TYLER

The woman is beyond frustrating. I don’t know what it is about her, but from day one, from the first time I kissed Margaret Marshall, I’ve never been able to get her out of my mind. It’s as if she’s a part of my blood, the air I breathe, the world I live in—no matter how much time has passed.

I can barely listen to Principal What’s-His-Face as he begins to explain the situation. My gaze is focused entirely on Maggie, halfway torn between how beautiful she looks when she’s razzed up—a hint of pink in her cheeks, the way her chest moves with each frustrated breath, the bright shine to her eyes that says she’s ready for a fight—and how hot she makes my blood boil.

The principal clears his throat, and I snap to attention. I’m experiencing a moment of deja vu sitting here, remembering that one of the last times I’d been in this very office was the time I’d convinced Maggie to cut school and see a movie with me.

It had been the first time she’d held my hand, and quite possibly, the very best day of my young life. It had made me antsy with desire just thinking about the way her skin had felt against mine, so soft and smooth, her touches gentle, yet desperate...experimental, as we explored what it meant to fall in love.

And...I’m gone again. I missed half of what the principal said, and judging by the way he’s glaring at me, he knows it, too. On top of that, the girls are bickering, so I force myself out of the memories and into the present.

“She called me a country bumpkin,” Mila snaps. “I don’t even know what that is, but it doesn’t sound nice.”

“It’s because you are a country bumpkin,” Jessica says patiently. “You’re from the country.”

“Jess—” I say, and my daughter gives me a glare worthy of a teenager. I’m already dreading the years ahead, since it appears Jessica has aged twelve years in the last two. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“She called me a know-it-all, first,” Jessica says. “Just because I answered the question right.”

“You didn’t just answer one question right,” Mila says with a scowl. “You answered all of them right.”

“Because I’m smart.” Jessica sounds proud of this, and I’m a bit uneasy with how aloof she sounds. I’ve tried so hard to make sure she didn’t inherit her mother’s mightier-than-thou attitude, but now and again, it still creeps in, and I’m painfully aware of Anastasia’s influence over her.

“You didn’t leave any questions for the rest of us to answer,” Mila says, shaking her finger at Jessica. “And because of that, you got extra stars, and we all have to stay inside at recess to do worksheets.”

Margaret turns to look at me, ever-so-slowly, a slight smirk to her lips. I can read what she’s thinking: how on earth did troublemaker Tyler Daniels end up with the goody two-shoes, uber-smart daughter? Good question, I want to tell her. I have no clue.

“Mila,” Maggie says, “just because Jessica answered the questions correctly, doesn’t mean you should snap at her.”

“Only snitches answer all the questions correctly,” Mila says. “Nobody likes a snitch.”

“That’s not what snitch means.” Jessica rolls her eyes, unfazed. “A snitch is a tattle-tale.”

“Snitches don’t have friends,” Mila blurts out. “You know, if you’re mean, people don’t want to be your friend.”

“Mila!” Maggie’s mad now, and her daughter senses this. “Come over here, please.”

Mila backs off, but the damage is already done.

Jessica pauses at Mila’s words, her mouth open. Her eyes, bright and confident, flicker, and I hurt for my daughter. I lean forward to interfere, but before I can say a word, Jess bursts into tears.

I’m on my feet in two seconds flat, my arms wrapped around her in half the time. “It’s okay, honey,” I tell her, running my hands through her hair. “She didn’t mean it.”

Meanwhile, Maggie grabs Mila’s hand and drags her unceremoniously to the side of the room. I watch her eyes darken as she speaks firmly with her daughter. As I hold Jess to my chest, it’s impossible not to overhear their conversation.

“I’m very disappointed you’d talk to anyone like that,” she says to Mila. “I thought you knew better. What’s the first thing we talk about at the inn?”

“Be nice to every guest,” she says, sullen. “No matter what they say to you.”

“School is no different,” Maggie continues. “You know that; I taught you better than this. What’s gotten into you?”

“She keeps saying she wants to go back to the city because it’s more fun than here.” Mila looks over her shoulder at Jessica. “I like Harp’s Haven. If she doesn’t like it, why doesn’t she go back and leave us alone? She says it’s stupid and boring and nobody important lives here.”

“Mila.” Maggie’s voice is incredibly sharp, and I sense this will not be the end of their conversation. “Please apologize. You know we welcome anyone who comes to our inn, as well as our town.”

As Jessica’s sniffs slow, and her tears stop, I have to wonder if Maggie is thinking about me in this whole scenario. For a minute, I feel guilty about making her work life more difficult.

