“Bridges.”

“Mr. Bridges, this is Sheridan Monroe, English’s—”

“I know who you are. Is she okay?” His voice interrupts me and pisses me off. Why? Because even though he’s rude as hell, he still manages to sound sexy. There should be a written law against that.

“Yes, but there has been an incident. Can you come to the school, please?”

His rapid-fire response hits back. “English? Is she hurt?”

“No, she’s perfectly fine. There was a slight altercation with another student.”

Dead silence. I wonder if the call dropped. “Mr. Bridges?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I thought I lost you.”

“No. Still here,” comes back in a clipped response.

“Can you come? Um, I mean to the school?” Jeez. He’s going to think I’m a dork. Can you come? What the hell?

“Yes. Right away.”

We wait in the principal’s office, all five of us, for him to arrive. And when he does, it’s quite the show. There are many things about Beckley Bridges I didn’t take note of the night I met him, such as how impressive his physique is, or the way his muscles are structured, as though they are hand drawn by a famous artist, or how he fills a room when he occupies it. A knit cap covers his hair, and he wears dark jeans that mold the contours of his butt. I know this because as soon as he enters the room, English screams, “Daddy!” And said figure, crouches down and hugs the little mite saying, “What’s up, English?” Then he grabs her by both cheeks and plants a kiss on her lips. Her half-pint arms automatically wind around his neck, and he stands while she hangs on, giggling the entire time. Is this the same man who was such a grouch during our parent-teacher conference? Or has some alien invaded his body and made him pleasant for the moment?

Susan breaks the love-fest up by saying, “Mr. Bridges, we’ve had a bit of a situation here today.” She gets no further before Mrs. McLean jumps in.

“I’ll say. Your daughter accosted my Jordan and practically cut his head off.” Her tone is squeaky.

For multiple reasons, my eyes haven’t left Mr. Bridges, and I’m not gonna lie. It’s not totally because of the situation here. His full, almost-too-perfect-to-be-a-man’s-lips twitch on one side for a fraction of a second, and if I hadn’t been watching his face so intently, I probably would’ve missed it. Then those same lips press into a thin line as his eyes scan Mrs. McLean. He’s completely silent for a long uncomfortable moment—which he’s very good at— and finally says, “Yes, I can see your son is mortally wounded. Has anyone called the paramedics yet?” His dry remark almost has me cracking up, but I know I can’t possibly do that.

“Mr. Bridges, this is no laughing matter. Your daughter is a bully and needs to be severely punished.” Mrs. McLean leans forward as she finishes her statement and taps her foot. Mr. Bridges is no longer amused. He’s now thoroughly pissed. Can’t say that I blame him.

English hangs on his neck and still I can see the tendons cording with anger. “Mrs. … what did you say your name was?”

I jump in and supply, “McLean. It’s McLean.”

He never bothers to look at me.

“Mrs. McLean, I have raised English to never ever bully, under any circumstances, but she has also been taught not to be bullied.” He says each word with razor-sharp pronunciation that even I cringe. “My daughter doesn’t lie either.” In a much softer tone, he turns to his daughter and asks, “English, did you bully this boy here?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you hit him intentionally?”

“No, sir. I was playing light sabers with the stick. I didn’t think it would cut his head off. It’s just a tiny scratch, sir. But he’s mean to me all the time.”

He picks up a handful of her blond curls and asks, “Mean to you? How so?”

“He pushes me around and trips me and makes me fall, Daddy.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“You said tattletales are bad.”

Mr. Bridges squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces for a second. “Yes, but when someone is bullying you, because that’s what he was doing, you need to speak out.” Then Mr. Bridges turns those magnificent blue-green eyes of his on Mrs. McLean, and she starts to say something but stops when he arches his brows. In that same crisp tone, he says, “Mrs. McLean, I think you have a much larger problem at hand than a welt on your son’s neck. If he doesn’t stop bullying my English here, you’re going to have some even bigger issues to deal with. Am I clear?”

This gut-punches me. Am I such a crappy teacher that I’m missing all the signals? Has this been going on all year, and have I been blind to it?

Susan and I share another glance, and she says to Mrs. McLean, “I believe I’m going to switch Jordan from Miss Monroe’s class into another first grade.”

“Well, I can’t believe you would do that,” Mrs. McLean spews.

“Of course, we do that. Bullying is not accepted at this school. If we hear of this behavior continuing, we may have to consider an alternate school for him. And now that we know his wound is superficial, it might be best to get him acclimated to his new class immediately.”

Jordan didn’t look happy at all about his situation.

“Mr. Bridges, could I have a word with you and English privately?”

We go into one of the small conference rooms located off of Susan’s office.

“I’m sorry all this happened. English, when would Jordan do those things to you?”

“When you weren’t looking. Or on the playground when no one was watching.”

He’s a sneaky little shit. “English, will you promise me something? From now on, if anything like that ever happens to you or anyone else, please tell me. That’s not being a tattletale. Will you do that for me?”

She smiles and agrees.

“And one more promise. No more sticks on the playground.”

“Okay.”

I look at Mr. Bridges and apologize for getting him out of work.

“It’s my job as a parent,” he says gruffly. Then he kisses his daughter good-bye.

I watch him leave and continue to stare until English asks, “You like my daddy?”

“Hmm? What?” Then I realize I was practically ogling the man in front of his daughter, even though he made me feel like shit. “Well, yes, he’s a nice person.” I pray my lie is convincing.

“I don’t have a mommy. She went away when I was a baby and didn’t come home.”

Whoa. That’s a piece of news I didn’t necessarily need to hear.

“My daddy takes pictures. Lots and lots of them. He has some real big cameras.”

“Oh, so he’s a photographer?”

“Yep.”

Kids. They’ll tell you everything.

English grabs my hand, and we walk together toward the classroom. “Why did you make Jordan go to a different class? I’m not afraid of him.”

I stop and bend down so we’re level. “It’s about doing what’s right. Being mean to someone isn’t right, and when that happens, we think it’s best to separate those students. Since you weren’t the one causing the problem, you aren’t the one that has to switch classes. Only Jordan.”

“Daddy says to never pick a fight, but I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means not to start one.”

“Oh, that’s the same as Banana says. Geepa calls me Champ sometimes. He says I’m a tomboy. Banana wants me to play with dolls, but I think they’re boring.” Then she sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry. I want to laugh. But I’m on her side. I much preferred to run and kick a ball than to play with dolls when I was her age.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Her almond-shaped eyes grow round as marbles. “Yeah! I love secrets.”

“Well, you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“I promise.”

Bending down, I whisper into her ear, “I never liked dolls much either. When I was about your age, I had a big doll, and I cut off all her hair. Boy, did I get in trouble. Do you know why?”

“Because she looked silly?”

“Well, that, too. But I thought her hair would grow back, and it never did. When my mom found out what I did, she was upset with me because I ruined the doll. And it was a fancy doll. It wasn’t very fancy after I got ahold of her, though.”

English lets out a bubble of giggles that has me laughing right along with her.

The rest of the day goes by without any issues, as we are one less in our class now. No one asks where Jordan is, and I decide to tell them the next day. When I do, no one even comments. Apparently, not too many of the kids were very fond of him.