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“Being a gossipy dick,” Dylan interrupted, and Nate shot his fist out, punching Dylan’s shoulder. Nate also happened to be Gen’s brother, so he and Dylan had a real love-hate relationship.
I sighed. “Can we get back to business here?” Then I looked at the woman. “You said your name was Kennedy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you an undergrad?” I asked, and she shook her head.Thank God. Though I couldn’t pinpoint why I was so relieved.
“I’m happy to send you a résumé,” she said with a hopeful smile.
“What experience do you have working as a nanny?” I asked, and her hope faltered with an almost imperceptible frown before she wiped it away.
“None,” she said eventually, “but I do have experience working in a day care.”
I tapped my pen on the list we’d drawn up. A few years’ experience was our number one requirement. Finn needed someone who could handle him. Not some girl who appeared barely old enough to drink and had, what…? “How long were you with the day care?”
There was that slight dip of her lips again. “A few months.”
Dylan stayed silent, his hat pulled down low over his brow, but I could tell he was suspicious of her.
Jude was the one to ask, “Did you go to school for education or…?”
“No,” she answered, and I blew out a breath, scrubbing my hand through my hair before taking her in. She was on the shorter side, with a golden complexion and long, shiny hair the color of black coffee that waved around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark too, surrounded by long lashes and makeup. Her face was round with apple cheeks, and from the little I could see of her, still mostly hidden by Dylan, she didn’t strike me as a Mary Poppins type. Not that I expected Finn’s nanny to wear some turn-of-the-twentieth-century getup, but I expected to hire someone older than me. Someone who wore thick cardigans and had tissues stuffed up her sleeve.
This girl was certainlynotthat. With her hoop earrings, multiple necklaces, including one with a K that lay on her collarbone, and her plump lips painted dark pink, she wasn’t what I’d imagined at all.
“Do you have a degree?” I asked, and she shifted, revealing more of herself. Her dark green top sat wide on her shoulders and seemed to be holding on for dear life, threatening to slip down at any moment. Especially with her voluptuous cleavage trying its best to win the battle.
I forced my eyes up as she answered, “I attended cosmetology school.”
Before I could tell her thanks but no thanks, she went on, clearly padding this so-called résumé. “Most recently, I was working the front desk at a hotel, but before that, I spent time volunteering for a nonprofit in Philadelphia. The day care I worked at is in the Poconos, but I could give you references. I’ve also worked in food service and sales.”
I was a pretty easygoing guy. Up to a point. And most of the time, that point was my son. He was everything to me. I couldn’t hire some random stranger from a bar.
Literally.
“No offense,” I said, “but what does any of that have to do with taking care of a child?”
“Customer service,” she said without missing a beat. “I’m good at it, and that’s basically what taking care of children is, dealing with really tough customers. You have to keep them happy while keeping them safe and healthy. I can do that.”
I had to hand it to her; that was a creative answer for someone with basically no experience in education or childcare. I skimmed my notes again. “Are you certified in CPR and first aid?”
“No. But I can be.”
With a deep breath, I asked, “What are your water safety skills like?”
“I graduated out of dolphin level in my swim lessons,” she said, and it was more than her shirt that was fighting for its life. It was her optimism too.
She held up her hands, palms out to me. Her fingers were small and dainty, and she wore a bunch of thin gold rings. “I’m twenty-four and motivated. I have lots of energy, and while I don’t have a lot of experience, I make up for it in my ability to adapt and learn. I’m more than willing to get any certifications you require.”
Again, I was about to tell her thanks but no thanks when Jude leaned his elbow on the bar and asked, “How’s your cooking?”
Kennedy met his gaze and smiled.
And, goddamn, that smile.
It was like the Fourth of July.
“My mother’s Italian. I’m a great cook.” She flicked her eyes toward me. “You like lasagna? I have a recipe passed down from my great-grandmother.”
