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  Fisher nodded slowly. “I can work with that, I guess.”

  “You guess?” Alarm caught in Felix’s chest. “Is it not what you want?”

  “It’s fine,” Fisher assured him. “Really, it is. You’re ridiculously hot, I’m down to fuck you six ways from Sunday anytime you want. But—”

  “But what?”

  “I do want a relationship someday,” Fisher said bluntly. “Not today, not for a while, not until the right person comes along, but when I meet him, this, us—” He repeated Felix’s gesture. “It’ll have to end.”

  Felix relaxed. “Okay. That’s… okay. You tell me, it’s over. I’ll understand. And in the meantime… do you wish to be exclusive?”

  Fisher eyed him. “What do you want?”

  “Exclusivity implies relationship, to me,” Felix said carefully. “I might want to play with someone else. Would that bother you?”

  Fisher shrugged, folding his hands on the table. “Contrary to the impression I may have given you, I don’t really get out much. I spend a lot of time with work and I tend to take it home with me, so unless Leo drags me somewhere, I don’t actually hit the bar scene that often. But I’m not going to be bothered if you do, as long as you communicate and play safe.”

  “And same for you,” Felix said. He leaned forward and touched Fisher’s knuckles with one finger. The hair curled crisp and tight, Fisher’s skin warm under Felix’s touch.

  Fisher shivered. “Are we done talking?”

  Felix smiled at him, letting the want shine through plainly on his face. “We are definitely done talking, ami.”

  “Oh thank God,” Fisher said, and surged from his chair.

  7

  “Are you sure this is something you can do?” Leo asked again.

  Fisher chopped carrots a little more aggressively. “I already told you I can. Why are you pushing on this?”

  “Because that’s why you keep me around,” Leo said, kicking his feet. He was perched on the counter, watching as Fisher prepared dinner. “That and occasionally excellent sex.”

  “Always excellent sex,” Fisher said, nudging his knee. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “Well of course it’s always excellent,” Leo said, grinning at him under the silvery fall of his hair. “I just meant it doesn’t happen that often. Because you’re a homebody and a stick in the mud and any other term for boring you can think of. But we’re off-topic. You want a relationship. You want a perfect little nuclear family, with the white picket fence and the porch swing and cocoa at Christmas and stockings over the fireplace and dirty diapers and little league and—” Fisher got a hand over his mouth and Leo immediately licked his palm.

  Fisher made a disgusted noise and yanked his hand away. “I don’t want that now.”

  “But you wouldn’t say no if it came calling.” Leo’s eyes were knowing.

  “Yes I would.”

  “Liar.” Leo kicked his feet again. “You’re domestic as fuck, Fisher, and you want someone to share that life with you.”

  Fisher sighed, defeated. “Yeah. I do. Happy? I do want that. But I also want French. We’re ridiculously compatible in bed. He’s hot and funny and I very much enjoy the time we spend together, especially since most of it’s naked. I’m not going to get hung up on him or start wanting my apple pie life with him, because I know it’s not what he wants. Why can’t I just enjoy hot sex on acceptable terms until the right guy does come along?”

  Leo hopped off the counter and went up on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Fisher’s neck. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Fish,” he said against his ear. “Because I love you, and you’re my best friend, and as your best friend, part of my job is helping you protect yourself.”

  Fisher hugged him back. “I’m not gonna get hurt,” he muttered.

  “You’re gonna get hurt,” Leo countered, taking a step back. He looked old beyond his years suddenly, weighed down with bitter truths learned the hard way. “But maybe we can keep you from completely wrecking yourself. Now. Tell me more about this compatibility in bed.”

  8

  “Good morning, Mr. Fisher!”

  Fisher turned from the chalkboard as Samantha bounced through the door. “Good morning, Samantha, how was your weekend?”

  “We went to the zoo! And I sat on Tommy.” She giggled, twining a long strand of brown hair around her small finger. “Twice. It was an apsidents.”

  Fisher crouched, smiling at her. “Accident. Sound it out.”

