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Lindsay could blindside me if I wasn’t careful. Not by being a closeted addict, of course, but she could knock me off my feet without even trying. I was already feeling more for her than I wanted to… something beyond attraction. I liked her, and I wanted to spend more time with her. That was a red flag. I had to withdraw from her as much as possible.
Which didn’t explain why I scooted a bit closer to her when she took a seat beside me in the limo. My determination to pull away should have kept me from asking about her day and chatting like old friends, though with a little lingering awkwardness, as we drove to the school. Awkwardness wasn’t the right word, I decided, as we pulled up to the wrought iron gates that were closed this time of day.
As Hector communicated for entry, I tried to pinpoint the right description.
Awareness.
Yes, that was it. We both knew it, and we couldn’t hide it. We could avoid discussing it, but that didn’t make either of us any less aware of the other’s desire.
Hector stopped in front of the school a moment later, and we slid out as soon as he’d opened the door. I caught a whiff of her hair, and it made me giddy. It was citrusy and something else. I wanted to wrap a tawny strand around my hand and drag it to my nose, but that would be strange, and I wasn’t so far gone yet that I couldn’t control my impulses.
Or most of them. I couldn’t resist resting a hand on her lower back. She stiffened for a second, but didn’t move away.
Mrs. Anderson waited for us in the lobby. She strode forward on overly high Prada heels, wearing a crimson power suit. My first impression of her was one of aloofness, and I wondered how she got the school kids to confide in her.
Her warm smile and friendly greeting quickly dispelled the first impression, and she led us to a conference room. I sat down and was strangely reassured by Lindsay’s presence beside me. She clutched the arms of her chair, and I realized she was as on-edge as I was. We were both anxious to discover the reason for the meeting.
Mrs. Anderson got right to it. “Elle hid in the janitor’s closet this afternoon instead of attending class.”
I blinked. “What? She played hooky?”
“But she’s only seven,” added Lindsay, looking as puzzled as me.
The counselor nodded. “She said she had a stomach ache, but when I asked why she didn’t go to the nurse, she didn’t really explain. After some discussion, she finally told me her stomach hurt because she was afraid.”
Anger sizzled along my nerve endings. “Why was she frightened? Is someone bullying her?” I would squash that little—
The woman hesitated for a second. “No. She’s afraid of losing someone she loves. I gather there was a recent divorce?”
I nodded, feeling defensive. “I tried to make it as smooth as possible for her, but there was a drawn-out custody battle.”
She nodded. “I understand, Mr. Hudson. She’s just expressed concern that Lindsay will leave her too. She needs your ex-wife to assure her that won’t happen.”
I frowned. “My ex-wife’s name is Ashe, and she can’t be bothered to keep her visitation appointments, so I?
?m afraid she won’t be reassuring Elle of anything.”
“I’m Lindsay,” Lindsay said, sounding bewildered.
The counselor’s eyes widened. “Is your relationship with Mr. Hudson new? It could be a source of distress, especially if she thinks her new mother-figure will disappear as abruptly as her mother did.”
“I’m the nanny.” The words were shaky, and she blushed as she glanced briefly at me without maintaining eye contact. “That’s all.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Anderson seemed at a loss for words for a long moment. “I suppose we all just have to be understanding and go at her pace.”
“I thought we were making progress,” said Lindsay. “She’s been more engaged and happier, except today. She was withdrawn when she came home.”
“She’s probably afraid to trust that you’ll be there, Lindsay. Her anxiety makes more sense in the light that you’re an employee. She probably recognizes employees can leave much easier than mothers or stepmoms.”
Lindsay looked stricken, and I reached over to pry one of her hands from the chair almost without thought. Cradling it in mine, I said, “This isn’t your fault, Lindsay. She’s confused and scared to lose you.”
She nodded, but still looked upset. “I feel like I’ve made things worse for her instead of better.”
“No.” I couldn’t let her think that. “In spite of today’s backslide, she’s been much better. There are fewer tantrums and a lot more smiles.”
“She still acts like a little adult though.”
Mrs. Anderson spoke again. “All that both of you can do is continue to encourage her to engage in age-appropriate activities without pushing her. When she’s ready, she’ll let go of the need to control everything and in time, she’ll allow herself to be a child again.”
