Suddenly, a realization hits.
“You are Juniper Tossan?” I ask, silently begging her to say no.
“Townsend,” she corrects. “Yes, why?”
Any heated thoughts I’ve had of her must die here and now. “I believe I am to interview you later today for a job.”
Her mouth falls open. “You…have a five-year-old son, and you’re looking for a nanny during your night shifts?”
I nod, and I see her come to the same conclusion I do at the exact same moment––that whatever heat there may have been between us must cool immediately, even if it’s one-sided. Evenif I misread her signals and she was merely being friendly with me at the brew shop. If she does have experience with children, I’ll need to hire her. She’s the first promising candidate the job placement program on the island has sent me in several moon cycles.
Currently, Akkal spends his nights at Greshenia’s house while I’m at work, but I know he doesn’t enjoy it. I’m fairly certain she doesn’t either. She’s the property manager for all refugee housing on the beach, and to most people, she’s surly and unpleasant. She tolerates me and is kind to Akkal, but I know she’d rather spend her nights at the game hall playingsattuvyeewith her friends while smoking an entire pack ofmuskranoms.
“I, uh, I suppose I shall see you soon, then. My house is at the end of the shoreline. Next to the tree that looks like alakeshrah’sbeak.”
“Right,” she replies, her nose scrunched in confusion.
I point at the tall tree down the beach that looms over my bungalow with its misshapen trunk and bushy dark blue leaves. “That one there.”
“Right!” This time when she says it, I see her signature exuberance. The bright light that seems to be beaming from her eyes whenever she speaks to someone. Then, a pause. “You’re sure you still want to interview me? I haven’t exactly made a great impression today.”
While her clumsiness certainly ruffled me, it’s not enough to deter me from hiring her. I want Akkal to be around someone who’s attentive and kind. Those seem to be Juniper’s most dominant qualities. As long as she truly has experience with children and vows not to take Akkal swimming in the sea, I don’t see why I wouldn’t.
“The day is not over,” I tell her with a half-smile that I hope she sees as a sign of encouragement. “See you later.”
As I walk home, I envision what it would look like to have her as Akkal’s nanny. Coming home to her after a long shift at the fire house. Her rich laughter filling the air, the sweetness of her scent thick in every room. My cock hardens, and I worry I’ve made a big mistake.
Chapter 3
JUNE
Woof, this sucks. I woke up thinking I’d have a relaxing morning, drink my fasuun as I strolled along the beach, then I’d go to my nanny interview, crush it (obviously) and end the day with a new job, but there’s no way Zivren is going to hire me after the mayhem of the spill and the almost-drowning, right? If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure I’d hire me either.
How can he trust such a clueless tornado of a person with his child?
I’m not always this much of a mess, though. With spilled beverages, sure. That’s a near-constant threat. But I pride myself on limiting my spills to no more than one per day, and I definitely don’t have a habit of almost drowning.
It’s not as if I can bail on the interview, no matter how much I’d like to. The refugee settlement program provides a daily stipend for living expenses for a limited time following our arrival. I need to show them that I’m actively seeking employment, and not using their resources to exist as a full-time beach bum. This nanny gig is the first job listing I’ve seen forsomething I actually have experience doing. Who knows when another opportunity like this will come around?
I straighten my spine as I approach Zivren’s door and quietly recite my daily affirmation three times.
“I’m still here. Still sparkling. I can do this.”
“I’m still here. Still sparkling. I can do this.”
“I’m stil––” A whoosh of air stops me mid-sentence.
“Greetings, June.” His lips twitch, as if he’s about to smile at me, likely because he caught me talking to myself. “Come in.”
When I step inside his home, I’m more than pleasantly surprised. The house is spotless. Well, as spotless as a house can be with a five-year-old boy running around. I wonder if Zivren hires someone to clean for him because, in my experience, fathers of any species aren’t usually the ones doing the cleaning.
“Your place is nice,” I tell him honestly as I remove my shoes by the door and step into the kitchen.
It’s open-concept like mine, but bigger. This is likely a two-bedroom bungalow, whereas mine is a studio. His also has a large front window looking out onto the beach and it’s currently open enough to allow the light afternoon breeze to sweep in. There’s an oversized couch that could fit four of me or two of him, and a wooden rocking chair with a brightly colored blanket strewn over the arm. The furniture faces a rectangular silver box mounted on the wall, with a trippy, lava lamp kind of light show projecting onto the space above it, and the thrum of an acoustic string instrument coming from it.
It’s unlike any Earth instrument I’ve heard, but I find it calming.
A shirtless purple blur speeds into the room with a stuffed toy tucked under his arm and his long white curls flowing around his chin. He stops in front of me and hugs his father’s side.
