grading papers and playing Wii U Super Smash Brothers? She adored her ten-year-old son, but maybe she needed more balance in her life. Ella didn’t want Luke growing up thinking women didn’t leave the house other than to work. But every time she thought about going out with some friends for a drink, mama guilt kicked in. They’d already been forced to move twice before she got her permanent job at Verily College, and he was still adjusting to a new neighborhood and school. How could she leave him to pursue her own fun? The divorce may have been final for a year now, but the first year was filled with pain, anger, and lawyers back and forth. Luke probably needed more time to accept his parents would never get back together. He’d probably freak at the idea of her trying to date, and Lord knows her first priority was to her son.
Ella sighed. She had no time for dating anyway. Weekends were filled with endless errands and running around. The idea of putting on something more than a pair of sweats seemed painful.
Right now, her legs resembled a porcupine. If she ever had sex again, she’d need to bribe the beautician to give her a bikini wax.
She was thirty-five years old, and an official old maid. Maybe they’d make a card in her honor one day. If children even played that game anymore. Oh, Lord, now her mind was chattering about inane things again and she needed to get herself together.
Ella bet Connor didn’t have such problems. His biggest issue was probably what woman to sleep with and what type of beer to drink with dinner. Yeah, she was being judgy, but damned if she didn’t feel like she had the right just this once.
She sorted folders and her fingers closed around the glossy postcard she’d found in the Verily bakery. With purple and silvery scroll, the logo of Kinnections matchmaking agency made her pause. Tapping her finger against the edge, she rotated it in her hands and pondered.
It may be a bit pricey, but imagine someone taking the time to personally screen her matches? No bars or losers or meat markets to deal with. No dreaded Internet. Maybe there’d be a nice single father out there who was perfect for her. A man who took responsibility seriously. A man who wouldn’t dump his family for a newer, flashier model like her dickhead ex-husband.
The next group of students came straggling in, and Ella shoved the card back into the pile of papers. She’d think about it. Right now, she needed to concentrate on Edith Wharton.
Ella got back to work.
Chapter Three
“I would always rather be happy than dignified.”––Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Connor climbed the steps to his apartment, looking forward to some good TV, his meatball parm sub, and a cold Guinness with the perfect head. The conversation with Professor Blake kept replaying over and over in his head. What had he done wrong? The damn class was ruining his perfect GPA, which he’d worked hard for. Was she really going to bust his balls on essays that meant nothing?
He muttered a few choice curse words and stopped short. A voice hit his ears along with the sound of metal dragging on concrete.
“What’s a matter, new boy? You too good to hang with us? Maybe I’ll teach you a lesson. Gimme that DS!”
“No! Leave me alone!”
Connor bit back a groan and turned. The same three boys—he called them the gangsters—were tormenting some poor kid who had been shoved to the ground and pinned by his bike. An open backpack spilled a variety of contents over the sidewalk. The main bully gave a satisfied sneer and held the red Nintendo DS high over his head.
Little shits. They liked to play dirty and tended to pick out kids a few years younger. Connor knew the type well. His younger brother, Nate, had fallen victim to bullying in school and it had almost destroyed his ability to concentrate on his studies. Connor made sure no one messed with him, but he felt bad for the kids who had no one to protect them.
Connor put his
Ella sighed. She had no time for dating anyway. Weekends were filled with endless errands and running around. The idea of putting on something more than a pair of sweats seemed painful.
Right now, her legs resembled a porcupine. If she ever had sex again, she’d need to bribe the beautician to give her a bikini wax.
She was thirty-five years old, and an official old maid. Maybe they’d make a card in her honor one day. If children even played that game anymore. Oh, Lord, now her mind was chattering about inane things again and she needed to get herself together.
Ella bet Connor didn’t have such problems. His biggest issue was probably what woman to sleep with and what type of beer to drink with dinner. Yeah, she was being judgy, but damned if she didn’t feel like she had the right just this once.
She sorted folders and her fingers closed around the glossy postcard she’d found in the Verily bakery. With purple and silvery scroll, the logo of Kinnections matchmaking agency made her pause. Tapping her finger against the edge, she rotated it in her hands and pondered.
It may be a bit pricey, but imagine someone taking the time to personally screen her matches? No bars or losers or meat markets to deal with. No dreaded Internet. Maybe there’d be a nice single father out there who was perfect for her. A man who took responsibility seriously. A man who wouldn’t dump his family for a newer, flashier model like her dickhead ex-husband.
The next group of students came straggling in, and Ella shoved the card back into the pile of papers. She’d think about it. Right now, she needed to concentrate on Edith Wharton.
Ella got back to work.
Chapter Three
“I would always rather be happy than dignified.”––Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
Connor climbed the steps to his apartment, looking forward to some good TV, his meatball parm sub, and a cold Guinness with the perfect head. The conversation with Professor Blake kept replaying over and over in his head. What had he done wrong? The damn class was ruining his perfect GPA, which he’d worked hard for. Was she really going to bust his balls on essays that meant nothing?
He muttered a few choice curse words and stopped short. A voice hit his ears along with the sound of metal dragging on concrete.
“What’s a matter, new boy? You too good to hang with us? Maybe I’ll teach you a lesson. Gimme that DS!”
“No! Leave me alone!”
Connor bit back a groan and turned. The same three boys—he called them the gangsters—were tormenting some poor kid who had been shoved to the ground and pinned by his bike. An open backpack spilled a variety of contents over the sidewalk. The main bully gave a satisfied sneer and held the red Nintendo DS high over his head.
Little shits. They liked to play dirty and tended to pick out kids a few years younger. Connor knew the type well. His younger brother, Nate, had fallen victim to bullying in school and it had almost destroyed his ability to concentrate on his studies. Connor made sure no one messed with him, but he felt bad for the kids who had no one to protect them.
Connor put his
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