I tip my chin down and slide my hand to the doorknob, encouraging her to leave—before I do something I shouldn't. Before I even let myself think it.
Before I admit that he was right about what I heard before the crash too.
Tessaishot—objectively, of course.
11
Tessa
My eyes trailover the artwork on the otherwise white wall, which varies from crayon drawings by five-year-olds to professional paintings that only look like they were created by five-year-olds. Art can be funny that way—meticulous to some yet meaningless to others. I guess people are like that too. What one person sees in someone might be completely different from what someone else notices.
Like Liam. All I've heard is that he's this energetic personality with positivity radiating off of him and optimism spewing from his pores. People have said he's steady, good-natured—the kind of light-hearted friend that’s easy to be around. But all I've gotten are flashes of that version of him—a joke here, a kind gesture there. The rest is a mess of creased brows, heavy sighs, conversations cut too short, and the occasional moments so heavy I feel like I could fall right into them.
Like just last night. When he said Trevor was right, and I thought he meant about himlikingme, I just about sank into the porch beneath my feet. The intensity in his stare and the tone of his voice—there is no way that is the same Liam that Brooke described as a real life Ted Lasso.
"You'll have to keep me posted on that corner kick, okay? I'll see you next week." A sweet voice floats into the waiting room of Art, Mind, and Soul and reminds me of what I'm about to walk into—or who's about to walk into me.
Ruthie comes into view, and I hold tighter to the purse strap across my chest as if it will somehow shield me from a moment I've been both dreading and excited for. In perfect timing, a petite redhead with porcelain skin and adorable freckles enters the room behind Ruthie, and anxiety floods my system.
This is her. This is the last nanny Liam had that he could stand. No… that headored. That he undoubtedly compared every candidate to these last few weeks. That he's comparing me to.
I find myself digesting every inch of her as fast as possible. Her long, wavy, strawberry locks, her bright green eyes, her flowing skirt and knee-high boots. She's gorgeous, but not in a made-up modelesque type of way. More like the natural, woke up, ran a brush through her hair, and rolled in here to save preteens mental health sort of way.
Shit. I never stood a chance.
"Hey, how was it?" I ask, forcing myself to turn toward them completely. I twist away from the piece on the wall that I'm pretty positive is a hand turkey, but could technically be a Picasso.
"Good," Ruthie says simply, offering me a genuine smile but no real details.
Come on, girl. Help me out.
The redhead comes up beside her, not much taller than Ruthie, and extends her hand graciously. "You must be Tessa."
My palms clam instantly as I consider everything Ruthie—or worse, Liam—may have said about me to their former nanny, now art therapist. "And you're Nellie, right?"
She nods and grins sweetly. "I am. You're so lucky you get to hang with the Montgomerys all day." She nudges Ruthie's elbow, her genuine laugh filling the room. "I miss it so much."
I ignore the beautiful sound—and the additional reminder of how great she clearly is—and attempt to dissect any hidden meaning in her statement. I then follow that up with a quick mental investigation of why I would even care if there was.
"I, uh, yeah. I feel pretty lucky," I stutter, meaning it whole-heartedly despite my shallow voice.
A slightly awkward silence falls between us as Ruthie chooses a lollipop from the basket at the front desk and I wonder how bad it would be to throw out a few questions to Nellie about her former employer.
For research.
And strategy.
"Alright, well, I'll see you next week, Ruthie. Tessa, it was great to meet you." Nellie waves at us both, and I lose my opportunity as she turns back toward where she came from.
Dammit.
"You too," I call back once she's halfway down the hall. I glance over to find Ruthie with one pink sucker in her mouth, and another held out toward me.
"You look like you need some sugar."
I throw my damp palm to my cheek. "Oh, I'm fine."
My heart rate still hammers in my chest as she shrugs casually, and before she can pull the lollipop away, I reach for it. "Thank you."
