Page 18 of Pucking Daddy

A shade I’ve only seen once before.

For a second, my brain doesn’t catch up.

Doesn’t connect the image in front of me with reality.

Because there’s no version of this that makes sense.

Not here. In my kitchen.

The woman turns and the world snaps into place.

It’s Zara.

The woman from last night. The one I kissed like I’d lost my mind. The one I did not expect to ever see again.

Every muscle in my body goes tight.

Her eyes go wide, breath catching like she’s just been hit with the same realization.

“Oh God.”

Yeah.

That about covers it.

“What are you doing here?” The question comes out sharp, not exactly friendly. But in my defense, the last thing I need is her in my carefully controlled world.

Her expression shifts fast—shock, then something steadier, like she’s bracing herself. “I think I work here.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.

“No,” I say. I know I’m being harsh, but who can blame me?

She lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “Yeah. I’m having that same reaction in my head right now.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Good. At least I’m not the only one horrified by this situation.

“You’re the nanny?” I ask, each word clipped.

She nods. “Zara Winslow. Hired through the agency. Started today.”

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling hard. “This has to be a joke.”

“I wish it was.”

I look at her again, really look this time.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Same pull in my chest that I shut down immediately.

Absolutely not.

“This doesn’t work,” I say flatly.

Her chin lifts slightly. “What doesn’t?”