there, pulling himself up high enough to look around.
    “Luckily not many things change in Northbridge, and not a lot of cleaning of the locker tops happens, either,” he said as he held on with one hand and used the other to reach for something. Then he dropped back to the ground.
    Meg tried not to notice his dexterity or the way his biceps bulged to bear his weight…
    “Got it!” he said, blowing many years of dust off of what he’d retrieved before showing her a poorly shaped six-inch wooden heart with Be Mine burned into it.
    “Like the Valentine’s Day candy?” Meg guessed.
    “Exactly. I made it in eighth grade woodshop for Libby Weaver, and I etched my name into it—under the Be Mine.” He showed her that, too. “I remembered it when I saw Libby on the street the other day. I thought if it was still here I should probably get it back. I wouldn’t want somebody to find it now and sell it on eBay as my earliest work in wood—as you can see, it wasn’t a good beginning.”
    “It is pretty bad,” Meg said, unable to keep from laughing at the malformed object. “But for you there’s the sentimental value.”
    That made him laugh, too. “Libby Weaver was my first love and she broke my heart,” he pretended to be morose over the memory as they headed out of the school building. “I made this for her for Valentine’s Day but just when I was going to give it to her, I turned the corner and found her kissing some other guy. I went back around to the lockers, threw it up there, and, like I said, thought that even if I lived to be the same age as my locker number—fifty-six—I’d never get over the pain of it.”
    “That is sad,” Meg said sympathetically. “How long did it really take for you to get over it?”
    “At least a week,” he said as if it had been an eternity.
    “And when you saw her on the street the other day? Did you have pangs?”
    “I didn’t even recognize her—she recognized me. And no, no pangs. She looks good, but no pangs.”
    It took some work for Meg not to hate the fact that he thought the manicurist looked good.
    A lot of work.
    And still she hated it…
    They were outside again by then and Logan suggested they go to his SUV to drop off the heart before they crossed South Street to walk Main. It allowed Meg another few minutes to try to at least stop thinking about his appreciation of his old love.
    But in that endeavor she recalled something else and said, “Ahh, that’s right, the Weavers. I forgot about Rick Weaver…”
    “Are those impure thoughts you’re having?” Logan accused as they left the SUV behind and crossed