Fixer-Upper (Spinning Hills Romance 3) by Inés Saint Page B

Marissa put the past aside and trust him to do his job?
    He pushed off the door and made a quick, firm decision. He’d give himself five minutes to process everything that had happened so he could get past it and get down to work. He walked over to the narrow window beside his desk that looked out onto green space. A bright sun shone down on overgrown grass. Leafy oaks and maples towered over a few peeling, blue metal mesh picnic tables. A half-formed idea that he and his brothers could sand and repaint the tables burned behind other, more pressing thoughts.
    He wound back to Saturday night. The first thing he’d noticed about Melinda was that her eyes lacked the happy light he’d seen in Dulcinea’s eyes. That was the moment he’d known Melinda wasn’t the girl.
    Mrs. Medina was an American of Italian descent, and Mr. Medina was Puerto Rican. Their kids had inherited a similar mix of their parents’ traits. The three of them had tanned skin, dark blond hair, and brown eyes, and were of average height, although he guessed Marissa was a little taller than average. And where Melinda had the killer curves and gorgeous face to rival any Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, Marissa had subtler curves and a more interesting beauty. Large, dark eyes, upturned nose, and round, button lips. He remembered she’d once caught him looking at her, and she’d shrunk away and laughed a fake laugh, remarking that she looked like a waif, all skin and bones. But he’d been thinking something else all together. He’d been thinking he’d never seen eyes that radiated that much warmth and hope.
    As he thought back to the night in the elevator, he realized she’d grown into a beauty mainly because she seemed happy and comfortable in her skin and body.
    Her soft skin and warm body.
    Johnny hung his head. His very first day on the job as the school’s psychologist . . . and he was hot for a teacher. He swallowed hard, making an effort to push away the memory of those subtle curves and soft, clinging lips, and to think of her as simply a coworker.
    Marissa had also been the only one of Rosa’s grandkids to learn Spanish. It had made Rosa insanely proud and happy that at least one of them had taken an interest.
    He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Melinda. Probably the summer after she’d finished high school, sometime before she’d headed off to Los Angeles to try her hand at acting and modeling. That had probably been part of the confusion. Melinda was four years younger than him. They’d rarely talked and had probably never hung out.
    But there was no way he could tell everyone he’d confused the two sisters after what happened Saturday night. Rosa would gut him, Marty would throw him in the oven . . . and Michelle Medina would bury his remains.
    The only thing he could do was let everything run its course. Not only had Marissa not been happy to see him, she also hadn’t shown the least bit of attraction or interest. And she’d been dating Brian Golden for the past year . . .
    He slapped his forehead. Brian was probably Don Quixote! Johnny had never been a fan of his. If everything he remembered about Brian still held true: he was an okay guy, but he was all wrong for Marissa. Although, maybe he’d changed.
    Finally, he sat down and took a good look at his office for the first time. Scruffy, solid oak desk. Four-drawer gray metal file cabinet. Bare, dirty, off-white walls. Small window and a glass door that looked out onto a wall.
    His trained eye told him the space was eight-by-eight. It could be a comforting place. Mrs. Simmons would probably let him paint it after school. He smiled when he remembered what he’d seen of Marissa’s classroom. It was perfect. If she’d just started, it meant she’d spent the weekend working on it.
    Johnny spent part of the morning poring over each summer student’s file. In all, there were thirty-two students divided between the two teachers. All of them were labeled ELL ,