“You haven’t eaten?”
“I made her toast,” Dylan said, coming through the doorway with Hunter in tow. “She didn’t want it.”
“Thanks, Dylan.” Damn. A ten-year-old boy was more on top of things than she was. She tossed him the keys. “Your lunches are in the fridge. Hop in the car and start it up. We’ll be there in a sec.”
“Really?” He beamed. “You’re so much cooler than Dad.”
While the boys gathered their lunches and headed out, Bex leveled Izzy with a look. “You like toast.”
She fidgeted, but didn’t break eye contact. “Not when Dylan makes it. His toast is yuck.”
“You’ve got to eat something, baby. We don’t have time for more toast. How about cocoa pops?”
“Okay.”
The way she acquiesced made Bex wonder if that’s what she’d been aiming for all along, but she didn’t have time for a lecture on the evils of sugary cereal, so she poured a mound into a bowl, topped it with milk, and handed the bowl to her daughter.
“You can eat in the car.” No doubt she’d have another stain on the seat covers before they reached the end of the block, but that’s what they were there for.
She grabbed Izzy’s backpack and they locked up and raced outside, where her van idled by the curb. Bex climbed into the front seat, opposite Dylan, and jolted the vehicle into motion. Their first stop was the kindergarten, where she shepherded Hunter into the care of a teacher. Finally, at 8.15 a.m. exactly, they screeched to a halt outside the primary school. Dylan took off with some friends, and Bex saw Izzy to her classroom, then jogged to the staffroom.
If any ofthe staff assembled at the school resented Michael Briggston’s presence, they hid it well. The group numbered fifteen in total, from administrators to math teachers. He scanned the faces again, wondering if he’d missed something. It wasn’t the first time he’d come on as principal of a new school, and usually at least one person believed he’d usurped their rightful place—theirs, or someone else’s. The hostility was something he’d grown accustomed to. An unfortunate side effect of building a reputation as the guy who could get stiff cogs turning again before passing the reins to someone else.
The man at his side, deputy principal Hollister, gestured for a teacher in the back to close the door. Then he whistled, gaining everyone’s attention.
“Thank you all for coming today,” he said in a deep baritone. “I’m pleased to announce that the board of trustees has finally filled the role of principal. I know it’s been a long time coming, so thanks for your patience. I’d like to introduce—”
At that moment, the door creaked open again, and a woman scuttled through, her head down. A very familiar woman. Though he couldn’t see her face, Michael knew that elegant neck and mass of ebony hair immediately. Emotion punched him in the gut, and his traitorous heart gave an extra thump. Unreliable organ. But what the hell was Bex Cane doing at a small school in a tiny town on the western coast of New Zealand’s North Island?
Hollister sighed. “Rebecca, thank you for joining us.”
She glanced up, already apologizing, but the words died on her lips when she caught sight of him. She stared, slack-jawed. Michael didn’t look away, even though his throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe. He wouldn’t be the first to flinch. If anyone deserved to feel uncomfortable in this situation, it was her. Once upon a time, he’d been willing to risk his relationship with his family to have her, but now he knew her for what she was: a sell-out. Someone whose morals could be bought. Thank God he’d never gotten the chance to tell her how he felt. Her chest jerked with a sharp inhale that was audible across the room, and his heart sped up. Moisture coated his palms. Why did she still have this effect on him?
“As I was saying,” Hollister continued, oblivious to the tension zinging between Michael and Bex, “this is Michael Briggston, our new principal. Michael, would you care to say a few words?”
Clapping ensued, but Michael’s attention didn’t waver from Bex, whose usually dark complexion had paled, her hand clapped to her mouth. The man beside her jostled her with his elbow, then raised a brow, and she seemed to pull herself together. Michael struggled to remain impassive in the face of her horror. Of all the rotten luck. He’d given plenty of introductory speeches before, but how could he be expected to remember the right words when the only woman he’d ever loved—even though she’d never belonged to him—looked like she’d rather have the floor open up beneath her feet and suck her into hell than be in the same room as him?
Shit.He’d known that Haven Bay was Bex’s hometown, but he hadn’t realized she’d moved back here. He’d assumed the chance of running into her was slim, especially when all he did with his time was work, exercise, and muck around the house. Yet here she was, a member of the staff under his management. Despite his shock, a smile teased the corners of his lips. Oh, she’d hate this turn of events.
“Michael?” Hollister prompted.
He forced himself to take a breath, and stepped forward. “Hello everyone, it’s a pleasure to be here. I expect this week to be a quiet one while I get to know how things are done in the bay. I look forward to working with you all.” He’d learned it was best to allay the staff’s fears first and foremost. Many people thought a new boss meant their lives would be shaken up, and not in a good way. He didn’t mind shaking things up when warranted, but preferred to take the time to decide on his own whether change was necessary.
A bell rang, and with a wave of his hand, Hollister dismissed the group. Michael exhaled in relief that he wouldn’t have to come up with anything more eloquent to say. His eyes remained glued to Bex Cane, but she was gone like a flash, vanishing through the exit and into the school beyond. He wanted to race after her. To demand to know the answers to the questions that had plagued him over the years. But he managed to stay where he was.
“Come with me,” Hollister said as the room emptied. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.” It would give him time to gather his thoughts, and to focus on what was really important: his job.
Haven Bay Primary School consisted of three blocks of buildings that ran parallel to each other, with a sports field at the end. The row of buildings nearest the field contained the Year 7 and 8 classes, the next row back housed the Year 4 to 6 classes, and the one at the rear was for the newest students. The entire area was fenced off, which Hollister explained was to stop the younger kids from wandering over to the beach. There were 250 students enrolled, and the men paused outside each classroom while Hollister explained which class was inside, and who taught them. By the time they returned to his office, Michael had forgotten all of them except for Room Four, where Bex Cane taught art to the older students three times a week.
She was an art teacher, and a part-time one at that. When he’d known her, she’d been an ambitious artist intent on getting her paintings into the most exclusive galleries, and he’d assumed she used the payout she took from his parents to fund her dream. He hadn’t looked her up in the intervening years because frankly, he didn’t want to see more evidence of how he’d misjudged her.
But still, an art teacher? How had she been relegated to teaching eleven- and twelve-year-olds to mix colors and change brush strokes?
“I’ll leave you here to get settled,” Hollister said from the doorway. “We have school assembly in two hours to introduce you to the students.”
“Sounds great.”