Anna_The Ever After Series Book 2 Page 3

  I grab a cylinder of clay from one of the plastic bins sitting behind my wheel and set it down on my wooden work bench. I begin to wedge the cold lump with my hands, methodically kneading and folding until the clay softens and it becomes pliable. I head back over to my wheel and slap the clay down in the centre of it. I dip my hands into the plastic pail filled with watered down clay and use my bodyweight to form it into a column. Each step is like riding a bike, my body knows what to do without thinking too much about it. I begin to shape and re-shape, gliding my hands up and over as many times as it takes until the clay begins to smooth out and I can mold it however I want. My mind drifts as I work, and even when the muscles in my back begin to groan, I feel calm and centred.

  It’s late by the time I get back home, my stomach grumbling as I climb the stairs. I roll my shoulders a few times, trying to work out the knots when I turn into the hallway and spot her. She’s standing in front of her door, rummaging through a small purse, muttering under her breath.

  “Hey freckles, you okay?”

  She turns to face me and narrows her pale blue eyes. My gaze trails down her body, to the noticeable stain on the front of her dress and then all the way back up to the dark smudges beneath her eyes and the fact that the hair on one side of her head is wet while the other side is dry. Her glare softens as her bottom lip wobbles slightly.

  “No, I’m not,” she says firmly. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I just had the absolute worst date of my entire life. And now, when all I want to do is shower off the stench of garlic butter and Merlot and crawl into bed, it dawns on me that I can’t even do that,” she continues. “Because of you.”

  She crosses her arms in front of her chest and continues to stare me down with far more authority then I would think possible for such a wisp of a woman.

  “What? No smart ass retort?” she demands.

  “I was hoping to catch you,” I say. “I wanted to thank you for the baking you brought by this morning.”

  She looks surprised and loosens her arms, eventually relaxing completely and letting them fall to her sides.

  “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I had a really bad night, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m glad you enjoyed them,” she adds with a smile.

  “No need to apologize to me, I’m a big boy,” I smirk. “And I probably deserve it anyways. But rest assured, I won’t be having company tonight.” She looks relieved and I can honestly say it makes me feel like a fucking dickwad. “You take care,” I say, before turning and crossing the hall.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  I open my door but turn to face her again. “Ask away.”

  She licks her lips and glances down at her feet before looking me head on, “Is that a hickey on your neck?” she asks with a grin.

  I was expecting her to ask me some kind of loaded bullshit question about what men want or if there are any decent men left on the planet. I was not expecting her to tease me.

  Well played freckles.

  She turns her back to me before I can answer. “Sweet dreams, Sebastian,” she says before her door closes.

  Chapter 3

  Anna

  “You look great today, by the way,” Melinda says, raising a perfectly manicured, dark blonde eyebrow. “Considering it’s Monday.”

  “I think it’s because I actually got some sleep this weekend,” I say, as we walk down the hallway to the teacher’s lounge. “I feel more human now than I have in the last month.”

  “Did party boy move out or what?”

  “Nope. But he only had his usual crowd over on Saturday and had everyone out by eleven,” I tell her. “Which I will accept as a truce and therefore will no longer be toying with the idea of having him murdered. I actually think he felt bad for me after our run-in, post worst date ever.”

  “Ugh, I can’t believe that prick turned out to be married,” she sneers, before mumbling a string of curses under her breath. “What the hell is wrong with people?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  We enter the small lounge and head straight for the coffee. We’ve got thirty minutes before class starts, during which time we’ll be having a quick staff meeting. I pour us each a cup and we take our usual seats. Melinda has been my assistant since I took my job here at Walton Elementary two years ago, fresh from college. She comes from a large family and is great with kids. She was hired shortly before I was, and we clicked instantly on my first day. Usually it takes longer to get a permanent position in the school system but the teacher before me unexpectedly quit and since I had done my practicum here, the principal offered me the newly vacated position when it came up.

