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In the morning, when I walk into the kitchen, my favorite person in the world launches herself at me.
“Daddy!” Lilah cries out happily, tiny arms wrapping around my legs as I laugh and bend down to scoop her up. She grins brightly, the sight immediately spreading warmth through my chest, as she clasps my scruffy cheeks in her small hands. “Daddy’s home!”
“Sure am, bug,” I say, pressing a kiss to her cheek. As expected, she giggles and squirms at the feel of my scruff against her skin. My gaze then flicks past Lilah and lands on the woman who had been sitting with her, drinking a cup of tea. Heat pulses through me as I think of last night, and I shut it the fuck down as my steady voice calls out, “Morning, Alex.”
She smiles, as always. “Morning, Leo,” she greets. Alex watches Lilah and me, and I swear her smile turns flat—maybe a little sad. But it’s gone before I can think too much of it. Maybe I imagined it. “Are you staying home today?”
I nod, which makes Lilah grin widely. “Yeah, I am. So, you’re free for the day.”
That’s how it works. If I don’t have practice or any work obligations, I spend the day with Lilah, which means Alex doesn’t have to be around to watch her. She needs her personal time, too, so it works out well. “Great,” she grins, standing up and finishing the rest of her tea. “I’m helping my friend move into her new place, but—” She bends to open the dishwasher and put her cup in, and my jaw tightens as I avert my gaze from the sight of her ass in those jeans. Fuck me. Alex straightens and shoots me another one of those brilliant smiles. “If you need me to come back, let me know.”
I nod once again and stay perfectly still as Alex walks over and very gently tugs at the end of one of Lilah’s braids. “I’ll see you later, cutie,” Alex says to my daughter, who grins and waves bye to Alex.
She leaves the kitchen, leaving behind the familiar scent of lavender, and somehow, no amount of coffee I brew can overpower the dizzying smell.
2
ALEX
When I get into my car, the scent of leather and my black cherry air freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror is familiar and calming. As opposed to the smells of the guest and main house that I am still getting used to—smells that constantly remind me too much of my boss, who I most definitely shouldnotbe thinking of the way that I do.
Starting my car, I drive in the direction of my best friend, Sara’s, apartment. She recently moved into her own place, after months of convincing her protective parents to let her do it, and I’m going to be helping her unpack. I think it would be a good distraction to keep me from fantasizing about a certain exceedingly handsome, disgustingly rich NFL player.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens with one hand while I use the other to turn up the volume of the music already blasting through the car. It’s not enough to drown out the swirling, dancing thoughts of Leo. God, if I knew of the kind of physical effect that man had on me, I never would have taken this job, no matter how sweet and adorable his daughter Lilah is.
Little Angels & Co., the nannying and babysitting agency I have been working for, for the past few years, has a zero-tolerance policy about their employees getting romantically or sexually involved with the parents of the kids they are looking after. Understandably so, of course. It doesn’t happen as often as one would think, but the second the higher ups find out that one of their nannies hooked up with a parent of the child they are in charge of, they are instantly fired and blackballed from working for any other agency. And for someone like me, wholovesthis job and can’t imagine myself doing anything else, that would be a nightmare like no other. Not to mention the scandal that would follow you wherever you go afterwards.
So, my fantasies about Leo, especially the ones that find me in the dark of my room, pulling my hands towards where I want him most and bringing myself only half the pleasure I imagine he can give me, muststaywithin the four walls of my bedroom. I wouldn’t risk my job. Not for anyone.
Before going to Sara’s, I make a pit stop at our favorite diner and pick up some breakfast burgers for both of us, and I know I made the right choice when I get to her apartment and she opens the door, grinning widely as soon as she sees the takeout bag in my hand. “You’re a god-send,” she praises, opening the door wider to let me in.
I chuckle before the sound dies and my eyebrows slowly rise, nearly reaching my hairline as I take in the chaos before me. “And you obviously started without me.” I huff before throwing her an exasperated look. “What happened to doing this together?”
Sara has the decency to look sheepish. “I got impatient. You know how I am.”
I shake my head and make my way to the kitchen, weaving around the several dozen open boxes. So far, Sara only has the essential furniture in place, like a couch, coffee table, a TV hooked up on the wall, and all of her kitchen appliances. Everything else is still in boxes, which are thrown open with half of the things already out. Except instead of being in the right places, they’re strewn about in random spots. The sight nearly gives me a headache. The reason I’m helping her is because organization is my forte—it has to be when I’m in charge of little kids with schedules to keep up with. Sara, on the other hand, is chaos personified. Case in point, her disaster of an apartment.
“I think if my parents saw this, they’d definitely think I’m not ready to live on my own,” she says as I move some things aside to put the bag of food on the counter next to the stove. When I look at her, she shoots me puppy dog eyes. “Please help.”
She knows those eyes are my weakness. If the kids I watch after find that out, I’m screwed. Laughing, I wave her over. “Let’s start with the kitchen.”
The sound of Taylor Swift plays throughout the apartment.through the Bluetooth speaker, as Sara and I begin unpacking plates, glasses, and utensils that she had bought. The two of us, despite our differences in nature, work well and efficiently together, putting things where they need to be and pushing aside the empty boxes. The most important thing is for us to get the essentials out of the way first, and then Sara can focus on decorating her new home the way she wants to. I know for a fact if I didn’t step in, Sara would do things the other way around.
“At least you have your fridge stocked,” I quip with a grin when I open it to pull out a water bottle. Already, there are vegetables and fruits in the drawers, cheese, milk, eggs, a mini New York style cheesecake, and juice.
Sara scoffs. “Duh. Food is more important than unpacking,” she says, and it only pulls a laugh out of me.
We continue unpacking for the next hour and a half, and once we are finished setting up the kitchen, my best friend lets out a breath and practically begs, “Food break?”
I nod, my own stomach grumbling because a banana and a cup of tea isn’t enough sustenance. Taking the bag of food, the two of us go to the living room and sit down on the floor at the coffee table. Sara switches the TV on while we pull out the boxes of food; one of the first things she did was set up the internet, so she easily navigates to HBO Max so we can watchFriendsas we eat.
“How’s work going?” she asks before biting into her burger.
Leo’s face flashes across my mind, and I kind of wish Sara hadn’t asked me that question. “It’s fine,” I answer with a swallow of my food, nodding. “Lilah’s probably one of the easiest kids I’ve nannied for.”
“And the youngest, right?” Sara questions.
I nod once more with a hum. Most of the children I have nannied for were five or up, but Lilah is only three. She’s a bright little girl, always smiling, and gets the most dazzled look in her eyes whenever her dad walks into the room. It softens me from the inside, knowing that Leo and Lilah have a great relationship. I’ve seen too many kids neglected by their parents, who are far too busy with their work or their own lives to give a lick of attention to their own children. It’s why so many of them hire live-in nannies, so someone can keep an eye on the kids that isn’t them.