  “Ax-i-dent,” Samantha said dutifully.

  “Good job! Now was it really an accident?”

  Samantha tugged harder on her hair and Fisher gently untwined the strand from around her finger, slipping a small foam ball into her hand instead.

  “The first time was,” Samantha finally admitted. She looked guilty but not really repentant. “He’s loud, Mr. Monty. And Mama’s always busy. And Nanny Laura tells me to ‘innertain myself’ alla time. He kept getting in my way and spoilin’ my games. It’s his fault.”

  “En-ter-tain,” Fisher said, and waited until Samantha repeated the word. “Good job, you’re using such big words! Now, do you really think it was his fault?”

  Samantha pushed out her lower lip, looking mutinous.

  “How old is Tommy?” Fisher asked.

  “Two,” Samantha muttered.

  “And how old are you?” Fisher prompted gently.

  Samantha sighed. “Six.”

  “Mhmm. Do you think Tommy meant to mess up what you were doing?”

  “Prob’ly.”

  Fisher held back a laugh with an effort, keeping his face calm. “Do you think maybe Tommy loves his big sister very much and wants to spend time with you, but maybe he doesn’t know how to show it yet?”

  Other students poured through the door as Samantha deliberated. Fisher waved but didn’t address them, waiting for Samantha’s reply.

  “Maybe,” she finally said.

  “And do you think maybe it makes him sad if you’re mean to him? Remember how sad you were last month when Martine said she didn’t want to play with you?”

  Samantha drooped.

  Several parents were hovering near the door, clearly wanting to speak to Fisher. He patted Samantha’s hand.

  “Think about it, okay? Maybe we can come up with something fun you can do with Tommy, something you’ll both like. I have to talk to the grownups really quick. Can you find your seat and we’ll talk about it later?”

  “Okay, Mr. Monty,” Samantha said, and flung her small arms around his neck.

  Fisher patted her back and stood.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said to the women clustered in the doorway. “What can I do for you today?”

  Margaret Charpentier batted her eyes at him and held out a Tupperware container. “Martine and I made cookies over the weekend. We thought you might like some.”

  “Martine!” Fisher called, and she came bouncing over, dark hair up in pigtails and every ribbon perfect on her frock. “Did you make cookies, Miss Martine?”

  She dimpled at him. “Sugar cookies, Mr. Monty! Mama helped a little though.”

  “Well, thank you,” Fisher told her, tucking the container under his arm. “I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious.”

  Martine bounced off again and Fisher smiled goodbye to her mother before turning to the next parent waiting to talk to him.

  “It’s just such a shame you don’t have a wife to take care of you,” Laurel Hollingsworth lamented. “Such a waste!” She pushed a container of lasagna into his arms and smiled up at him and Fisher coughed and turned to put his gifts on the table behind him.

  “I’m pretty busy,” he said, turning back to her. “I don’t really have time for dating in general right now.”

  “Such a waste,” Laurel sighed.

  Katherine, the hall monitor, cleared her throat quietly from the doorway. “Fisher, may I have a quick word?”

  Fisher stepped into the hall to see a tall man with a lit
tle boy clinging to his leg. He didn’t recognize either of them, but he gave the man a smile and dropped to a crouch to greet the little boy.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Fisher. What’s your name?”

  The boy hid his face in his father’s leg, clutching him tighter, but Fisher didn’t move, keeping the smile on his face. After a minute, the boy glanced at him, revealing bright blue eyes almost hidden behind thick glasses.

  “Max,” he said, almost inaudible.

  The man touched his shoulder. “Speak up,” he said.

  Max took a deep breath and squared his little shoulders, meeting Fisher’s eyes. “Max,” he repeated more loudly.

  “It’s so great to meet you, Max,” Fisher said, his smile widening. He glanced up at Katherine, a question in his eyes. Is he mine?

  Katherine nodded, and Fisher switched his attention back to Max.

  “How do you feel about hamsters, Max?”

