The Single Moms of Seattle ~ THE COMPLETE TRILOGY

Welcome to Seattle, the Emerald City and home to The Single Moms of Seattle. Three sexy single ladies who drink a ton of wine every Saturday night, bitch about life, have each other’s backs, are the ultimate mama bears, and hope to one day, just maybe find love again.

Hot for Teacher

“But I like these better, Mom,” Sabrina whinged, holding
up a pair of ugly-ass heavily ripped light gray jeans.

Blech.

Celeste fought the urge to roll her eyes at her hopeful,
clearly fashion-inept teenage daughter. “I can find you a pair of jeans without
the rips for half the price and then put the tears in myself. Why is it the in
thing right now to wear clothes that look like you’ve been mauled by a small
bear? What next, blood stains?

Sabrina growled like a small bear and put the jeans back
on the rack. “I’m going to be the only kid at school without these
then.”

Celeste gave up the fight and rolled her eyes this time.
“Listen, kid, I’m all for following the trends and looking good, but those
jeans are butt-fucking-ugly.” She’d never been one to mince words or filter
herself around her kid. “And as your mom, I have an obligation to tell you when
something is as hideous as those things are. I mean, look …” She grabbed
the jeans back off the rack and shoved her hand into one of the pockets. Her
fingers poked out of a giant hole right beneath it and she wiggled them. “Who
the hell puts pockets in pants and then deliberately puts a hole in the
pockets? I mean come on. Women all over the world are fighting for pockets in
dresses, pockets in pants, and they go and set us back fifty-odd years with
this nonsense? Please.”

It was Sabrina’s turn to roll her eyes.

The older Sabrina got, the more she was looking like
Celeste: dark red, wavy hair down past their shoulders, green eyes, fair
complexions, freckles across their noses. If it wasn’t for how much Sabrina
acted like her father, Celeste would have wondered if there was any of Declan
in there. And the fact that her kid was only about three inches shorter meant
she would either be the same height as Celeste when she reached adulthood or
taller.

They could already share a lot of the same clothes, but
if Sabrina’s taste continued on the path it was headed with ugly jeans and the
like, Celeste wouldn’t be shopping in her daughter’s closet anytime soon.

Celeste shrugged. “You’ve got all that money from working
at the bistro for Paige, as well as babysitting. Buy them yourself, but I will
not fork over my hard-earned cash for a fashion—and function—abomination like
that. I cannot, and I will not. Your father would haunt me in my sleep until I
took those pants and either returned them or burned them.”

“You’re such a drama queen, Mom,” Sabrina said with a
huff, heading off in the direction of the T-shirt dresses.

“You say drama queen; I say practical,” she called after
her doppelganger, snorting a laugh at the way Sabrina ducked her head when eyes
around the clothing store flitted back and forth between the two of them.

“They are an absolute fashion atrocity,” came a deep,
sexy rumble from behind a tall shelf of neatly stacked men’s jeans.

“I agree. But who am I agreeing with?”

The sexy rumble continued, morphing into a chuckle that
grew louder and deeper, like he had a cavern in his chest. The man drew nearer,
finally turning the corner to reveal himself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but
the mother-daughter banter was rather entertaining.”

Celeste squinted. She knew this man. Tall, handsome, with
dark, thick brows and a slightly too big nose. But he pulled it off. He owned
it. His beard was close-shaved, and the rest of his dark brown hair was trimmed
shorter on the sides, leaving the top a little longer. He hadn’t had a haircut
like that last time she saw him though, when it’d been longer, more unkempt.

He mirrored her narrowed brows and curious expression,
each of them having gone quiet, wracking their brains to place the face.

She was the first to make the connection. “Mr. Travis!”

His expressive silver-gray eyes went wide. “Celeste
Marchand?”

Smiling, she nodded. “It’s Celeste Howard, but yes. How
are you? I hardly recognized you.”

Max Travis. Celeste’s high school math teacher. He’d been
a baby-faced twentysomething when he started teaching. Barely out of college
and thrown into the snake pit that was high school math. He’d been scrawnier
then, too. Nerdier, but even with the dorky haircut, the glasses, wrinkled
pants and crappy plaid shirts, within a month he’d still be labeled as the
hottest teacher at school. Oodles of Celeste’s friends had thrown themselves at
him.

As far as she knew, not a one had caught him. He rebuffed
their advances as gently as he could. Then the gay rumors started.

Poor guy.

He still hadn’t answered her. Hadn’t said a word.

Clearly the last fifteen years had served him well.
Exceptionally well. He put on bulk in all the right places, figured out what to
do with his hair and ironed his pants. Yes, Mr. Travis had aged well. Like a
fine wine or a juicy hunk of meat.

Back when all her high school friends were fawning over
geeky Mr. Travis, she’d been madly in love with Declan and secretly pregnant
with his baby. She had eyes only for the love of her life. Sure, she knew Mr.
Travis was a decent-looking man. She had eyes. But those eyes were only
for Declan. Now, however, those eyes were wide open, and they were staring into
the equally wide eyes of a man not too much older than her but whom she’d been
forced to call Mister.

Finally, after what seemed like a painfully long silence,
he chuckled. “Sorry, I just … Wow, Celeste. I’m … I’m doing well. How are you?”
Red stained his cheeks as his eyes unapologetically climbed her body from toe
to top and back.

She felt her own cheeks grow hot. “I’m all right. Thank
you. Out school-clothes and -supply shopping with my daughter, Sabrina. She’s
around here somewhere, probably pretending she doesn’t know me.”

His laughter was forced, but his smile was as natural and
handsome as ever, showing off the deep dimples on either side of his very
delicious-looking lips.

“Mom!”

Celeste swore she jumped high enough to hit her head on
the vaulted ceiling of the clothing store.

