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A hot flush knifes through me, and I wonder if she’s old enough to sense when two adults are flirting like playground kids. Eep.
I glance at him.
Grady nods.
Looking at Sawyer with her little face scrunched up, I take a deep breath.
“Your dad and I were just laughing about a cat,” I say carefully.
“A cat? What cat? Do you have a cat? Where is it? Is that what you went to pick up today?” Her face bunches, every sentence firing off faster than the last.
Welp. She’s basically jumping up and down now.
Before I can say anything—or find the off switch—she’s yelling with both hands cupped over her small mouth. “Avery, hey, Avery! C’mere, you’re never gonna believe this!”
A second later, her feet echo on the stairs overhead, pounding as she climbs up.
“So much for implied. That just went to confirmed,” Grady growls, humor flashing in his eyes.
Smiling, I shake my head.
“I already agreed to the nanny thing yesterday, and I’m not one to back out. So fine, mister. Until I leave, I’m your full time live-in nanny, and if you’re really nice, I’ll even try my hand at cooking.” I skim past him up the last few steps while saying, “But don’t you come whining at me when you end up with food poisoning.”
“Food poisoning?”
I run faster, afraid he might catch me as I head for the kitchen.
He rounds the corner and stops. Feet braced. Arms at his sides. Totally eyeing me, assessing if my next move will be left or right.
I shift left.
So does he.
I bounce right.
He mirrors me.
Then I just start laughing like a crazy person.
“You’re nuts, Grady McKnight.”
“Nope. I just don’t want to be poisoned, Willow Macklin.”
I flip a hand at him and add a nonchalant sigh. “You won’t be. Bruce never complained.”
“He likes his meat a hundred percent red. I take mine medium rare.”
He’s way too charming.
I suppress a laugh, planting both hands on my hips.
“Careful. I said I’d try to cook, remember? Cook. Not fancy foods, not steaks seared to perfection, and no grilling. You might end up with food poisoning if you expect that, and this time I’m not even joking.”
“Deal.” He grins, holding out one massive hand.
This time, when I take it, I’m ready.
The electric heat that grabs me every time we touch feels so much softer now, so much more additive. It’s not even a flirty, magic, meaningful touch.
He just shakes my hand like we’ve just made the deal of the century.
“Is it true? Is it true? Oh, Willow, please say it’s true!” Avery slides around the corner, much like her father did a minute ago. “Say that you brought us a cat!”
“Tell her it’s true!” Sawyer belts out as she flies into the kitchen—too fast.
The poor thing loses her footing and hits the floor, skidding on both knees.
Grady springs into action before she even tears up, grabbing her off the floor before any real damage is done. But her knees are red and she’s fighting hard not to cry.
I find a towel, toss it under cold water, wring it out, and meet Grady at the table as he sets her on a chair.
“Best slide into home plate I’ve ever seen,” he says with a dad-smile, taking the damp cloth from me and pressing it to Sawyer’s knees gingerly, one at a time.
I go to the sink, pull another towel out of the drawer, and run it under more cold water. After wringing it out, I carry it back to Sawyer.
“Here you go, hun.”
She gives me a half-smile and uses it to blot the tears away from the corners of her eyes. I’ve been there before, that awkward age where you’re almost a teenager on her way to womanhood, but not quite.
Still a kid, yet too old to want your dad fussing over you.
My heart goes out to Grady. His little girls are growing up fast and he’s not sure if he should treat them like five-year-olds or fifteen-year-olds.
He lets them ride around on ATVs all by themselves, but when they skin their knees, when they hurt and need him? Then he’s all over them like they’re just learning to walk.
It’s a beautiful sticky sweetness that plucks at something deep inside me, this human chord that could make me too fond of him if it’s strummed too many times.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” Grady asks her.
“Fine, Dad.” Sawyer hands me the cloth I’d given her.
“You sure? That was a tumble,” he says.
“Slip,” she corrects. “I just slipped.”
For a split second, my eyes find his and we share a knowing smile.
Looking at me, she perks up again.“Sooo do you have a cat or not?”
Very slowly, I nod. “I do.”
“Here?” Avery asks, scurrying around the room like it’s an Easter egg hunt.
“Not in the house,” I tell them. “He’s in the barn, and I think in a little while, he’d love to meet you.”
