set it down, moved to the sofa, and picked up one of the brightly colored throw pillows Paige had sewn herself. “And we want to get rid of home décor like this, keep everything neutral.”
Heat flooded her cheeks.
“Excuse me,” Jessica said pointedly to Trent. “My friend still lives here.”
“This is just for staging,” Trent said, unbothered. “It’s not personal.”
“Right,” Jessica said. “It’s de-personal.”
Trent smiled. “Exactly. And de-cluttered. We put away all the knickknacks like this.” He reached for the brass apple on the side table, a gift from one of Paige’s students—and knocked the table lamp to the floor with a crash. Paige gave a little scream.
“Oh geez, sorry,” he said, looking down at the ceramic shards on the floor. At least he sounded sincere now. “I’ll pay you for that.”
The chartreuse lamp had only cost her eight dollars at a thrift shop. She’d loved it, though.
“Where’s a broom?” Trent asked. After he’d swept up the pieces, Harry, looking more contrite than ever, steered him into one of the bedrooms.
“Oh, honey.” Jessica patted her arm. “I love the way you decorate. And you made that twill shower curtain.”
“Toile,” Paige corrected her unthinkingly.
Jessica lowered her voice. “Go tell your landlord you want to buy the place. Do it now, while he feels bad for you.”
Paige got up and walked over to Harry, who now stood with the real estate agent in the doorway to her bedroom. Hopefully, she hadn’t left any embarrassing personal items in plain sight. The agent was saying, “It would be great if we could de-clutter here a little, too, but it’s not as crucial as in the main area.”
Paige decided to ignore him. “Harry, how much are you going to charge for this place?”
Harry’s eyebrows raised. “How much am I listing it for?” He exchanged a look with Trent. “We were going to discuss that next. Why? Did you know somebody who’s interested?”
“Yes,” she said. “Me.”
His face brightened. “Is that right?”
“We’ll see.” Although Paige tried to feel doubtful, a spark of hope shone inside her.
The following afternoon, Paige glanced up at the schoolroom clock. Her art project had gone more quickly than she’d expected. She’d already spread out the painted construction paper pumpkins on the long windowsill to dry, and the children had all washed their hands.
“We’ve got a few minutes until the bell. What song would you like to sing?”
“Greasy grimy gopher guts!” a boy yelled.
“Hmm, I don’t know that one,” Paige lied. It had been a favorite at her childhood summer camp, and even then, she’d found it disgusting. How did a kid today still know about it?
Clara’s hand went up. “Yes, Clara,” Paige said.
“Do you have more of your cabin story?”
The simple question made Paige’s stomach knot. Maybe reading more of the story would somehow jinx her chances at getting the cabin. “You know, I don’t think that story is ever going to be a real book.” The way things were going, none of her stories were going to be real books, but still. “I think it’s just for me.”
“Can it be for us, too?” Deion asked.
He was a shy boy and rarely spoke up. Paige couldn’t bear to say no to both Clara and him. “Okay.”
She dug her journal out of her purse, opened it to the last section, and read.
“‘One day, the princess looked out the window and saw a gigantic scary bull. He stomped down the hill and tromped right into her cabin.’”
“What’s a bull?” someone called out.
“It’s a cow who’s a boy,” Paige explained. “And he has horns.”
Another child piped up. “My dad says that when he’s mad. That’s bull!”
“When my dad’s mad—”
“Well, we don’t say that in this class,” Paige cut in loudly. Clara raised her hand. “Yes, Clara.”
“Did you draw the bull?”
“I did, actually.” She flipped to the next page and turned the journal around, holding it up so they could see.
A few of the children gasped. “He’s scary,” a boy said.
“He is,” she admitted, turning the book back around. Maybe she shouldn’t have given him red eyes. “But don’t worry. All my stories have happy endings, remember?” How she hoped that could be true in her real life.
A girl asked, “What did the princess do? Did she fight the bull?”
Good question. Maybe she should’ve written it that way. But no, she didn’t want to promote violence.
“She could fight him with a sword,” a boy said.
“Or a rock.”
“He’s too big to hurt with a rock.”
“If it was a big rock.”
Jaden waved his hand in the air. “Miss Reynolds!”
“Yes, Jaden?”
“Um. If you burn a log, where does the log go? Does it turn into air?”
A great question, and for once, Paige could actually understand how his thoughts had gotten there. It was a story about a log cabin, after all. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
Jaden gave her a sweet smile. “Will you get back to me on it?”
He couldn’t have been any cuter. “Yes. I will.—Okay, I’m going to read now. ‘His big tail swished and he knocked a lamp to the floor. That was my favorite lamp! the princess said. And the bull said, Ha, ha, ha! I don’t care!’”
“Uh-oh,” Clara breathed, and then the school bell rang.
chapter six
Dylan yawned as he pulled into the last parking spot at Dolce Café and Bakery, his nephews Connor and Noah in the back seat. The place was apparently even more popular on Saturdays. Since the time he’d run into Paige there, he’d been back four times.
He
