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“You’re her mom. You’re the most important person by default. I gotta work for my place in my girl’s life.”
Why do I feel like he’s not talking about Cassidy?
“Do you have to flirt with so many of the candidates?” I ask irritably.
“I’m being nice,” he protests from the kitchen. The last meeting apparently made him very thirsty. He escaped to get a glass of water before it was even over, leaving me to smile awkwardly at the eager young thing who kept casting longing glances toward the kitchen door.
Nick and I’ve spent the last few days interviewing nanny applicants. They’ve come in all sizes, shapes, and ages. The only consistent thing about them is that they all blush and stammer around Nick.
He’s not helping, either. He’s effortlessly charming. To the grandmother who was shaped like a pear and had a cloud of gray hair floating around her head, he exclaimed that in his whole life, he’d never seen a woman with a more beautiful smile. To the middle-aged nurse who looked like she sucked on lemons, he’d declared that her hands revealed she was a woman of class and distinction. To the young ladies, of whom there were many, all he had to do was smile, and they dissolved into a puddle of noncoherent goo.
He returns from the kitchen with a glass of water for me. “Who’s next?”
“Danielle Tipton.”
“Sounds like a fluff ball.” He grabs the résumé from me. “This chick is nineteen. She can’t watch Cassidy. When I was nineteen, I barely made it to my two classes each day. Nineteen is in no way responsible enough to care for a kid.”
“I was seventeen when I had Cass,” I remind him.
“That’s different,” he proclaims. He shakes the paper in front of my face. “Her only experience is the church, Dairy Queen, and a summer babysitting position.”
“I like Dairy Queen,” Cass offers from the coffee table where she’s busy coloring duck pictures I printed off the internet.
“Liking ice cream isn’t a qualification for taking care of you,” Nick retorts.
My daughter shrugs her small shoulders. “Mommy and you like ice cream, too.”
“She says no lies,” I quip.
Nick glares. “We shouldn’t even interview her.”
A knock on the door interrupts further criticism.
“Too late,” I tell him, getting up from the chair and strolling over to the door.
Swinging it open, I feel immediate regret because Danielle Tipton is the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever had the misfortune to lay my eyes on.
“I’m Danielle Tipton, but everyone calls me Dani!” The lithe beauty beams at me. “I’m here for the nanny position.” Her smile is so bright I blink a few times. I must’ve been blinded longer than is socially acceptable because the smile dims one tiny wattage point and she says, “This is the right place, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” Reluctantly, I open the door wider. “I’m Elaina Valdez and this is—”
“Oh my God!” Danielle claps her hands in front of her mouth. “You’re Nick Jackson. The Nick Jackson. I’m such a huge fan!” She recovers from her initial surprise and skitters across the floor, scraping her high heels against my hardwood floors. “Huge fan,” she repeats, holding out her hand.
Nick strides over, a huge grin plastered across his face—the one I wish wasn’t so damn attractive. “Thanks. We Mustangs need all the fans we can get.”
Danielle laughs and lightly taps Nick across the arm with her free hand because he’s still holding the other one. “I can’t imagine that you need any more fans. The entire city is in love with you.”
“I don’t know about the entire city,” Nick demurs.
How long will these two hold hands?
“I love you, Uncle Nick!” Cassidy declares. She had followed Nick over to check out Miss Danielle.
The applicant immediately drops down to Cassidy’s level. “Aren’t you a little doll. What’s your name?”
“I’m not a doll. I’m a person,” my daughter declares and then ducks behind Nick’s legs.
“Oh, gosh, what an adorable girl you have. Are you taking care of your brother’s daughter while he’s off on missions?” Danielle asks, batting her eyelashes up at Nick, who absently pats Cassidy on the head while he continues to stare at Danielle.
My jaw drops slightly. I’m slightly unnerved both by Danielle’s assumptions that the girl isn’t mine or Nick’s and that she knows so much about Nick’s personal life including that his brother is a SEAL.
“No, she’s mine,” I state firmly.
“Oh, um, okay,” Danielle says. Her eyes are full of questions such as why is Nick Jackson with some random woman and her child, but I don’t feel like answering them. Instead, I’d like to continue the charade that Nick and I are somehow connected in a more intimate way than friends who have shared the sheets. Although, why he’s here with me, I’m still not sure. The impulse to invite him was overwhelming, and until Danielle showed up, it felt right. Now I’m having second, third, and fourth thoughts.