“I don’t like it here,” Jessica says, drawing my attention back to her. “Anastasia said I wouldn’t.”

My heart thuds a little louder at the name Anastasia. Jessica has always called her mother by her first name, as odd as I think that is; Anastasia insisted on it. Probably because Anastasia wants to be a now-and-again friend to Jess instead of her mother.

Maggie hears the name, too, and her back stiffens. It rings a bell for her, as I knew it would.

“Apologize,” Margaret instructs, urging her daughter forward. “That is not the way we act in Harp’s Haven.”

“Sorry.” Mila shuffles toward us, still scowling. “You can stay here if you want.”

“I don’t know why you want to stay here,” Jessica shoots back. “You don’t have any friends, either.”

“Hey,” I snap, as Mila’s lip trembles. “What’s the problem here, girls? If you’re both looking for friends, why can’t you get along? Why don’t you be friends with each other?”

“She’s a country bumpkin,” Jess says, as Mila frowns.

“That is not nice, either,” I tell Jess. “Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?”

“Anastasia.” Jessica sniffs. “She said I’d see a lot of country bumpkins where we were going, and that she didn’t know why you wanted to come back.”

I want to throttle Anastasia in this moment. Give her a good shake until she wipes away the attitude that’s rubbing off on our daughter. It’s half the reason I moved us back home, even if it’s temporary.

I had hoped with some time away from the city, Anastasia’s half-hearted visits every other month would lessen the impact on these sorts of lessons. Hopefully, in that time, Jessica could ease up and learn to enjoy life a little. To let her drive to succeed relax a bit while she’s just a kid. She’s growing up so fast, and I just want to stop her. To rewind a bit, and keep her young and playful and innocent.

“Apologize,” I growl to Jess. “And if I hear you saying that again, you’re grounded.”

“Sorry,” she fires to Mila.

Principal McNeal is sitting with a stunned expression on his face, watching this unfold. As the moment finally fades to a quiet end to the conversation, he struggles to gather himself and leap back to attention.

“Well,” he says, sounding gruff, as if he’d just woken from a nap. “It sounds like we’ve made some progress here today, but we can’t have the girls fighting like this in class.”

“Of course not,” Maggie and I say together.

“Whatever consequences you decide for the girls will be fair, I’m sure,” Maggie adds. “We’ll also continue this discussion at home.”

“I believe that’s a good idea,” Principal McNeal says with a stern look at me and Maggie. “It seems like some of these issues are stemming from other things going on in your home lives.”

“Jessica and I just moved here,” I tell him. “As you know. And, like Maggie and Mila, we’ll continue the discussion at home.”

“I think the two of you should set up a playdate,” Principal McNeal suggests, looking as if he should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for the idea. “A few hours to allow the girls to get to know one another better.”

There’s a long silence. The girls are in a glare-off, and Maggie opens and shuts her mouth a few times before she responds.

“But—” she finally starts, and the second I sense her starting to argue, I turn toward the principal and grin.

“I’m happy to do so if Margaret agrees,” I say, turning my grin to Maggie. “I think it’d be great for the girls.”

Not to mention, it’d be great for Maggie and myself. Clearly, we have some unresolved issues, and I’m dying to get to the bottom of what makes Margaret Marshall tick.

“Fine,” she says, clipped. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Great!” Principal McNeal clasps his hands together and smiles, as if he’s solved world hunger. “Now, let’s get the girls back to class. I think a homework session with the girls working together over lunch will be a great way to kickstart things.”

I can feel Jessica bristling at the suggestion, and I squeeze her shoulder until she relaxes. I can sympathize with the way she’s feeling. How can we expect our kids to get along if we can’t? It’s not as if Margaret and I are big shiny examples of the way friendship works.

“Excellent,” Margaret says, and then together, we say goodbye to the principal and walk the girls back to class.

Once we’ve each had a private chat with our respective daughters, sending them away with stern warnings and chaste kisses to the forehead, I find myself alone with Maggie in the hallway.

She looks awkwardly at her feet. I want to say something to lessen the discomfort, but I’m not sure what. I want to tell her I’d like to start all over again like it’s our first time, but I don’t. Margaret looks like she wants to die on the spot, and I don’t trust myself to not make things worse.

“So,” I venture. “When should we plan on that playdate?”

Maggie raises her eyes to meet mine, and I spy something wrong. There’s a hurt there, deeper than anything she’s exposed to me yet, and it sends an ache through my gut.

“Anastasia?” she asks in a quiet voice. “Anastasia?”

Then, she spins on her heel and, without a backwards glance, leaves me standing in the hallway alone.