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I keep my hands close to my side, shoving aside the notion of cupping her cheek and gently stroking her jaw. I don’t move a muscle as her breathing become uneven, and she watches me intently, as if trying to anticipate my next move.
An intrusive thought crosses my mind of what it might be like to call her mine, and I will myself to snap out of it. But that doesn’t stop me from imagining kissing her… again. Something I’ve been fantasizing about a lot lately.
That’s enough.
I blink rapidly. “I better go upstairs and change or I’ll be late for my first meeting,” I say as I spin around, hightailing it out of the kitchen without giving Marlow a chance to reply.
If I don’t get control of my runaway thoughts, they’re going to get me in trouble one of these days. Marlow is my daughter’s nanny, and I absolutely should not be thinking about being anything other than her employer. So why am I?
11
MARLOW
AFTER WHAT TURNED OUT TO be a disastrous first day, my second day as Lola’s nanny was a breeze. Dylan apologized for how he reacted the night before and agreed to my suggested compromises related to Lola’s care.
In the two weeks since, we’ve settled into a comfortable routine without further incidents. Dylan has reverted to his grumpy self, mostly avoiding me, aside from his countless messages to check on Lola when he has to go into the office.
There is one unexpected new development—he’s started making breakfast for Lola and me before leaving for work or going to his home office. He prepares meals that can easily be reheated or served directly from the fridge. In addition, he leaves two sticky notes on the counter each morning—a pink one for Lola and a yellow one for me.
While Lola’s notes include varying silly jokes or cheesy motivational quotes, mine is always the same.
Good Morning, Marlow,
I made you and Lola breakfast. Enjoy
-Dylan
I’m unsure how to interpret his unspoken, thoughtful gesture. Regardless, I appreciate it. The man might be a grouch, but he certainly knows his way around the kitchen.
We’ve steered clear of addressing the moment in my studio when Waffles ran into me and Dylan prevented me from falling. It was a brief lapse of judgment on both our parts.
But I can still recall the flurry of butterflies in my stomach as he wrapped his arms around my waist. And the current of energy flowing through me when I placed my hands on his broad shoulders in response. His eyes softened as he gazed at me with concern, and I had the urge to reach out and stroke his stubbled cheek. Thankfully, Lola interrupted before either of us did something we might regret.
Like I said, it was a temporary lapse in judgment and will absolutely not be happening again.
Apart from her dad’s constant mood swings, nannying for Lola has been a dream, and I look forward to the time we get to spend together.
After I take her to school, I usually visit Brew Haven for my caffeine fix and drop off a cup of coffee for Quinn on my way home.
The rest of my days are dedicated to painting and dodging Gavin’s constant check-ins. He’s almost as bad as Dylan. I haven’t told him about my new nannying gig because I’m afraid it’ll send him over the edge, especially considering I’ve only completed two of the seven paintings for my upcoming gallery exhibition.
It’s been difficult getting up early when I’m still staying up late most nights to paint. Plus, I’ve been dealing with a lack of motivation and inspiration. It doesn’t help that I’m easily distracted, constantly finding ways to put off working in my studio.
For instance, I took a thirty-minute break to take Waffles on a walk this afternoon. What was supposed to be a quick break has turned into over two hours. First, I decided we should visit the dog park on the other side of town, and after that, I made an impromptu detour at Main Street Market to see Willis.
We’re almost home now, and I’m already finding reasons to justify extending my break from painting in favor of ordering pizza and watching Friends. I’d call Quinn to come over, but she’s visiting her grandmother in Florida.
“Marlow, hey there.”
I look up to see Johanna stepping out of Dylan’s house, waving at me with a big grin. I’m surprised to see her here, since she usually takes Lola back to her house after school. Her hair is styled in a shoulder-length bob, and she’s wearing jeans, a cable knit sweater and a black knee-length coat.
“Hi, Johanna. Is everything okay with Lola?” I ask as she approaches me.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Johanna assures me. “She’s inside watching a new episode of Bluey. Dylan’s had a long week at work, so I told him we’d meet him here tonight so he could come straight home.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you.”
Dylan has been working extra-long hours, and it doesn’t end when he leaves the office. I’ve noticed that he’s been putting in a lot of late-night hours in his home office lately.
