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“Couch is good.”
Mel headed toward the sofa, trying to ignore the nerves flipping in her stomach. “So,” she said, sinking down into the soft, worn cushions. “Where was it you came from so dressed up?” Mel didn’t know a lot about fashion—the fashion column at work was not her mojo—but even she recognized quality when she saw it. Whatever suit Blake wore was designer, tailored to him, and expensive, much like the one he wore that day at the Garwood Inn & Suites.
He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, sinking back into the couch.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Mel rushed to add.
“No, it’s fine. Jen’s parents were having one of their elaborate dinner parties.”
“Ah.” Mel nodded and busied her hands with her juice box. She removed the little straw from the box and popped it in the top. Oh, to be wealthy, she thought. Where lavish black-tie dinner parties on a Saturday night were a reality and not just something you saw in the movies. “Fancy,” she added when he didn’t respond.
Blake huffed out a laugh. “You could say that. They hire enough waitstaff to run an entire restaurant. Not to mention several chefs, a bartender, rented linens, flowers, fancy place settings that were probably imported from who-knows-where. The whole nine yards.”
Mel pictured it and imagined herself there, but it was hard. The closest thing Mel had ever come to a dinner party of that caliber was the buffet at the PopNewz staff Christmas party. And because she didn’t know what else to say, she said, “Well, I’m sorry you missed it because of me. It sounds . . . delicious.”
Blake grunted. “When you called, I was currently debating on drowning myself in my chestnut watercress soup.”
“Oh.” So he really had wanted to leave. Mel tried not to feel delighted at that, but despite her best intentions, a surge of pleasure rippled through her at the notion that Blake would rather be here, in her tiny apartment, fixing her toilet and reading a bedtime story to her children, than dining on lobster with the Garwoods. She stifled her grin as she said, “I take it dinner wasn’t going well, then?”
“That’s an understatement.” Blake snorted, then turned to her and met her eyes. “Her parents hate me. I had a feeling they were asking me to do this nanny thing as just some kind of a joke, but tonight confirmed it. We kind of got into it a bit at the table. Nothing crazy. It was all very underhanded, subtle barbs. That’s how it always is. Anyway, then I saw your text and I just. . .” He shook his head. “I said I had somewhere else to be and got up and left.”
He groaned and closed his eyes. “I’ll probably never live this down, leaving like that.” He blinked his eyes open. “But the truth is, they’ll never accept me. Nothing I do will ever be good enough, so . . .”
Mel swallowed. If the whole nanny thing had just been a joke, that meant he was free to quit now.
Fear spiked her veins, but she shoved it aside. This wasn’t about her. If anything, over these past weeks, Blake had become a friend. He’d helped her in ways she could never repay him, and he deserved her support.
She reached out and squeezed his forearm. “Hey, don’t say that. I’m sure that’s not true.”
“They think my job is a joke. They hate the fact that I come from nothing, that I have no family, no legacy to my name. What else?” He tapped his chin, and Mel frowned. She’d never seen him negative like this before. “They hate that I drive a motorcycle. The one time they met my brother, they all detested him. Even Jen doesn’t like Grant and vice versa. Name something about me, and they loathe it.” He leaned forward and placed his juice box on the coffee table, then hung his head between his clasped hands. “I’m an idiot.”
Mel’s stomach sunk. She glanced uselessly at her juice box and wished, for his sake, she had something stronger. What could she possibly say or do to help him? She was the last person who should be giving relationship advice.
“When I met Jen, I was living in an apartment in Queens with my brother. It was a nice place, trendy.” He lifted his head and glanced at her. “After I met Jen and we started dating, I up and moved. I leased a place in Manhattan, afraid I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to be better for her. Time and time again, I try to impress them and fail.”
Mel lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Maybe you should stop trying. Maybe that’s where you went wrong.” She offered him a small smile. “Just be you. No one else. Because you seem pretty amazing as is.”
His throat bobbed, and he stared at her a moment, his dark eyes drinking her in and giving her the courage to continue. “If Jen likes you, if she truly loves you, then that’s all that matters. And surely over time, they will too. Maybe you just need to let them see the real you.”
He exhaled a ragged breath. “Maybe,” he murmured, but even Mel heard the lack of conviction in his voice.
His eyes shifted to her mouth, sending a trickle of heat up her spine.
She cleared her throat and glanced down at
her hands as she toyed with the straw on her juice box. “You’re good with them, you know. The kids. It’s been a short time, and already they love you.” Mel hated to think of what they’d do once he was gone. Would it set them back again? Make Peter’s potty issues worse just when they were getting better? Despite the toilet issue today, he hadn’t gone in his pants once.
“They’re great kids. I just think without help and your mom watching them, they lacked structure. Grandparents are supposed to spoil, not set a ton of rules. Then they moved, and the kids were thrust into a whole new environment. It’s a lot.”
Mel hummed in response. “I’m sure you’re right. Plus, my parents are older. They had me when my mom was almost forty. So caring for triplets was a lot for her, a big ask. That’s why when they announced they were moving, I couldn’t blame them. They deserved this, and she had already helped me so much.”
“You never thought about going with them? Moving?”
Mel avoided his gaze. “Not seriously at first. My job is here. But . . .” She bit her lip, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve thought about it. I’ve wondered if it would be better for me, for the kids.”
He stared at her intently a moment before he asked, “What happened? With their father? I know it’s none of my business—”
“No.” Mel held up a hand. “It’s okay.” She laughed. “It’s not exactly a secret. Craig and I got married at twenty-two, fresh out of college. We decided a couple years later that we wanted children young. So we tried, but we struggled for over a year. I had one of my ovaries removed as a teen for health reasons, so my doctor recommended hormone therapy.” Mel’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile, and she shook her head. “We hoped for one, thought we might end up with two, but what we didn’t bargain for was three.”