  Our school is small, only accommodating grades k-6, but it’s perfect for me. I feel like I get to know each student individually and I like being able to see them advance once they leave my classroom. I glance around the room as everyone begins to file in, and then down at my watch.

  “Are they planning on starting this meeting sometime today?” Melinda snorts.

  “I hope so,” I say.

  “Good morning everyone,” Vice Principal Shephard says as she breezes into the room. “I’ll keep this brief.”

  Fifteen minutes later, after we’ve been instructed that some of our funding will yet again, be cut, we head back to our classroom to finish setting out supplies.

  “If they keep cutting stuff from the budget we won’t be able to do anything but play with cardboard boxes all damn day,” Melinda grumbles.

  “That’s public school for you,” I sigh. “Hopefully they take from somewhere else and leave us alone this time. I can’t keep duct taping everything back together when it falls apart.” A knock on the door has us both turning around.

  “Excuse me, is this the kindergarten room?”

  I’m momentarily stunned into silence as I turn fully and face a handsome man dressed in a well- tailored suit. His dark hair is groomed neatly, his jaw clean shaven and if I had to guess, I’d put him in his thirties. Melinda nudges me with her elbow, jarring me from my inappropriate ogling.

  “Oh, yes,” I say. “I’m Ms. Brookes, can I help you?”

  It’s then that I glance down and notice a smaller version of the man standing behind him. I completely forgot that we were getting a new student today. Darius Kent, five years old, parents newly divorced. According to his file he’ll be alternating one week here and one week at his old school while he’s with his mother on the other side of the city, in a different district.

  I crouch down as his father steps aside. “Hi, you must be Darius,” I say. “Would you like to go see Melinda and she’ll show you where to put your backpack?”

  He nods slowly and makes tentative steps toward Melinda, who flashes him a bright smile. I stand and smooth my palms along my pants.

  “I’m sorry. I knew Darius was coming today, but it must have slipped my mind and I didn’t quite put two and two together,” I say.

  “No problem,” he says. “Jay Kent,” he holds out his hand and takes mine in a gentle grasp.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Anna Brookes,” I reply. “You’ve already filled out all the forms but is there anything you’d like me to know or anything you’re concerned about regarding Darius?”

  “Everything,” he exhales with a bitter laugh. “He’s taking the divorce pretty hard, and the new arrangements.”

  “Understandable,” I say. “But kids are resilient, and I’ll certainly do my best to make sure he feels comfortable here.

  “I appreciate that,” he says, checking his watch. “I’ve got a meeting to get to, but the secretary has my number at the office on file if you need to reach me.”

  I watch as he kneels beside the small table that Darius is sitting at and lowers his voice before leaning in and giving him a hug. He slips from the classroom just as the other students begin to arrive and Melinda skips over to me, grinning.

  “Holy ovaries,” she swoons. “Was that not the hottest thing you’ve ever seen?”

  “Easy there,” I warn with
a laugh. “You can look, but no touching. It would reflect poorly on both of us if you let your ovaries anywhere near Mr. Kent.”

  “Ohhh, Mr. Kent! I like that,” she says with a wink. “And who says I was looking for myself?”

  I roll my eyes at her and quiet down the class once they’ve all taken their seats and we begin with our morning song.

  *

  By the time the final bell rings and the classroom is put back together again, I have one thing on my mind. Pasta from Allessia’s Bistro. The modest hole-in-the-wall eatery is on my route home and given the day I’ve had, I’d say I deserve it. Monday’s are always the worst. The kids are still wound up from the weekend and resentful when we have to sit down and do actual work. I feel for them, but I always have to be extra firm on Mondays and it’s exhausting. Pasta and a glass of wine while I curl up on the couch and watch Netflix sounds heavenly.

  I use the phone sitting on my desk and dial the number that I unabashedly know by heart. I place an order for two portions of my favourite pasta and two sides of garlic toast.