She spun around to find Sabrina standing right behind
her, a glare as intense as the sun cruising down her nose.

“Honey, jeez, you scared me nearly out of my skin.”

Sabrina lifted one brow. “I’m ready to go if you are?”

Swallowing, she nodded. “Be right there.” She dug her
wallet out of her purse, handed her kid her credit card and gave her a warning
glare of her own. “Don’t make me wish I wasn’t doing this. Only what’s in your
arms. I don’t want to find those jeans on my receipt.”

Sabrina’s gaze flicked over Celeste’s shoulder toward Mr.
Travis, then back to Celeste. Her lips twisted, and a sparkle emerged in her
eyes. A small, wary but also amused smile curled one half of her mouth. “All
right. Don’t be long.”

Celeste waited until Sabrina walked a decent enough of a
distance before she turned back around to face Mr. Travis.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Travis.” Well, now it just felt
dirty calling him that at her age.

A glint of something roguish and not quite pure—but
certainly exhilarating—flickered in his eyes when she addressed him formally.
“You can call me Max. I’m no longer your teacher. And I’m pretty sure I’m only
like six or seven years older than you. Makes me feel a hell of a lot older
when you call me Mr. Travis.”

Her cheeks were now on absolute fire. “Right. Max.”

His eyes lifted from her face to where Sabrina was
standing at the checkout. “She’s your daughter?” He didn’t even bother
to hide the surprise in his voice or his face.

Celeste nodded without glancing backward. “She is. She’s
fifteen.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Fif … teen?”

“I was pregnant when I graduated, yes.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by sincere
curiosity. “You were with Declan Howard, right? How’s he?”

Celeste cleared her throat and averted her gaze for a
moment in search of strength before she glanced back at him. “He passed away
almost eight years ago, I’m afraid. Construction accident.”

His face fell, eyes turned sad. “I’m so sorry.”

Well, this little reunion with the hottie teacher had
taken a depressing turn. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up her dead husband.
That was always a mood-killer no matter who she was speaking with. But then she
also wanted Mr. Travis—Max—to know that she wasn’t married.

Why did she want him to know that?

“Mom!” Sabrina called from the checkout.

Right, her kid.

Flustered like she couldn’t remember being in quite some
time, she gave Max (it still felt weird thinking of him as Max and not Mr.
Travis) an odd little one-directional wave. “It was nice to see you. Still
teaching at—”

“Mom!”

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

She turned to face Sabrina, who was staring at her with
mounting impatience. The line behind her daughter was pretty severe, and
Sabrina’s cheeks were the color of a candy apple.

“Nice to see you,” she repeated, taking off toward the
checkout. “Take care.”

His amused expression wasn’t lost on her, however. Neither
was his keen look of interest or the disappointment in his eyes as she created
more distance between them.

His wave was bigger and grander than hers, as was his
smile. “Nice to see you too, Celeste, and no, I’m not teaching at Rainier Beach
anymore, I’m—”

“Mom, seriously. This is so embarrassing.”

Finally, reluctantly, she turned around and gave her
daughter and the heavily pierced and tattooed girl behind the checkout her full
attention. “Sorry. What’s going on?”

Sabrina let out an impatient huff. “It says your card is
declined.”

“I tried it like five times, ma’am,” the shop girl said.
“I think I’m supposed to cut it up now.”

Panic filled her gut, and Celeste reached for the card
from her daughter, shoving it into the abyss of her purse. She yanked out her
wallet and handed the girl her debit card. “Not sure what’s going on, but I’ve
got the money. I’ll call the credit card company when we get home.”

Sabrina gritted her teeth and glanced awkwardly behind
her. “This is so embarrassing.”

Celeste rolled her eyes at her daughter. “Get over it,
honey. This shit happens. I have the money. I’m not destitute. We’re not
destitute. There’s just something going on with my card.”

Sabrina appeared to shrink where she stood. “Yeah, but
did it have to happen when Eleanor Shelby was in line behind me?” She
dipped her head low until her hair hung over her face.

Who
the fuck was Eleanor Shelby, and why did we care about her?

She finished paying for the clothes, waited for the
cashier to bag them, then handed the bag to her daughter. “Ignore Eleanor.
I’m sure even queens get their cards declined once in a while. It happens.” Her
hand fell to Sabrina’s back, and she ushered her daughter out of the store. The
line behind them had grown even longer, and the glares being thrown at them
were hot enough to boil potatoes.

Once outside of the strip mall, in the shade of a big
gingko tree, she led her daughter over to a bench, where they sat down. She
turned to Sabrina, who was still attempting to retreat within herself.

“Honey, what happened in there?”

“Ugh,” Sabrina scoffed, turning away from Celeste. “You
were too busy flirting and embarrassed me in front of one of the most
popular girls at school. First, because I had to call you like ten
times. Who was that guy, anyway? He seemed like really old. And second, because
it looks like we’re poor, because your card was declined. I haven’t even
started school, and already they’re going to be talking about me. I just know
it.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and hunched over, her hair
hanging down in her face again. “And did you happen to see how many girls my
age had those exact jeans in their hands? I’m going to be the laughingstock of
the school without them … if I’m not already.”

Celeste gnashed her molars together, exhaled through her
nose and dug down deep for some patience. She had to get into the mindset of a
fifteen-year-old girl. Sure, to her as a thirty-three-year-old woman, this made
absolutely no sense. What Eleanor Shelby thought didn’t matter a fucking bit. If
jeans were ugly—which those ones definitely were—you just didn’t buy them. But
the adolescent world was a whole different kettle of fish. High school, cliques
and being accepted by your peers were the only things that mattered at the
tender age of fifteen. Oh, and boys. We can’t forget boys.

Did boys ever stop mattering?