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Please, God. Let him have a total dad bod and be going bald—and not in the totally sexy way some men aged into that look. Please, God…
Two
Em
My chest felt tight, my hands clammy, when I rapped on the ranch-style house’s door that afternoon. Once I’d agreed to the placement, Ardith hadn’t wasted any time setting up the appointment with Luca. Apparently, he’d been anxious to get a nanny on board because he hadn’t hesitated a moment when she’d offered a meeting at two p.m.
I just hoped this would go well. And that he wouldn’t recognize me. I mean, why would he? We’d never actually met. I’d been too caught up in crushing on him from afar and making sure he didn’t catch me, and he’d always been heads down over a tablet or a laptop.
Except for when he’d been playing video games on YouTube. Then I’d gotten a clear view of his face. Because I had been his biggest, silent fan. Until the day he’d stopped streaming, I’d watched every video, often letting it be ASMR in the background while I did my homework.
But now, we were all grown up. He had a daughter. I was a professional nanny.
But when the door swung open, I still caught my breath.
Unruly sandy curls. Caribbean blue eyes. Firm lips and chiseled cheekbones and the barest scruff of a beard.
I was so screwed.
Inside, an infant cried.
“You’re the nanny?” he asked, his slightly desperate but very rumbly voice breaking me from the spell. Before I said a word, he was already turning away. The door hung open, inviting me to follow behind him.
“Squid, c’mon, kid. It’s okay,” I heard him call after he darted across the entry hall and through a doorway.
I entered what must be the living room, just as he scooped the little girl in a pink sleeper up off the circular play mat with an overhead arch that dangled toys for her to reach for. Around him it looked as if a baby paraphernalia bomb had exploded.
The infant cried harder though he held her to his chest and patted her back, his movements sure and calm despite his obvious stress over her crying.
“She’s fed. She’s been changed. She just hates me,” he said in a low, even tone. “She wants my ma.”
“May I?” I asked, lifting my hands just slightly, aiming to be nonthreatening. Not everyone was comfortable handing over their child, even if the stranger was the nanny they’d called for.
He eyed me then must have decided I was safe. Gingerly, he transferred the baby into my waiting hands. For a moment, he left his palms there, inches beneath his daughter, as if I might drop her and he’d have to do a quick catch to save her.
I raised an eyebrow as I turned the baby—Noa—face-down along my arm, though cradled close to my torso, and rubbed circles on her back.
“To date, I’ve never dropped a child, Mr. DeMilo. Promise.”
I had to give it to him. He might think he was a fish out of water, but he was doing all the right things, staying calm and keeping the baby secure and supported.
He sniffed a laugh. “You’ve never met Squid.”
I smiled, looking down at the sweet little girl with just the barest hint of dark hair dusting her tiny head. She immediately started to calm while I soothed her, though she was still agitated. Suddenly, she let out a man-sized burp then her whole body seemed to wilt, the tension from her belly relieved.
“There you go, sweet girl,” I murmured, keeping up the circles on her back while she snuffled hitched breaths in the aftermath of her wails.
“I swear I burped her,” he said, shoving a hand through his already disheveled hair. He shook his head, watching Noa as she closed her eyes, already drifting toward sleep. “Whoever you are, you’re hired.”
“Just like that?”
“Look, Mary Poppins, I might suck at this whole dadding thing, but I’m no fool. The agency already ensured your credentials and background are pristine, and you just worked a miracle before my eyes. Just… Don’t make me jump into any chalk drawings or sing, and the job is yours.”
After placing Noa in a nearby basinet that would convert into a playpen when she was older, I returned to my new employer and reached out my hand. “I’m Emerson Crane.”
“Luca DeMilo,” he said, shaking the proffered fingers. I fought to appear unaffected by the feel of his firm, warm grip with just the slightest, sensual scrape of calluses.
No! No, Em! Not sensual!
