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That’s a problem because not just one but two jobs hang in the balance, and I need both. What’s more, I like both of my jobs. Coming to Jackson’s house after working in the winery lets my mind relax after cramming it full of details about vintages and tasting notes from each visitor.
After just a month, there’s a noticeable uptick in my income now that I’ve deposited a couple of paychecks. I can’t jeopardize that.
I find myself tracing the same path down my cheek, trying to recall exactly how Jackson’s hand felt, but it’s not the same. And by the time I get home and crawl into bed, fatigue has taken over, and I drift into a deep sleep.
* * *
Jackson makes no mention of what almost happened when I see him the next day. He’s so utterly casual and normal that I almost wonder whether I imagined the gentle way his finger grazed my cheek. The look in his eye.
Maybe I had a streak of paint on my skin after doing art projects with Fiona, and he was merely wiping it off. Then my active brain mistakenly conjured some sort of romantic connection where there wasn’t one.
After all, he’s my boss, and his marriage ended badly. He’s fiercely protective of Fiona, and he has a full plate at work. I doubt he’s looking for complications.
For a few days, I sneak glances at him when he walks in the door, wondering if he’ll offer some tacit acknowledgment that we had a moment, even if it was something he regrets.
But there’s nothing.
His sole focus is Fiona, who he greets like she’s the summer rain on his parched soul. “Fi!” he calls when he opens the door. That is, if Fiona hasn’t heard his car pulling up and come racing down the stairs of her own accord.
“Daddy!” she cries with equal zeal. They’re so entwined with love that it fills my heart. I remind myself that I’m the nanny, not the missing piece in his family circle. I have my own family to worry about, and I need to keep my priorities straight.
By the end of a week, things feel back to normal, and I do my best to forget about the salacious dreams I keep having every night.
I try and I fail.
I tell myself to try harder.
Then, I down a second cup of coffee each afternoon when Fiona is having her snack in the kitchen. As much as I try to be the Energizer bunny and push myself along on sheer adrenaline, the two jobs are beginning to wear on me.
Each day, I work on my viniculture, wake my sister if she’s sleeping in the dorm, and get myself to Napa by nine. My six-hour shift in the tasting room has only two fifteen-minute breaks, and then I head to Fiona’s camp and pick her up. I agreed to stay until eight each night so Jackson has time to finish everything and get home to hang with Fiona and put her to bed.
He almost never stays at work that late, even if that means he brings his laptop home and works later.
I try for a quick handoff so he has as much quality time with Fiona as he can get.
“No, stay a bit,” he always says. I haven’t outright told him that money is tight, but after seeing that I share a student dorm with my sister and hearing about my past, he’s gotten the memo.
“I don’t want to intrude on your time together,” I always say. It’s our little politeness dance, waltzing around the subject of why he wants me to linger—so I’ll earn another hour’s worth of pay, even though he doesn’t need me once he gets home.
“You’re not intruding. Just stay.”
So I do. And it stops feeling unnecessary. I realize I look forward to the hour or so when the three of us are in the house together. It feels normal in a way I haven’t experienced with my family in such a long time. I lean into the feeling carefully because I know Fiona and Jackson are not mine to keep.
Today, Jackson is home before six in the evening, the sun still bright and hot in the sky. I hear his tires crunch on the drive and feel my pulse speed up in anticipation of seeing him.
I just like him as a person. I enjoy his company. That’s all.
Fiona hides behind a trellis that leads from Jackson’s back porch to the rows of chardonnay grapes that run for nearly a mile. I pretend I don’t see the wiggles of blond backlit by the bright sun. Her slim body fits behind the trellis, but that hair can’t be contained. Reminds me of my own crazy waves that are currently swept into a topknot, though a million rogue strands have sprung loose.
“What’re you doing, Fi?” Jackson’s voice booms from the porch.
I hold a finger to my lips and shake my head. He goes quiet and takes a step back. “I can’t find her,” I tell him in a dramatically loud voice.
“Oh, she outsmarted you, huh?”
We hear a giggle behind the trellis. Jackson’s face lights up at the sound, and I light up watching him.
Because I like him as a person.
