Page 10 of Love Always

I can feel perspiration rising along my forehead.

“It’s just a dinner. I take students out all the time for a beer and a sandwich. It’s just that on my schedule this semester, lunches are out.”

“Um. It doesn’t seem like a good idea,” I say my voice dropping to a whisper.

His tone grows stern, almost like a reproach. “Hey. Don’t make this into something it’s not. I’m still Professor Cruz.”

“I’m not. Okay. I've got to go.”

“We’re good right?” Now he switches back to concern. “I mean I haven’t upset you have I?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow.”

Fuck.

Tomorrow is Thursday and I have to deal with Professor Cruz. Then there’s Friday, with another meeting with Ms. Kram and a chat with the class. Then there’s Saturday and the Peeper’s Party which sounds like a bad British costume affair from Bridget Jones’s Diary, and Mateus and family and it is all too much.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Professor Cruz is just creepy. I mean he’s not dangerous. I just don’t think he knows how he comes across—he’s awkward.

But the Mateus-thing? That could put my heart in peril. I have a way of falling for bad men.

The rest of the morning flies by and I’m just coming back from setting three more chickens on the rotisserie when Lindy, who has forgiven me for signing in and then spending ten minutes in the walk-in hissing into my phone, arches her eye. It’s hard to tell when she arches her eye because she has no eyebrows and draws them on every morning with an exaggerated arch. This real, even higher arch, is accompanied by a nod in the direction of the cold beer unit.

This day is going sideways fast. Shit.

It’s Kevin Barr. Skinny, dirty Kevin Barr, with his wallet chain hanging from his back pocket and a knife sheathed and strapped to his belt. He drags a hand through blond hair so greasy it almost looks transparent. His brown eyes are dark. There’s a small scar along his chin like someone pushed a pencil point into his flesh. It’s where his dog, a wary-eyed Boxer, bit him when he was twelve.

I swear he tortured that poor dog.

He turns, sucking on a toothpick. “Hey doll.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He spreads his hands. “Hey. I’m just trying to keep peace here. I want to do the right thing. You know,” he sucks hard and though he grins, his eyes are dead, “by my son.”

I grab him by his scrawny elbow and haul him down aisle three.

“What are you doing here?” I am suddenly aware my heart is pounding in the back of my throat and I feel sick to my stomach.

Kevin Barr lives in Boothbay, with his father in a big fancy mansion overlooking the ocean. Echo Bay is nowhere he needs to be. Or should be.

I keep my voice low and controlled. “You need to stop this. Now. This is my town.”

“Get used to it, doll. I’m doing some odd jobs for the Pratchett's now.” The toothpick twirls between his lips.

I stop breathing for a moment and push the panic aside. “I told you yesterday to stop texting me about this. It’s my family.”

“It’s my family too.”

I want to shake him. “You are not the father.”

Now he flashes a heartless grin. There’s an icy vein of cruelty running beneath it that chills. “How do you know?”

“It can’t be you. Besides, I know who the father is.”