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“Fiona…” It’s a warning wrapped in a hug. She knows he’s no match for those long lashes and imperfect teeth. “I asked you to get dressed. I did not tell you to come outside in your pajamas and talk to strangers about their cars.”
I bristle at being called a stranger, even though I know he’s teaching her a lesson about trust and safety. I want to tell her—and him—that I’m friendly and trustworthy, but this isn’t about me. “He’s right,” I tell Fiona, even though I kind of love how spirited she is despite her grumbly dad.
“Fine.” She stomps off, making an effort to kick the small river stones as she goes. Then she stops, turns back to me, and gives me a shy grin and a wave. “Bye, Ruby.” Her voice drips with dramatic sadness.
I can’t help but smile as she plods toward the farmhouse, but Jackson’s eyes are on me, not his daughter. “You find this funny?”
“Not funny, but she reminds me of how I was.”
“Shocker, you were a handful,” he mutters. I wish the raspy growl of his voice didn’t do things to my insides that put me in danger of making bad decisions.
“Still am.” He might as well know it.
That earns me a chuckle, at least. “I don’t want to keep you.” Guess I’m being run off his land.
“Okay, then…thank you for the interview. No matter how intimidating you tried to be, you sort of failed. It was apleasuremeeting you.” I grin, raising an eyebrow so he’ll know exactly how I feel.
“It was, um,interestingmeeting you.”
Jackson nods, bidding me goodbye for the second time this morning and extending his hand in invitation. It redeems him slightly that he’s offering some civility now. I reach for his hand, prepared to close the door on him, delightful as his daughter may be.
Our fingers brush before my palm settles in his. His much larger hand engulfs mine as his calloused palm sweeps across the softer skin of my hands. All I feel is heat.
From the moment his skin glides over mine, I feel it—a delicious vibration over my cheeks and down my neck. A chill, despite the heat outside. A welling feeling that I want this man’s hand on me in more places. Everywhere, all at once.
We shake, but I’m the one who’s shaking, unsteady on my feet when I’m someone who always knows where I’m going.
He turns back in the direction Fiona went, probably planning to give her another lecture about talking to strangers and walking outside without shoes on. But what he doesn’t understand about girls like Fiona—and me—is that there are always plenty of people in our lives telling us to put on shoes and act like a lady.
There aren’t nearly enough who let us walk around barefoot on rocks that aren’t sharp enough to kill us but are hard enough to teach us a few things.
I had to learn the hard way, but Fiona doesn’t have to do it like that. I don’t know where her mother is, and for once, I hold my tongue and focus on the issue at hand. Fiona needs to be a kid, and with her dad all wound up about his business concerns, she’s at risk of learning to make spreadsheets instead of kitchen science experiments.
He can’t just hire some stern older woman who will suck the fun out of life. I should know. I was raised by one until I was old enough to raise my sister and myself.
Which is why I call after him.
“I could be your nanny.” The words have left my mouth before I have a chance to edit them. Or delete them.
He stops, but he doesn’t turn around. I watch his shoulders slump in defeat. Then he shakes his head and tips it up to look at the farmhouse. I can imagine him counting slowly to ten so he doesn’t blow his stack.
Looking over his shoulder, he seems calm but confused. “What did you just say?”
This is my chance to backpedal and tell him I said something different than what we both know he heard. I should do that. Instead, for reasons I don’t entirely understand, I double down. “I offered to be your nanny. You said you needed that, and you’ve also, um, made it clear I’m not right for the other job, so…”
“So…?”
“You could hire me.”
My heart pounds in my chest, but not because I’m afraid he’ll say no. I’m afraid he’ll say yes. I don’t want to be anyone’s nanny. I have a degree, and I intend to build a presence in the community as an authority on Napa vintages.
I can’t rightly say what is making me go for broke with him, but I also can’t force myself to take the words back. I feel possessed.
His confused expression gives way to stoic resolve. “I don’t need a nanny. We’ve covered this. You also told me you don’t give a flying rat’s ass what I think about your qualifications for the other job if you recall.”
“I do. But I also recall you saying that people in your family think you need a nanny, and now that I’ve met Fiona, I’m offering.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, and I notice the fatigue in his eyes that I hadn’t focused on earlier when I was busy tumbling into their depths. Maybe he’s just tired of me, but I sense that there’s something else he’s not saying, even after he spilled a small amount earlier.
