“Saying good-bye sucks, huh?”

Glancing back over her shoulder at Farrah, she lifted a brow. “Ya think?”

“Well, since ya never got around to getting Mr. Yummy Pants’ name, I figured it wouldn’t be too bad . . .”

“Saying good-bye to Clayton is going to break my heart,” she said, painfully aware of the sulk in her voice, and unable to do anything about it. She didn’t want to do anything about it. “I had to tell too many kids good-bye this week. I’ve only been here two years. How can it hurt like this?”

“Hey . . .” Farrah moved in and wrapped an arm around Ressa’s waist. “You know, you’re not moving to Tokyo. You can come visit, drop in on your days off. Visit the kids then.”

“I know, I know.” Ressa shrugged away, out of sorts and still . . . aching inside. “This just sucks.”

“You said he wasn’t here last week.”

She looked up and caught sight of the two males just as they cleared the top step and the ache in her chest expanded. “No.”

A small, cowardly part of her kind of wished they wouldn’t have come here today either. If they hadn’t then she would have been spared this.

Didn’t that just make her a coward?

Her heart twisted as the boy came rushing up to her a few minutes later. He was all smiles as he flung himself at her for a hug and she caught him, held him close.

“Aren’t you looking handsome today, Mr. Clayton,” she said, looking past him to see his father linger, just for a minute. Their gazes connected—he wore his trademark dark shades, but she could still feel that jolt.

His mouth parted and maybe it was ego—or just because she wanted so badly to believe it—to believe that he felt it, too.

She didn’t look away.

Not that very second.

She should have. She knew that.

But she only had today left, right?

“Hey, um—”

“I was wondering if—”

They both started to speak at once, and then, they stopped, a nervous laugh breaking out between them. He gestured for her to speak and she linked her hands together, looking around. “I just . . . well, I want a few minutes with you . . . with Clayton after we’re done. If that’s okay?”

*   *   *

An hour later, Trey had less than five hundred words on the screen and his mind kept spinning back to the way she’d met his gaze earlier.

I want a few minutes with you.

He’d been about ready to just walk away, forget asking her out.

Terror and nerves had turned his gut to knots.

Unlike his brothers, he seemed to have missed out on that inborn charm—most of the family, on both his mother’s side and his father’s side, from his cousins, to his uncles and aunts, to his brothers—they all practically breathed charm and confidence.

Not Trey.

But then she’d said she wanted to talk to him and he’d felt something relax inside.

That hadn’t lasted long, because immediately, his memory, always such a visual thing with him, had started to feed him back an instant replay of how she’d looked at him, her lips parted, the irises of her eyes spiking as she met his gaze.

No wonder he hadn’t gotten shit done the past hour.

He heard the rise in voices that signified the end of the reading program and he saved his work, a dull pain throbbing in his wrist. After putting away the laptop, he grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed a few back dry.

Clayton was sitting at his desk studiously coloring away while the rest of the kids gathered around Ressa.

Both of them heard the words at the same time—

Good-bye . . .

We’ll miss you—

Clayton’s head jerked up.

Trey’s hand clenched into a fist and he shifted the bag from one shoulder to drag across his chest as dread creeped through. Dread and . . . disappointment.

I want a few minutes with you . . .

Son of a bitch. With him . . . so she could tell Clayton bye.

“Why do you have to leave, Miss Ressa?” one of the older kids asked, his voice plaintive and loud, carrying through the entire library.

The crayon in Clayton’s hand snapped and his gaze darted all around the room before landing on Trey with wild desperation.

Before Trey could reach the table, Clayton was up on his feet, practically running toward him.

“Let’s go, Dad.”

Clayton’s small hand caught his, started to tug.

Yeah. He could get on board with that. But . . . “Wait a minute, Clayton.”

“No!” He burrowed in against Trey, his voice already wobbling. “I want to go now. And I don’t like this stupid lib’ary no more. I never want to come back. Can we get dinosaur egg oatmeal at the store? I want some for a snack. Let’s go.”

Eyes closed, Trey reached for some sort of fatherly wisdom to offer up. He came up short, as always.

“Clayton.”

At the sound of her voice, Trey tensed.

Clayton tucked himself closer to Trey.

Slowly, Trey looked up.

Ressa knelt down next to the boy and in her hand, she held a book. “Clayton, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t want you to hear that way. I . . .” She offered them both a smile. “I was actually going to see if you’d maybe let me buy you lunch or something and we could talk then. I . . .”

Clayton shoved his face against Trey’s leg and sniffled. “I don’t want no lunch. I’m not hungry. I’m not ever going to be hungry.”

Well, shit.

*   *   *

“Come on, buddy.”

His voice was low and soothing, while one hand rubbed up and down Clayton’s narrow back.

Ressa tried not to focus on that part as CD spoke to his son. Clayton didn’t want to look at her and she felt foolish . . . foolish and cruel and out of place.

“You’ve got a lady waiting to talk to you, Clayton. Come on, don’t be rude. Just—”

“I don’t care!” Clayton shouted. “She’s leaving and she didn’t tell me and I don’t like her anymore.”

Ressa managed to hide her flinch and she pasted a smile on her face. “Look, I’ll just—”

“Wait.” It was a command, plain and simple.

She narrowed her eyes at the stark order, but before she could say anything, he’d peeled his son away.

“Listen to me, Clayton,” CD said, tugging off his glasses.

She managed, just barely, not to react when she saw his eyes.

His son had his eyes—a beautiful, surreal blue green. The kind of blue green you saw in pictures of the tropics—an impossible sort of color, but she had no doubt that amazing color was completely natural.

Swallowing, she forced herself to be still, to not move, to not stare as he continued to speak. “Now, I know you’re upset, but you don’t speak that way to people. You know that. You’re angry and you’re sad, but there’s no reason to be unkind.”

Clayton’s lip poked out and he tried to curl in toward his father once more.

“You need to say something,” his father said, shaking his head.

Clayton shot her a look. Then, as one fat tear rolled down his cheek, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She opened her mouth to say, “It’s okay.”

She managed “It—”

And then Clayton hurled himself at her, wrapping thin arms around her neck. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said.

Break my heart, why don’t you?

“Oh, sweetheart.” She rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t really want to either. It’s just . . . well, sometimes we just have to do things we don’t really like.”

“But why are you leaving?”

Easing him back, she reached up and wiped away a tear. “You remember my cousin? The little girl I’ve told you about?” At his nod, she said, “You know how I’ve said I’m the one who takes care of her, right? Neeci starts school this year and things aren’t going to work with me being at this library. So they are moving me to a different branch. It’s closer to where we live and the school she’s going to attend. I hate that I have to leave you kids, but I’ve got a little girl to take care of. And they’ve got good people here who will take over.”