Where Dreams Begin by Phoebe Conn

the outer office.
    He responded with a suggestive chuckle. “Let’s concentrate on painting, shall we?”
    She stepped back through the door. “That was what I meant. I brought a couple of pairs of rubber gloves. Would you like one?”
    “Thanks.” He took the gloves and handed her a roll of masking tape. “Why don’t you put the tape on the window. I want to patch the nail holes before I start painting.”
    He grabbed hold of the gallon resting on the covered desk and used a screwdriver to pop the lid. “What do you think of the color?”
    Catherine was almost afraid to look, but the paint proved to be a handsome terra-cotta. The large window and overhead light fixture provided the room with ample light, and the vivid hue almost glowed.
    “I like it a lot,” she replied. “It’s warm and yet suitably masculine.”
    “Well, thank you, ma’am. I tried to match my eye, but by the time I got around to purchasing paint, it had taken on a greenish tinge that I found too nauseating to surround myself with every day.”
    “Yes, I can well imagine. Terra-cotta is a much better choice.”
    She slipped on her apron, moved to the window, pulled off a long piece of tape and placed it against the edge of the glass. She knew she would be wise to keep her back to Luke, but he kept moving about the small office prepping the walls. She wondered if he was deliberately brushing against her, or if with the furniture heaped in the center, the office was simply too crowded for them to avoid an occasional bump.
    “I want to talk about tutoring,” Luke remarked as he did a final sweep for missed holes. “I mentioned it to Ron Flanders, but these kids need to learn basic math, not the trig and calculus he’s been teaching.”
    To provide a sensible response, Catherine had to reel in her wildly straying thoughts. She stalled as she put the last piece of tape on the glass. “So he’s not interested?”
    “He said he’d help with whatever we need, but his lip curled while he said it. He got me to thinking that you might have the same problem. I doubt many of your students at La Cañada High were unable to read well.”
    “No, none.” Discouraged again, she turned slowly to face him. “I see what you mean. Ron and I would set our sights too high, frustrate the kids, get discouraged ourselves, and no one would be better off.”
    She was silent a long moment, then offered a new proposal. “What if the kids here were to tutor elementary school students? They surely know more than struggling first graders, and it would give their egos a tremendous lift. Is there an elementary school nearby?”
    “Yes, but I’d have to think about your idea before I approached the principal.”
    “You’re being very diplomatic, but I’m simply being presumptuous again, aren’t I?”
    Luke pried open a quart of white enamel for the woodwork. “The kids who find their way here have mastered how to survive by their wits. Amazingly, some still have good hearts. There are others, however, who’d steal a little kid’s lunch money and justify it by insisting they needed it more than he does.”
    His easy smile was reassuring, but she still wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid none of my ideas are any good.”
    “No, they’re all good,” he argued persuasively. “We just have a difficult situation here.” He handed her the white paint and a two-inch-wide brush. “Painting my office was a terrific idea. Will you start on the woodwork?”
    “Why? Because I’m the girl?” Catherine challenged.
    “Hey, I didn’t ask you to bring lunch. If you’d rather use the roller on the walls, I’ll do the trim. Or we could flip for it.”
    “How about rock, scissors, paper?”
    “You drive a tough bargain, lady. Three out of five?”
    “You’re on.” She placed the white paint and brush back on the covered desk. Then she shook her hands and took a deep breath as though she were a champion preparing for a big