Aubrey can be the artist and you can be the cook.”
Caitlin absorbed that and nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”
The young teacher’s quick defusing of a potentially difficult situation was impressive, to say the least. “Emma, do you work for the UN in your spare time?”
Tilting her head, she gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry?”
“That was very diplomatic of you. I had no idea you were such a good mediator.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” She laughed, waving away the compliment. “Try negotiating a truce between two kindergarteners who both want to use the same purple crayon. That’s a challenge.” Beaming from one of his daughters to the other, she added, “You two are wonderful by comparison.”
Rick thought so. But to hear that kind of comment from someone who’d witnessed them at less than their best behavior was comforting. He often worried that his hectic schedule prompted him to be too lenient with them as a way to make up for the hours that he was away from home. It was nice to know that Emma didn’t see it that way.
After dinner they each took responsibility for a part of the cleaning-up process. There was a lot of laughter and teasing, especially when Aubrey’s hair ribbon somehow found its way into the dishwasher. Once the kitchen was back to its usual state, Emma brought her bin in from the kitchen and set in on the dining room table. Rick fetched his laptop, and after a bit of wrangling around the girls, they all got to work.
“How about this one?” Caitlin asked Emma, showing her a picture a first-grader had sketched of her new kitten.
“Hmm...” Emma responded, tilting it toward Aubrey. “What do you think?”
Clearly pleased to be included in such a grown-up endeavor, his youngest studied it closely before declaring, “It’s nice. I like cats.”
“I like dogs,” Caitlin said.
“I like both,” Emma told them, spreading the artwork out so they could see it better. “Let’s see if we can find a puppy picture in here somewhere, to balance it out. That way people who prefer one or the other will be happy.”
Rick tapped away on his computer, glancing up now and then to see how things were going in the art department. He’d done so many presentations, he could probably compose them in his sleep by now. This one was about as simple as it got, so he was able to look busy while he kept an eye on the ladies’ progress.
Usually, the girls clamped on to him the moment he got home and didn’t let go until bedtime. Tonight they seemed perfectly content with Emma’s attention, and it was interesting to watch them interact with her in such a warm, easygoing way. She was calm by nature, and she treated them more like short adults who deserved respect than like children to be coddled. He liked that.
More than that, he realized suddenly, he liked her. Emma’s kindness and generosity had swept effortlessly through his little family, bringing them a friend at a time when they desperately needed one.
She’d been so good to them, and now he knew that helping her save the art program that was so dear to her was the ideal way to thank her. So he put his head down and got to work.
* * *
Emma had never been so nervous in her life.
Not even her first day of student teaching had caused her this much stress, and she was at a loss to explain why. Waiting on the front landing of the high school for Rick, she reminded herself that she’d handled evenings like this before all by herself and they’d gone perfectly fine. She’d started attending the board meetings a couple of years ago when she’d first pitched her idea of transforming her impromptu art club into a bona fide after-school program, free of charge for any student who wanted to come. Some of the high schoolers who came in functioned as her assistants, helping the younger ones when they needed attention and she was occupied elsewhere. She suspected that the mentor role benefited the older students as much as the younger ones, and it was rewarding for her to know that she’d had a hand in helping these talented young people grow.
As promised, Rick’s sedan pulled into the parking lot fifteen minutes before seven, and some of her anxiety receded. Because of his coaching and encouragement, she was confident that the concise, logical presentation they’d prepared was top-notch. It was her delivery she wasn’t so sure of, but she swallowed her fear and plastered a smile on her face as she went to meet him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she blurted, cringing at the desperate note in her voice. She sounded like a teenager dreading a speech she had to make for English class rather than a competent adult. “I’m sorry—I guess I’m more on edge than I realized.”
“Totally understandable,” he assured her with a smile that looked as if he’d practiced it in a mirror. “This program is important to you, and it’s natural to be a little anxious about tonight. That’s why we put so much effort into refining the bullet points you’re going to present to the board. Remember?”
“Yes, but you left the slides of the kids’ projects mixed in, right? I think those are just as important as proving the monetary value of them having access to an extra art class.”
“Of course I did,” he said, patting his laptop case as if to prove to her that he hadn’t forgotten anything. “This is your show, Emma. I’m just your support staff.”
“I’m not used to having staff,” she confided. “I kind of like it.”
She also liked that he’d finally started calling her by her first name. Maybe just a little too much, she mused, concerned about their brief alliance becoming more than she was prepared to fend off. Now that she knew he was single, it definitely put a different spin on things.
Silently chiding herself for worrying about nothing, she pushed the bizarre reaction to him aside and led him into the school.
As they took their seats in the classroom where the meeting was taking place, he said, “I’ve enjoyed helping out. Tomorrow I have to go back to my oatmeal office and catch up on paperwork.”
Her smile told him that she recognized her own description of his work space from the afternoon they’d first started working on this project.
“I like my paperwork better,” she said, tapping the watercolor sketch of her class that adorned the front of her very organized new binder.
He gave her a long look, then leaned closer. “Don’t repeat this to anyone at the bank, but so do I.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied with a grin. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“No one would believe it, anyway.”
There was a dejected quality to his normally mellow voice, and she frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m a numbers guy, remember?”
“You don’t have to be just a numbers guy,” she pointed out. “You could do something creative as a hobby.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “What’s a hobby?”
“Something you do for fun.” When she realized he’d simply been making a point about how hectic his life was, she felt silly for answering him that way. “What do you do for fun?”
“The girls are my fun. Without them—” He shrugged as if he honestly didn’t know what he’d do without Caitlin and Aubrey to break up his work routine.
“So you wouldn’t go to a crafts show on your own?”
“No.”
His voice had taken on a sudden strained quality, and she wondered what she’d done to bring on such a terse response. He seemed to appreciate her artwork, so it wasn’t that he had no interest in that sort of thing. Then it hit her, and she realized that Sarah must have been the creative influence on their daughters.
Emma tried desperately to