Outside the Lines - Lisa Desrochers Page 0,68

to come all the way back here.”

I shrug one shoulder, trying to come off as if my whole world doesn’t pivot on her answer. “I was hoping you might be free tonight.”

She cringes. “Chuck and I need to work on Frank tonight . . . and probably tomorrow after the carnival, and Friday too.”

A scythe slices through my insides. I wish her PTSD friend bodily harm . . . until she says, “Saturday, maybe?” with a distinct edge of desperation in her voice.

It’s not just me. She’s feeling it too. “Saturday works. What time?”

She glances past me, and her pink cheeks pale a little. “Thank you for volunteering to help set up for the carnival, Mr. Davidson,” she says loudly and very deliberately, handing me the bag of bolts. I hear footsteps behind me. “I really appreciate it.”

The teacher from the manatee field trip steps up beside me. “You two okay over here?”

“Yeah, Theresa. I think we can handle it,” Adri answers.

“And you’ve got your volunteers all lined up for tomorrow?”

Adri nods. “Three of my moms said they’d be here from two to six.”

Theresa jots something on the clipboard in her hand. “What about teardown?”

Adri’s eyes widen.

“I’ll be here,” I say. “Six, right?”

Theresa nods. “The truck will be here to load the booths at seven, so we need it all cleaned up and taken down by then.”

“Got it,” I say.

Theresa moves off toward the next group, and Adri breathes out a sigh. “Thanks. My classroom is in charge of the balloon-dart game, and I forgot about setup and teardown.”

“No problem.” My eyes scan the other groups, most of which have their plywood booths up already and are starting to set up the games. “What’s the carnival for?”

“I guess they’ve been raising money for the last few years for new playground equipment, and this is the last big push. The PTA says that’s a deathtrap,” she says, gesturing to the rusting metal jungle gym in the middle of the playground. “They’re hoping to make the last thousand they need for the play structure they want.”

I look at the pile of wood on the ground. “This doesn’t look too hard.”

“Cars are my thing,” Adri says. “Construction, not so much.”

It’s basically one four-by-six plywood wall for the back and two three-by-six walls for the sides, along with brackets to hold them together and two-by-four supports for the back. I lift the four-by-six wall so it’s vertical. “Can you hold this here?”

She takes it and holds it by an edge. “That much I can probably handle.”

I position one of the two-by-four support braces behind it and line up the holes for the bolts. “So, what time Saturday?”

“Seven?”

“I’ll pick you up at your house,” I say, tightening the wing nut onto the first bolt.

Her tongue darts over that full lower lip as her eyes sweep over the other groups. She’s nervous. About her job? Her father? Or maybe PTSD Chuck is more than a friend. “I’ll meet you at the end of my street.”

Her father, then. I can’t say I blame her. I’m every father’s nightmare.

I give her a slow nod.

Her eyes flick to me and then away as I start on the bolts for the second support bracket. “I’m sorry I pushed you about getting help last week. A good friend of mine reminded me last night that it’s not my job to save everyone. I care a great deal about Sherm, but I overstepped my bounds as a teacher when I stuck my nose into your family business. I’m sorry.”

If I didn’t already know how tightly this woman had me wrapped around her little finger, the fact that the part of that statement that’s making me crazy is that she was with PTSD Chuck last night cements it. “You’ve worked wonders with Sherm. I had no right to jump down your throat.”

“Thank you. He’s a wonderful little boy.”

I finish with the supports and lift the first sidewall into place. “Hold this here.” She does and I grab one of the corner brackets and start on the bolts. “Where do you want to go Saturday? I don’t know the area very well.”

She’s quiet for a moment as she works something out, her eyes flicking to her colleagues and back to me several times in the process. “I know a great place off-island.”

The fact that she obviously wants to do this on the sly makes it so much hotter. “Sounds good.”

There’s a long tension-filled silence as I finish up the first wall and start on

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