Mrs. Alonso had entered her tiny room without so much as knocking, ordered her into the unsightly gray bag that she called a uniform, and set her to work washing pots. Pots, of all things! And the uniform! Could it be any uglier or more uncomfortable with its scratchy, starched linen collar and knee-length skirt? The only sense to it was the white sneakers and ankle socks.Dahlia made her opinion well known regarding the wake-up call, the clothing, and the chore. She heard the older woman mumble something about her needing to learn about humility, but that lesson was the farthest from Dahlia’s mind. She wanted more of what Blake had tantalized her with and if scrubbing pots earned her another session with the master of the house, then that was what she would do.The clock struck eight and, for once, Dahlia was grateful to get ready for school. She quickly changed into her jeans, grabbed her backpack, and ran outside to where Blake waited in his large, white F-250 pickup.“You are on time!