  I straighten my desk quickly and glance out the window. The forecast this morning called for rain today and although the sky looks like it’s about to burst, I might be able to make it home before it starts pouring. I grab my bag from the bottom drawer and double check that I have my umbrella before I flip off the lights and head out.

  When I make it to Allessia’s, it’s still too early for the dinner crowd and the place is quiet with only a handful of occupied tables. As I walk in, the smell of fresh bread and citrusy herbs immediately hit my nose. I spot the owner, Stephanie, through the open window that peeks into the kitchen. She looks up as the door swings shut behind me and smiles.

  “Anna! Come on back,” she calls out.

  I return her smile as I weave my way through the small dining room, in between various tables covered in red and white checkered cloth. Colourful vintage signs, all in Italian of course, hang along the interior brick walls adding a nice touch to the casual atmosphere of the bistro.

  I discovered this place when they opened about a year ago. I was walking home after work one day and Stephanie was hosting an outdoor grand opening. She had free samples of everything on the menu and once I devoured a bite of her homemade ravioli, I knew I was hooked. I usually stop in at least once a week on my way home to grab dinner and in that time Stephanie and I have become friends.

  I enter the kitchen through the bright red swinging doors and take my usual seat on an old stool in the corner, away from the kitchen traffic.

  “Rough day?” she asks, over her shoulder.

  “Just a typical Monday,” I sigh. “You?”

  “Ugh, this paperwork is killing me,” she says, nodding to the open laptop sitting on the table beside me. “I really need to hire an assistant manager to do all the boring stuff for me.”

  Stephanie opened Allessia’s with one goal in mind, to honour her grandmother, for whom the bistro is named. She told me once that she learned everything she knows about cooking from her nonna and spending countless hours with her in the kitchen. Single and without children, when Stephanie turned forty she quit her job as a city bus driver and sunk her entire savings account into opening something her grandmother would be proud of. It might not be the fanciest restaurant in the city, but it’s one of the best and the locals know it. Stephanie calls it her mid-life-about Goddamn time-crisis.

  “You should put an ad up at the downtown campus,” I suggest. “You could probably find a student who would be willing to work evenings.”

  “Hey that’s a good idea, I didn’t even think of that,” she says. “I am not ashamed to say that my ass belongs in the kitchen.”

  “No judgement here,” I grin. “If it weren’t for your ass in this kitchen, I’d be deprived of your delicious homemade pasta and I’d have to eat the stuff in the box instead.”

  “Ack, you’re hurting my precious ears with your dreadful words,” she whines, dramatically covering her ears with her palms. “Promise me you’ll never talk like that again in my presence.”

  “Cross my heart,” I laugh.

  She pulls a fresh loaf of garlic bread from the oven and slices it up before placing two thick pieces into a paper bag.

  “Jack?” she asks. When I nod, she adds two extra slices.

  “If he’s there,” I say. “If not, I’ll just take it all home and suffer through eating your fettuccine al pomodoro all week,” I wink.

  “You’re a good girl Anna,” she tells me, scooping the fresh pasta into two separate take out containers. She stacks everything and places some plastic cutlery on the top before slipping it all into a plastic bag and tying the top. “I’ll walk you out,” she offers. I pause at the register, but she just hands me the bag and waves me off.

  “What?! No, let me pay,” I insist.

  “Nope, it’s on me this time,” she says. “Take your food and go. That rain is coming and you’re going to get caught in it if you don’t hurry.”

  I wait until her back is turned and she’s heading into the kitchen before I shove some cash into the tip jar sitting on the counter. I say goodbye to Shannon and Ashley, two of the servers that work evenings, and step outside just as the sky begins to groan with impatience. I quickly head in the direction of home and keep a look out for Jack. His usual bench is empty which hopefully means he’s at a shelter.

