Kickstart My Heart (Burgers and Brew Crue #1) - Lacey Black Page 0,79

time.”

I hug him tightly. I’m fully in love with him, yet something holds me back from making that declaration. I have a feeling it’s because of fear. Not of him. I could never be afraid of Walker. His heart is too pure, too giving. He’d never hurt me, and I’m sure he’d rather physically injure himself than risk hurting Lizzie in any way. No, this fear is more about the deep feelings he evokes when I’m near, or even when I’m not.

I’m very much in love with Walker Meyer.

I just hope I’m brave enough to say it sooner, rather than later.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Walker

I pull up in front of the preschool entrance and get in line with all the other parents or guardians. This may actually be my favorite part of a Thursday. It used to be going to work, slinging drinks, hanging out with the regulars. You know, running my bar. Now, it’s parking in the circular driveway and waiting for Lizzie to get out of school.

At eleven thirty, doors open and parents all step in front of their vehicles. I’m already smiling as I see the first little one fly out the door, wearing an orange pumpkin hat made of construction paper. “Mommy!” the little girl hollers, as she makes a beeline for a woman on the opposite side of the drive.

And so it continues over the next minute or so. The teacher verifies the individual picking up the child is the one on the list before sending the student outside. When there’s only two students left, and I can see Lizzie inside talking to a young boy, a man walks up the sidewalk. He heads straight for the door and tries to open it, only to find it locked, since the doors can only be opened from the inside or with a key.

The teacher, Miss Hanson, steps outside to talk to the man. She smiles politely at first, but then something crosses her face. She glances through the glass door before turning and meeting my eyes. I can tell something’s wrong by her body language, and before I know it, I’m walking up to where she stands.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m only allowed to release the child to the individual on the sheet,” I hear her say as I approach.

“But I’m her father.”

“Hey, Miss Hanson, is everything okay?” I ask politely, though I’m on high alert.

The man turns and looks at me, narrowing his dark eyes, but doesn’t say a word.

“Good morning, Mr. Meyer,” she says, stammering a little. “There seems to be a little confusion this morning on Lizzie’s pickup.”

“Confusion?” I ask the young woman, yet my eyes are locked on the man beside me.

“Yes, this gentleman says he’s Lizzie’s father.”

My eyebrows arch into my hair as I give the man a more scrutinous once-over. He’s wearing a white T-shirt under a black leather jacket and dark jeans. He looks freshly shaved, with a new haircut, and is wearing brand-new work boots on his feet. I can tell because there isn’t a scratch or a scuff on them. All in all, the man claiming to be Lizzie’s father looks normal. Like a regular guy I’d pass on the street.

I hate him.

“I was just explaining to…him, that I’m unable to release a child to someone not designated by the parent or guardian,” Miss Hanson states, though clearly flustered by the situation.

“And I was just telling her that I’m Lizzie’s dad.”

Staring at the man who’s trying to intimidate the young teacher, I ask, “Who’s listed on the sign-in sheet as the individual you’re to release Lizzie to today?” My tone is blunt and straight to the point. I’m done with this asshole’s bullshit.

“Umm, you, Mr. Meyer.”

“I’m her father,” the man practically growls, clearly getting agitated to the fact he’s not able to just stop by and claim his child.

“I’m going to have to call Miss Sargant,” the teacher states.

“Is there a problem?” a woman asks, stepping up beside us.

“Oh, no, Mrs. Freeman. Dylan is ready to go,” Miss Hanson says, her hands slightly shaking as she uses her key card to open the door.

The mom steps up to the door to wait for her son, while I remain on the sidewalk with the asshole. “You can’t have my family,” he states, his voice low as to not be overheard by the other parent nearby.

“That’s not your decision,” I reply, just as the teacher and the boy step out the door.

“Mommy!” he hollers, running into her arms. She gives us a