Pumpkin Spice... And Not So Mr. Nice

Chapter 1

Finley

The crisp autumn air nips at my cheeks as June and I step onto the bustling elementary school grounds. My smile feels as bright as the colorful leaves adorning the trees, a stark contrast to the chill in the air. I squeeze June's hand, feeling her nervousness through her tight grip.

"You ready for this, kiddo?" I ask, crouching down to her level.

June's big brown eyes, so much like her father's, dart around anxiously. "What if they don't like me, Mom?"

I tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Hey, look at me. You're amazing, Junebug. They're gonna love you."

She bites her lip, unconvinced. "But what if—"

"Nuh-uh," I interrupt, tapping her nose. "No what-ifs. Remember our motto?"

June takes a deep breath. "Be brave, be kind, be you."

"That's my girl," I say, standing up. "Now, how about we go meet some of your new classmates?"

We make our way through the crowd, the chatter of excited kids and parents filling the air. It's so different from the hustle and bustle of Boston, where everyone seemed to be in a perpetual rush. Here, people stop to chat, sharing warm smiles and easy laughter.

"Oh my goodness, is this little June?" A woman with a friendly face approaches us. "I'm Mrs. Thompson, the first-grade teacher."

June shrinks behind me, but I gently nudge her forward. "Say hi, sweetie."

"Hi," June mumbles, her eyes fixed on her shoes.

Mrs. Thompson crouches down, her voice soft. "I heard you're quite the artist, June. We could use some help decorating our classroom. What do you think?"

June's eyes light up, and she peeks out from behind me. "Really?"

"Absolutely! In fact, I think I see some of your future classmates over by the art table. Want to check it out?"

June looks up at me, apprehension in her eyes. I nod encouragingly. "Go on, have fun. I'll be right here if you need me."

As June hesitantly makes her way to the art table, I feel a twinge in my heart. Kevin would've loved this, seeing our little girl grow up, and make new friends. I push the thought aside, focusing on the present.

"First day jitters, huh?" A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair sidles up next to me. "I'm Mark, PTA president and eternal wrangler of the fourth-grade chaos."

I laugh, extending my hand. "Finley Morgan. New high school art teacher and mom to the shy little artist over there."

"Ah, so you're the fresh blood they've been talking about." Mark grins. "Welcome to small-town life, where everyone knows your business before you do."

"Sounds thrilling," I quip. "Should I be worried?"

Mark winks. "Nah, we only sacrifice newcomers on the third full moon. You've got time."

As we chat, I can't help but marvel at the warmth of this community. It's exactly what I hoped for when we moved here—a place where June could feel safe, loved, and supported.

As I make my way to the refreshments table, my eyes dart back to June. She's inching towards a group of kids, her little hands twisting the hem of her shirt. I'm about to head over when a whirlwind of color and energy crashes into my field of vision.

"Well, if it isn't the new Picasso in town!"

I turn to find myself face-to-face with a woman sporting the most fabulous head wrap I've ever seen. It's a riot of oranges and purples that shouldn't work but somehow does.

"I'm Poppy," she says, extending a hand adorned with bangles that jingle merrily. "Owner of Rise & Grind, purveyor of liquid life, and self-appointed welcoming committee."

I can't help but grin as I shake her hand. "Finley Morgan. New art teacher and..." I gesture vaguely at my paint-splattered overalls, "walking canvas, apparently."

Poppy's laugh is as vibrant as her appearance. "Girl, those overalls are a whole mood. I dig it." She leans in conspiratorially. "Between you and me, this spread needs a serious makeover. Who decided beige was an appropriate color for cookies?"

I snort, eyeing the sad-looking treats. "Clearly someone who's never heard of food coloring."

"Right?" Poppy rolls her eyes dramatically. "Next PTA meeting, we're staging a baked goods revolution. You in?"

"Absolutely." I nod, feeling a warmth spread through me. It's been a while since I've clicked with someone so quickly. "Though fair warning, my culinary skills are limited to burning water and perfecting the art of takeout."

Poppy waves a hand dismissively. "Please, that's what my coffee shop's for. You bring the artistic vision, I'll bring the sugar high."

As we chat, I can't help but keep glancing over at June. She's made it to the group of kids but is hovering on the outskirts, her eyes wide and uncertain.

Poppy follows my gaze. "First day jitters?"

I sigh. "Yeah. She's always been shy, but after Kevin..." I trail off, not wanting to dampen the mood.

Poppy's hand on my arm is gentle. "Hey, it's okay. June's gonna be just fine. Look."

I turn to see a little girl with pigtails approach June, offering her a crayon. June hesitates for a moment, then takes it with a small smile.

"See?" Poppy nudges me. "Your girl's got this. And so do you."

I feel my shoulders relax. "Thanks, Poppy. I'm really glad we moved here."

"Honey, we're glad to have you." Poppy grins. "Now, let's see if we can't jazz up these cookies with some of that paint you're wearing."

As Poppy and I continue our animated discussion about the merits of edible glitter, a sudden hush falls over the crowd. I follow Poppy’s gaze to see what’s caused the change in atmosphere.

A tall, broad-shouldered man strides through the school gates, his presence commanding attention without trying. His dark hair is slightly mussed, with a touch of gray at the temples that only adds to his rugged appeal. The perpetual stubble on his jaw gives him a roguish look, but the scowl etched into his face warns anyone against approaching him.

