Next week’s weather report had mentioned storms crossing from Europe because of unusual pressure systems, so we had to prepare ourselves for heavy rain. From the looks of it, though, the storm might be coming before that. I hoped it didn’t. The kids wanted to spend the weekend outside, and honestly, I was looking forward to getting some sun.
The house had finally gone quiet, and I made the rounds through it, checking that the windows and doors were closed and locked. I peeked into my children’s room as I checked the upstairs. Billie was sprawled sideways over her bed, one sock missing. I pulled her blanket over her, then kissed the top of her before leaving the door ajar. Bianca had fallen asleep with a book open on her chest, so I used her blue ribbon to mark her place, then turned off her bedside lamp. CJ slept soundly, a pillow tucked underhis arm. He was snoring softly, which he’d later deny with great conviction.
Nobody needed anything from me. It was a miracle.
Downstairs in the mud room, I put on my running shoes and stepped outside into the brisk night air.
I hadn’t always been a runner. For most of my adult life, I’d maintained what I generously referred to as “functional dad fitness.” I wasn’t unhealthy, but I wasn’t particularly athletic, either. I’d spent most of my days sitting in meetings and answering emails. I used to convince myself that carrying groceries counted as exercise.
Then Jade died.
After that, sleeping became complicated. Some nights I couldn’t stop thinking. Some nights I couldn’t stop feeling. Other nights I couldn’t sit still, so I’d started running.
A lap around the estate. Then two. Then three. Eventually, it became part of my routine. One hour every evening when nobody needed me to solve anything. One hour where the only thing I had to focus on was putting one foot in front of the other. Now, I actually looked forward to it. My shoulders felt looser. My legs felt more powerful. Everything felt stronger, including parts of me I hadn’t realized needed rebuilding.
I started down the familiar route, settling into an easy pace. The estate roads curved through old trees and sprawling properties. Most of the houses were dark and quiet this time of night.
I quickly fell into a rhythm, where I focused on my breathing and movement. Usually, this was the point where my brain tried to sort through work problems like budget issues or staffingconcerns, or when I tried to work out the perfect wording for a particularly difficult email I had to send.
Tonight, though, a particularly stubborn part of my brain immediately supplied an image of Winnie standing in the kitchen with her hair pinned back and her sunglasses perched on her head. The whole mysterious Victorian-widow routine she’d somehow turned into an actual personality intrigued me.
I picked up my pace slightly, which didn’t help in the slightest.
I thought about the way she’d handled Billie when Billie had become convinced the garden hose was alive and trying to strangle her. The way she’d listened patiently and managed to redirect the conversation without making Billie feel foolish.
The kids adored her.Iadored her. She was funny and smart. Kind and beautiful—extremely beautiful, if I was being honest.
I groaned softly. “Get a grip, Lawrence.”
She was the nanny.
The nanny.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her every five minutes. And I shouldn’t notice every time she walked into a room. She was here because my wife died, and I couldn’t get my shit together without hiring help.
I rounded another corner, pushing my legs to move faster so I could redirect my thoughts. I failed spectacularly.
There was also something else about her, an ease that was difficult to define. I found myself looking for her whenever I entered the house. Looking forward to conversations with her.Wanting to hear what she thought about things. Wanting to tell her things.
That was the scary part. I wasn’t certain the physical attraction would pass, but the rest of it… It was far more complicated.
I exhaled with a grunt. I was overthinking this. That was all. I was tired and lonely. Probably sexually frustrated. All of that tended to distort a man’s judgment.
I finished my final lap and headed home, wondering if Winnie was still awake. Shaking my head in annoyance, I pushed that thought out of my mind, but it returned immediately.
When I stepped inside the house again, I was hot, sweaty, and annoyed with myself. A shower sounded like an excellent idea.
Upstairs in my bathroom, I turned the water on, letting it warm while I stripped out of my sweat-soaked clothes. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stopped to admire the six-pack that had once been a bit of a dad belly. Not bad. I flexed for good measure, then rolled my eyes at my reflection, thankful no one else could see me acting like an ass.
I stepped into the steamy hot water and braced myself against the shower wall, letting it wash the sweat from my head and face. Images of Winnie popped into my head again. I tried to focus on scrubbing my body clean, but all I could think about was her sweet scent, her captivating eyes, that confident smile, her laugh, her curvy body, and her breasts—breasts I wanted to hold, feel the weight of them in my hands.
Shit.
I made a mental note to never say that last part out loud.
Desire rushed through me as I imagined pulling her into the laundry room while the kids were playing inside, our hands roaming over each other. I wondered how warm she’d be, if she’d taste as sweet as she smelled. I wondered if her moans would be as captivating as her laugh.
Grabbing the soap, I lathered my body, trying my best to ignore the thoughts even as they swam around in my head, taunting me with possibilities. This couldn’t happen. Itwouldn’thappen. I was a single father of three kids. She was their nanny. The universe had rules about this kind of thing for a reason. And yet… the water was like a sensual drumbeat against my skin, and the sexual tension was becoming more than a passing thought or an annoyance that came after too much scotch or not enough sleep. It was real, raw, and increasingly hard to ignore. Especially since every time I saw Winnie, it only seemed to get worse. Not better. Definitely not better.
