Her Money, His Pride

Chapter 15: The Invitation

Sophie talked about Career Day for three days.

She told Mrs. Lewis about the wooden flower, repeated Oliver’s raccoon question twice, and informed everyone at Carter Restoration that I had been “the best career.”

By Friday evening, I had heard enough praise to last a lifetime.

“You only liked it because Miss Ashford was there,” I said while washing the dinner dishes.

Sophie sat at the kitchen table cutting yellow paper into uneven circles.

“She’s my teacher.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

She looked up slowly.

I recognized my own words and regretted them immediately.

Sophie smiled.

“You like her.”

“I respect her.”

“That means yes.”

“It means respect.”

She returned to her paper before I could defend myself.

The truth was less convenient.

I did respect Victoria.

I respected the way she had corrected Mrs. Whitmore without turning it into a performance. I respected how she noticed which children needed encouragement and which ones needed space.

I also remembered the look on her face when I said some things mattered for reasons that had nothing to do with money.

That part was harder to explain.

My phone rang on the counter.

“Daniel Carter?”

Victoria’s voice was formal enough to make me stand straighter.

“Victoria.”

A pause followed.

She was still getting used to hearing me use her first name.

“I’m calling about Sophie.”

Every conversation between us began that way.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. She’s doing well.”

I glanced toward the table. Sophie was listening openly.

Victoria continued, “The school is holding a family reading evening next Thursday. Each student may invite one adult to read with the class.”

“And Sophie invited me.”

“She wrote your name before I finished explaining.”

I smiled despite myself.

“What time?”

“Six.”

“I’ll be there.”

Another silence.

“There is one more thing,” Victoria said.

I waited.

“Principal Collins asked whether you could help secure the outdoor lights. Maintenance is unavailable.”

“Send me a photograph of the setup.”

“I can do that.”

She did not offer money.

I noticed.

“So,” I said, “you trust me near school property now?”

“Only under supervision.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

There was something lighter in her voice.

Not flirtation.

Not quite.

But close enough to make me careful.

“Then I’ll behave.”

“I doubt that.”

The call ended before I could answer.

Sophie leaned across the table.

“You were smiling.”

“I was not.”

“You are now.”

I put the dish towel down.

“Finish your suns.”

The following Thursday, I arrived early with a ladder and a tool bag.

Victoria stood beneath a string of lights in the courtyard, wearing a dark green dress and holding a clipboard. Her hair was loose, and for a second I forgot why I was there.

Then she pointed upward.

“The last section keeps falling.”

I set the ladder against the wall.

“Because someone tied it with ribbon.”

“The decorating committee wanted it to look elegant.”

“Electricity rarely cares about elegance.”

She folded her arms. “Do you criticize everything?”

“Only dangerous things.”

I climbed the ladder and secured the cable properly.

When I looked down, Victoria was holding the base.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“You said dangerous.”

“I said the lights were dangerous.”

“I prefer not to risk it.”

Her hands remained firm around the ladder.

It was such a small thing, but I understood what it meant.

She trusted me enough to stand below me.

I trusted her enough not to look for another reason.

When I climbed down, we were suddenly too close.

Victoria stepped back first.

“The families will arrive soon.”

“Right.”

Inside, Sophie had saved two chairs near the reading rug.

One for me.

One for Victoria.

“You’re supposed to sit with your family,” Victoria told her.

Sophie looked between us.

“You’re both here.”

Victoria’s expression changed.

For one second, the confident teacher disappeared, replaced by a woman who did not know what to do with being included.

I understood that feeling better than I wanted to.

Victoria sat on one side of Sophie.

I took the other.

As Sophie opened her book, her shoulders touched both of ours.

Nothing about the moment was romantic.

It was quiet. Ordinary.

And that made it far more dangerous.

Because I could imagine getting used to it.