“That’s Beck Sullivan,” Poppy mutters under her breath, already smirking. “Owns the hardware store. You’ll see—he’s a good guy, but selective about who he warms up to.”

I watch as Beck navigates the schoolyard, weaving through the crowd without bothering to slow down. His eyes flick over the cheerful banners and decorations, and I can almost hear his mental groan. His scowl deepens as he walks by, clearly unimpressed.

“Beck!” Poppy calls out, her voice bright and loud enough to stop him in his tracks. He glances over his shoulder, the scowl firmly in place.

“Poppy,” he grunts, turning slightly toward us, though his expression makes it clear he’s not in the mood for conversation.

“What, you’re too busy to say hello to an old friend?” she teases, unfazed by his mood. “I know you love a good school event.”

He huffs, his mouth twitching slightly as if he’s fighting back a sarcastic reply. “Love it more than getting my hand caught in a table saw,” he mutters.

Poppy laughs, clearly enjoying herself. “Always the charmer, Beck.”

“Something like that,” he deadpans, but he doesn’t walk away. Despite the gruff exterior, it’s obvious he’s used to Poppy’s banter and doesn’t entirely hate it.

Seizing the moment, Poppy gestures to me with a grin. “Beck, I want you to meet Finley. She’s the new art teacher at the high school. Just moved here.”

Beck’s eyes shift to me, sharp and assessing, though he still doesn’t look particularly thrilled to be pulled into introductions. “Art teacher, huh?” His gaze briefly flicks to my paint-splattered overalls, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost pass as amusement.

“That’s me,” I reply, offering a smile. “Finley Morgan.”

Beck nods once, his tone neutral but gruff. “Beck Sullivan.”

Poppy chimes in before the silence can settle. “Finley’s full of great ideas, you know. Bet she’ll bring some life to this place.”

Beck raises an eyebrow, glancing between Poppy and me. “This place has plenty of life,” he grumbles. “Maybe too much.”

I grin, refusing to let his rough exterior rattle me. “Well, I’ll try not to overwhelm it.”

His lips twitch again, but he doesn’t respond to the bait. “Good luck,” he says simply, then gives Poppy a curt nod before continuing his walk through the crowd.

As Beck disappears into the throng of parents and kids, Poppy nudges me with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well? What’d you think of Maple Grove’s resident grouch?”

I laugh, still watching Beck’s retreating form. “I think he’s going to be a challenge,” I admit. “But I do love a challenge.”

Poppy shakes her head, amused. “Oh honey, you have no idea.”

As the event winds down, I find myself caught up in the whirlwind of clean-up. My hands are full of crayon stubs and glitter-covered paper when I spot Beck across the schoolyard. He's efficiently folding tables, his movements precise and economical. Without a second thought, I deposit my armful of art supplies in a nearby bin and make my way over.

"Need a hand?" I ask, reaching for the other end of the table he's currently wrestling with.

Beck's eyes narrow. "I've got it."

"Come on, four hands are better than two," I insist, grabbing the table anyway. "Unless you've got some sort of superhuman table-folding powers I don't know about?"

He sighs, a sound of pure exasperation. "Fine. Lift on three."

We work in silence for a moment, the table collapsing between us with a satisfying click. As we move to the next one, I can't help but poke the bear.

"So, do you always volunteer for clean-up duty, or did you lose a bet?"

Beck grunts, not looking up from the table legs he's folding. "Someone's gotta do it."

"Ah, a man of few words." I nod sagely. "Let me guess, you're saving them all up for a rainy day?"

He finally meets my eyes. "You always this chatty when you're doing manual labor?"

I grin, hefting my end of the folded table. "Only on days ending in 'y.’ Where are we taking these?"

"Storage shed." Beck jerks his head towards a small building at the edge of the playground. "Think you can manage without starting a stand-up routine?"

"No promises," I quip, following his lead. "I've got a killer bit about folding chairs I've been dying to try out."

As we stack the tables in the shed, I can't help but notice the way Beck's muscles flex under his flannel shirt. It's... distracting, to say the least.

"So, Beckett," I start, deliberately using his full name.

"Beck," he corrects automatically.

"Right, Beck," I continue, undeterred. "What's your deal? You seem to know everyone here, but you're about as warm as a popsicle in winter."

He pauses, turning to face me fully. "My deal? I don't have a 'deal'. I'm just here to help out."

"Uh-huh." I nod, unconvinced. "And the permanent scowl is just for funsies?"

Beck's jaw tightens. "Look, Finley—"

"Finn," I interrupt.

"Finley," he continues, pointedly ignoring my correction. "Not everyone needs to be sunshine and rainbows all the damn time. Some of us prefer to just get shit done without all the small talk."

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Message received. But just so you know, a little sunshine never hurt anyone."

Before he can respond, I hear June calling for me from across the schoolyard. "Mom! Can we go home now?"

"Coming, sweetie!" I call back. Turning to Beck, I offer a smile. "Well, duty calls. Thanks for the stimulating conversation. Same time next PTA meeting?"

Beck's expression is unreadable as he watches me go. "We'll see," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.

As I walk away, I can't help but feel like I've just poked a sleeping bear. And oddly enough, I'm looking forward to doing it again.