  Max’s eyes widened. “You h-have a h-hamster?”

  Fisher leaned in. “We have two,” he stage-whispered. “And whoever is the best helper gets to feed them. Would you like to meet them?”

  Max looked up at his father. “Can I, Daddy?”

  “May I,” his father corrected. “Yes, you may.”

  Fisher stood and put out a hand to Max, who took it immediately. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Katherine and Max’s father, and led Max into the room.

  Once he was settled in front of the hamsters and Samantha had been beckoned over to make his acquaintance, Fisher went back to the hall, where the man was waiting by himself.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “I like to make sure the kids know they’re my priority at all times.” He held out one hand. “Fisher Montgomery.”

  The man held Fisher’s hand a beat too long before letting go. “Calum Stewart.” His eyes, a colder shade of blue than Max’s, were calmly appraising. “New to the area, my wife’s job just transferred us over. Obviously we tried to get into Primrose House but they didn’t have any openings, so now we’re here. I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Montgomery. I specifically requested Max be put in your class.”

  “Call me Fisher,” Fisher said, skin prickling. Calum’s eyes were almost hungry, not subtle about looking him up and down as if getting his measure. He was a few inches shorter than Fisher and Fisher probably outweighed him by forty pounds. So why did he feel on the defensive? “Anything in particular I need to know about Max? Allergies, fears, favorite things?”

  “He likes Transformers, really anything with cars or robots,” Calum said. “No allergies, but he has a silly thing about the texture of satin, he hates it. Just ignore it, he’ll get over it.” He shifted his feet but didn’t move.

  “We’ll take good care of him,” Fisher said, keeping a smile in place.

  Calum appeared to finally get the hint. “The office has my phone number. If you need anything, feel free to let me know.”

  Fisher turned back to the classroom, resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his pants.

  “Who’s ready to start the day?” he asked, and fifteen 6-year-olds’ hands shot up in unison. “Oh, very good,” he said. “You didn’t make a single noise! Let’s talk about our weekends. Samantha, who should go first?”

  Samantha stood, chest puffed with importance at being chosen for this task, and surveyed the room. “Jeffrey,” she finally declared.

  “Jeffrey, you’re up!” Fisher said.

  * * *

  He spent the morning channeling the children’s energy into healthy outlets, settling disputes, and admiring artwork, until it was time for lunch and they were gathered up by Katherine.

  Alone, Fisher sat down at his desk and contemplated the glitter on his pants. Damn stuff was like herpes. He was occupied in trying to brush it all off when someone knocked on the open doorframe. Fisher glanced up to see a curvy woman about his age, dark brown hair with bangs cut too long, almost hiding her curious brown eyes.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi!” Fisher said, rising. “Are you a parent? Are you picking someone up? I don’t think we’ve met—”

  “No no,” the woman said, flapping her hands. “No, I’m your new assistant. Wren Fairchild.”

  “Oh right!” Fisher crossed the room and held out a hand for her to take. “They told me you were coming but I lost track of time. It’s great to meet you, Wren, won’t you come in? You can put your stuff there—that’s your desk. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you during your hiring process, but I’ve heard good things.”

  Wren stowed her backpack and looked around the room. “It’s a really nice setup,” she said, tugging on her braid.

  “Thank you. We get a lot of leeway to personalize our spaces. You come highly recommended—why did you want to work at the Saint Mary Conservatory?”

  “Well, it’s one of the best, isn’t it?” Wren said. “I was looking at Primrose House but they don’t have any openings right now. It’s hard to get in there because no one wants to leave.”

  “Saint Mary’s is pretty good too,” Fisher said, smiling at her. “The kids are at lunch right now, but when they get back, we’re going to work on their birdhouses. Everyone except Jeffrey, because he’s afraid of birds, so he’s building a squirrel feeder. You’ll want to learn their likes and dislikes, what they’re interested in and what they don’t have time for. I like to encourage the girls to pursue interests in math and science, and the boys to allow themselves to enjoy more traditionally ‘feminine’ things like dancing and art. No one gets buttonholed in my classroom—everyone is free to pursue their own passions.”

