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Chapter Eighteen
LACEY
Lying there in my hotel room, with the soft hum of the air conditioner blending with the distant sounds of the late afternoon Manhattan streets below, I find myself enveloped in a feeling of contentment so profound it almost feels tangible.
The day spent with Aidan and Grace. The laughter that came so easily. The shared looks over ice cream cones...
It all swirls together in a delicious mix of happiness and confusion.
I told myself: No more deep dives into anything related to Aidan. Yet, here I am, unable to deny the magnetic pull I feel toward him.
When he laughs, truly laughs, his eyes light up in a way that makes my breath catch. He transforms into the most irresistibly alluring man, and it's hard not to admit that Talia was right.
I've been lying to myself about how deep my feelings for Aidan run. But it's complicated, isn't it?
My mind races for a solution, a way to make it work between us, when the soft sound of someone at the door interrupts my thoughts.
Looking up, I see Grace in the doorway, her hopeful brown eyes looking into mine.
"Can I... can I join you?" she whispers.
Her innocence and trust open my heart even wider.
Smiling, I pat the bed next to me. "Of course, come here."
As she clambers up and settles next to me, she snuggles into the comforter, her eyes flickering with the kind of curiosity only a child can muster, looking at me as if I'm the last piece in her jigsaw puzzle.
"Lacey, why do you and daddy laugh so much when you're together?" she inquires, her head tilting in a way that could only be described as adorably investigative.
I chuckle, surprised. "Well, kiddo, your dad and I... we just find a lot of the same things funny. It's easy to laugh with someone who gets you," I explain.
"And do you like being with my daddy?" she probes, her innocent gaze digging into the mystery of adult relationships as if she were channeling her inner Sherlock Holmes.
The question sends a rush of warmth through me, tinged with a hint of panic.
How do you explain to a bright-eyed child that her dad is like your favorite ice cream flavor on a hot day? Refreshing, delightful, and a bit too tempting.
"More than I probably should," I confess with a soft smile. "Your dad is a pretty amazing guy, Grace. It's hard not to enjoy spending time with him."
She seems satisfied with my answer, as if it confirmed her own theories. Then, contemplatively, she brightens. "Does this mean you'll keep being my nanny? Daddy says my old nanny Natasha is coming back by the end of the summer, but I want you to stay!"
A lump forms in my throat. "Well, that's up to your dad and Natasha, Grace. You'll have to ask them."
"But I want you to stay," she insists, her bottom lip jutting out.
My heart aches at the thought of leaving this wonderful little girl. "I want to stay too, Grace," I say gently, fluffing her honey- scented hair. "But sometimes things change. It's like wanting ice cream every day, but your dad says it's not good for you, so we have to limit it."
She pouts more. "Kinda like when Belle wanted to read all day, but the townspeople wanted her to come out of the castle?"
I laugh. "Exactly. Sometimes we have to make tough decisions."
Grace nods slowly, then brightens again. "They thought the Beast was scary, but he was really nice. And then Belle got to stay in the castle forever!"
"Well, I guess we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?" I say with a wink.
Grace grins and closes her eyes, content with this answer.
My heart swells with warmth and affection as I realize how much this job—something that was only supposed to be temporary—has grown on me. My thoughts wrap around this unexpected day - how it's unearthing feelings and desires I thought I could manage, or at least hide. And yet, laying here, with Grace's small, warm presence a comfortable weight beside me, I realize, this is exactly where I want to be.
