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Brodie wants to deny her claim that I’m her latest toy. He tries to subdue her happiness in a manner any father would when their child becomes instantly besotted with a stranger, but the longer Lucy’s praise fills his ears, the harder it is for him to steal her joy.
So instead of squashing her happiness, he peers at me over her golden locks and murmurs with a frown, “You’re welcome.”
“Oh my goodness, Lucy-Lou. This room is almost as precious as you.”
Lucy grins at both my praise and the use of her nickname before trudging to her bed with her toy rabbit swishing the floorboards behind her. The past couple of hours have been as tiring on her as they have been on me. She gave me a tour of her home, which is modestly sized and well-decorated. We cooked chicken and rice for dinner, ate on the outdoor patio, bathed, then read one too many bedtime stories.
Every task was conducted under Brodie’s watchful eye, so not only did I have to give the performance of my life as a doting nanny, but I also needed to ensure Lucy wasn’t subjected to the tension teeming between her father and me.
Children, girls in particular, are less forgiving of their parents when there is an apparent rivalry with their friends. At such a young age, they don’t understand that their parent is their biggest ally.
“Do you usually sleep with a night light?”
A smile graces my lips when Lucy shakes her head. “But can you leave the door open?”
“Of course.” I help her to bed before tucking her in.
I step back from her half-wrapped cocoon when “That’s my job” comes barreling from the hallway.
As Brodie enters Lucy’s room, his manly swagger more noticeable in the tight confines, Lucy’s eyes roll skyward. “When he’s not working, but since he’s returning soon, you should practice.” Her lower lip drops into a pout. It is the first time it’s hung so low in hours. “He won’t be around much once he goes back to work.”
Ouch. There’s the guilt every working parent faces. I once gave my father hell about his hectic work schedule. I never got the chance to understand how unfair I was being.
Brodie takes Lucy’s complaint on the chin with only the smallest rebuttal. “You know how important my job is, Lucy.” His next set of words announces how closely he’s been watching. “It’s what allows you to sleep without a nightlight.” He finishes getting her ready for bed before brushing back a lock that had fallen across her eye and kissing her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” Lucy replies through a yawn, her earlier anguish forgotten.
I wait for her to wedge her hands under her cheek before I follow Brodie out. He leaves her door partially cracked open, saving me from announcing his child’s wish, before he lifts his murky eyes to mine.
Lucy must have gotten her dark eyes from her mother, because Brodie’s are light blue and utterly captivating. He is tall, muscular, and handsome, and something about his scent drives my insides wild.
My stomach hasn’t stopped dancing all evening.
His hair is a little longer than you’d anticipate for an FBI agent, but its knotted appearance around his face gives him a youthful look he could pull off well into his forties. However, his frown is the sexiest thing about him.
I just wish it didn’t directly follow every glance he tosses my way.
He doesn’t want me here. I’m just skeptical if something I’ve already done awarded me his distrust or if it’s something he’s worried will occur in the future.
It could be a bit of both.
I’ve not exactly been honest with him.
Our stare-down is so intense I expect Brodie to say something far more profound than he does when he ends it by dropping his eyes to his feet. “Night.”
I’m lost for a reply. Not only am I shocked by his nonchalant farewell, but it is also barely eight. If I go to bed now, I’ll be wide awake by two in the morning.
When Brodie waits for me to reply before leaving, I stammer out, “Um… night?”
I cringe at the desperation in my voice before spinning on my heels and galloping down the stairs. Brodie has already cleaned the kitchen and filled the washing machine, so I gather my new cell phone from my suitcase and enter the living room with the hope of a good cable subscription service.
I’m not surprised when I discover a ton of messages from my best friend. She is the only person with this number, and the instant she was given it, she would have commenced blowing it up.
Amelia:
What’s he like?
Did he welcome you with open arms?
Is he open to visitors? I need to get out of town for a few days.
Beau was asking about you earlier. *gag* Do you want me to pass on a message?