  Wren nodded earnestly. “I have two little sisters at home. I helped raise them and it gave me a love for helping young minds develop. I’m really happy to be here, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “Call me Fisher, please,” Fisher said, smiling at her.

  * * *

  They spent the lunch hour tidying the room and getting to know each other. Wren liked to knit and watch reality television and she loved hockey.

  Fisher hid the initial twitch of distaste.“Oh yeah, the Seabirds?” he asked, stacking chairs. “How are they doing this year?”

  “Pretty good,” Wren said. “My dad has season tickets so I go when I can. I’m not a diehard fan, though, I like the Kingfishers too, even though they’re our rivals. Do you follow hockey at all?”

  “Not a bit,” Fisher said. “I had a—” He caught himself. “I knew someone who went pro, way back in high school. I… don’t have good memories of the sport. It’s very violent.”

  “It can definitely be physical and aggressive,” Wren agreed. “But it’s also fascinating and surprisingly cerebral. They have to be able to think and react in nanoseconds. They’re skating at over twenty miles an hour and reacting to plays while moving that fast. And playmakers like Saint are even more impressive.”

  “What’s a playmaker?” Fisher inquired. Even with the topic being hockey, he was enjoying the way her eyes lit as she talked and how she’d forgotten her shyness.

  “Well, you know how the team all has to work together, and they have drills and routines, right? They practice over and over until things mesh. Most guys rely on that routine. If he sees a linemate making a particular move, he knows what he’ll be expected to do on muscle memory, and he does it. But a playmaker—they think five steps ahead. They’re not just out there reacting—they’re creating the moves. They’re setting up their teammates and driving the offense. A good playmaker is worth his weight in gold, and Saint’s not just good—he’s great.”

  “Wow,” Fisher said blankly.

  Wren blushed. “Sorry.” She tugged on her braid again. “I got carried away.”

  “No, it’s interesting!” Fisher said. He set the last chair on the stack and turned to find the broom. “I love hearing about people’s passions. Do you play?”

  Wren shook her head. “I wanted to when I was younger, but genetics worked against me. I played in college, thought about maybe even going pro, bu
t I’m not very athletic.” She gestured at herself. “It required a level of dedication that I just wasn’t ready to put in, I guess. Hey, I have tickets to the next home game. Do you want to maybe come with me? There’ll be a few of us.”

  “Oh, I don’t—” Fisher hesitated. “I don’t really know much about it.” He winced, knowing how feeble it sounded.

  “I can tell you!” Wren said. “The seats aren’t great but the Birds always make home games fun. It’ll do you good to get out of the house.”

  “Thank you for offering,” Fisher said, smiling at her. “And don’t take it personally, okay? I can see how much you love the game. But I—” How much to say? “That hockey player I knew in high school?”

  “Ohh,” Wren said, as if a light had dawned. “Bad breakup?” There was nothing but sincere sympathy on her face. “I had a girlfriend a few years ago who dumped me because I didn’t like to workout. Which I guess is fair, you’ve seen me—” She gestured at her curves again.

  “You’re perfect,” Fisher said instantly. “Her loss.”

  Wren dimpled, looking delighted, and Fisher glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot.

  “I guess you could call it that,” Fisher said. “He wasn’t out, and he was obsessed with hockey in general, but specifically in making it to the NHL. It’s a long, boring story but basically it left me with a bad taste in my mouth. It’s too long to go into here, really.”

  “Let’s go out some weekend,” Wren said. “Have some drinks, talk about our taste in partners. I’m bisexual, which means I’m capable of disappointing two genders instead of just one.” She grinned at Fisher’s startled laugh.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Fisher told her, and she blushed, tugging on her braid. “No, I mean it,” he insisted. “You’re already fitting right in.”

  They finished clearing up the mess, Fisher directing Wren on how to help. Finally, they were done and glanced around the room in satisfaction.