  I’ve still got a couple blocks to go when a fat drop of rain lands on the tip of my nose. Great. I dig through my bag for my umbrella as I walk but it’s pointless, the wind picks up and I can’t even get it open. The sky opens and within seconds I am drenched. I round the last corner and see my building, sprinting up the front steps I fling the door open and push it closed with my body, leaning against it while I catch my breath. I hold up my bag from Allessia’s and make sure my food is okay…because apparently that’s where my priorities are. I wipe my feet and shake off any excess water before making my way up the staircase. Something catches my eye as I enter the hallway and when I approach my door, I see it’s my empty plate, with a note taped to it. I set my bags down and get my door unlocked before I pick everything up and read the yellow Post-it.

  I officially accept your previous demands.

  Sincerely,

  Sebastian Miller (your neighbour who knows that you really like to sleep at night)

  I’m still smiling an hour later once I’ve dried off and changed, curled up on the sofa with my dinner and Jamie Fraser on the screen in front of me.

  Chapter 4

  Sebastian

  I collect the trimmings from the platter I’ve been working on and chuck them into the recycle bin before I place the large tray on the drying rack. I wash up and begin to wrap up and box the set of dinner plates and bowls that I finished the other day. I really should call Malcolm at the community centre where I did my last free youth class and schedule another one. There isn’t a whole lot to do in the middle of a city that doesn’t cost money and when you run purely on donations and a fixed budget, it gets tough to entertain the kids with things that are challenging.

  I remember being a complete punk before I took my first art class, having no patience or respect for something that I always associated as being girly. The first time I watched my art teacher throw a massive porcelain bowl, I remember thinking anyone could do that shit. It was hell on my delicate teenage ego when he let me take his seat and put my cockiness on the line. After several failed attempts, I eventually admitted defeat and begged him to teach me. It was the beginning of my passion I guess you could say and if I can repay that to some other know-it-all punk, I will.

  I glance at the clock and decide to call it a night. My back is begging for a massage and I’m beat. I flick off the lights and lock up, the sun already set, the glow of the crooked streetlights guiding me to my truck. I turn on the engine and reach into my glovebox for my phone, seeing I have several messages from Mason wondering if we’re on for tonight. My thoughts turn to Anna and then back to the throbbing muscl
es in my back before I respond not tonight and hit send. I’m sure I’ll catch shit for it but I’m not in the mood for company. Especially loud company.

  As I drive home, I realize that the last six years have passed by in a blur of booze, women and shit that I used to think was fun but for whatever reason, I’m now bored with. I’ve worked steadily and made a name for myself but anything outside of my studio walls has been meaningless bullshit. I shake off my pending mood as I park out back and head upstairs. I stop by my place first and change before I head up to the roof.

  After spending the better part of the last six years crashing in Mason’s guestroom, I decided it was time to find a place of my own. Business has done well enough that I was able to splurge a little and one of the reasons I signed a lease for this place is what’s up top. As I make my way up the narrow staircase, the idea of hot water massaging my back and shoulders almost makes me whimper. I send a mental thank you to the rich bastard who built this place and had the foresight to install an outdoor pool and hot tub.

  I have yet to see anyone else up here at night but when I open the door, I see Anna sitting on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water. When the door clicks shut she jumps slightly and turns, wiping the heel of her hand across her cheek. Shit. I think about turning and running back down the stairs like a pussy but my throbbing shoulders protest immediately.

  Before I can think too much of it, my legs begin to move and I find myself taking the seat beside her. I chuck my towel onto one of the lawn chairs along with my shoes and socks before I slip my legs into the water beside hers.

  After several beats, I find myself curious enough to ask, “Another bad date, freckles?”

  “Afraid not,” she says quietly. “My sister’s birth mom died today.”

  “Your sister’s birth mom? Are you about to unload an episode of Maury on me?”

  She turns toward me and rolls her eyes before kicking up her slender foot and splashing me. “No,” she says. “My foster sister, Dru…she found out today that her mother died.”