I answered before he finished the question.
“Never.”
He looked at the road again.
“Not once?”
“Mateo didn’t choose any of this.”
I picked at the paper sleeve around my coffee.
“He lost his mom at five. If the worst thing that happens to me because I promised to take care of him is that I ride the bus, I’ll survive.”
Nathan didn’t answer immediately.
When we reached my building, Mateo was waiting behind the living-room window.
The second he saw me, he disappeared.
By the time I opened the front door, he was standing there holding a plate covered in foil.
“I reheated them.”
“You were supposed to be asleep.”
“Mrs. Patterson said ten more minutes.”
Mrs. Patterson called from the couch, “I said five.”
Mateo ignored her and looked past me toward Nathan, who had carried my classroom bags to the door.
“Who’s that?”
“Nathan.”
Mateo narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“Why does Nathan have your crayons?”
Nathan held up the bags.
“Apparently I’ve been promoted to crayon transportation.”
Mateo considered this.
Then he nodded.
“Okay.”
That was how Nathan Cole entered my life.
Or at least, that was who I thought had entered it.
Four days later, I learned his last name wasn’t Cole.
The Man Who Walked Into Our Conference Room
Brookside had been trying to replace its playground for almost three years.
Parts of the rubber surface were cracking. Two pieces of equipment had been removed entirely, and the remaining play structure had faded so badly that nobody could remember what color it originally was.
On Tuesday morning, Principal Harris called the teaching staff into the conference room.
A local foundation was considering funding the renovation.
Melissa and Tara were already seated when I arrived.
Melissa leaned toward me.
“Apparently this donor is huge.”
“How huge?” Tara asked.
“Coleman Development huge.”
I stopped pulling out my chair.
Everyone in Columbus knew Coleman Development.
Their name was on office towers, apartment complexes, shopping centers, and half the construction signs downtown.
Before I could ask anything else, Principal Harris entered with three people.
I recognized one immediately.
Nathan.
He was wearing a charcoal suit this time.
No jeans.
No gray sweater.
Principal Harris smiled.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Nathan Coleman, president and CEO of Coleman Development Group and chairman of the Coleman Family Foundation.”
I stared at him.
Across the table, Melissa’s mouth actually opened.
Nathan shook hands with Principal Harris, then one of our administrators.
Then he saw me.
He smiled.
“Rachel.”
The room went quiet.
I folded my arms.
“Nathan Cole?”
His smile weakened.
“Technically, Cole is part of Coleman.”
“That’s your defense?”
Tara looked between us.
Melissa had gone completely still.
Nathan glanced around the room.
“Maybe we should discuss this later.”
“Excellent idea.”
The meeting continued.
I barely heard half of it.
The foundation had already approved the first stage of funding. Brookside would receive new outdoor equipment, safety surfacing, storage, and classroom supply grants.
Afterward, I waited until the others left.
Nathan stayed.
I closed the conference-room door.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie about what I do.”
“You said you worked in real estate.”
“I do.”
“You own the company.”
“My family owns most of it.”
I stared at him.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
For the first time since I’d met him, he looked uncomfortable.
“I should have told you sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He took a moment before answering.
“Because people behave differently when they hear Coleman.”
“So you tested me?”
“No.”
“It feels like a test.”
He nodded slowly.
“That’s fair.”
I waited.
He looked through the glass wall toward the hallway.
“That night you didn’t know who I was. You argued with me about coffee. You refused my ride twice. You made me show identification before you got in my car.”
“Those are normal things.”
“You’d be surprised.”
I picked up my folder.
“Next time, just tell me your name.”
“If there is a next time?”
I reached for the door.
Then I looked back.
“Maybe.”
Through the glass, I could see Melissa pretending to organize papers at the copier while watching us.
For once, she didn’t have anything to say.
The Red Car in My Driveway
There was a next time.
And another.
Nathan met Mateo properly over pizza. He came to one of his soccer games and spent twenty minutes afterward listening to Mateo explain why the referee had apparently committed several serious crimes against the sport.
We went to dinner.
Then breakfast.
Then dinner again.
Nathan never took me anywhere that required me to buy a new dress. He seemed to understand quickly that expensive restaurants made me spend half the evening calculating what one appetizer could buy for my classroom.
About a month after we met, I opened my front door on a Saturday morning and stopped.
A red Nissan Sentra was parked outside.
A white bow stretched across the hood.
Nathan stood beside it.
I didn’t walk down the steps.
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
“Rachel—”
“No.”
Mateo squeezed past me.
“IS THAT OUR CAR?”
“Inside.”
“But—”
“Mateo.”
He looked at Nathan.
Nathan nodded toward the door.
“Listen to your aunt.”
Mateo disappeared inside, although I could see his face pressed against the window five seconds later.
I walked toward Nathan.
