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“Your mom says their mom is overseas.”
I nod. “She’s spending time with her new husband’s family at a winery in the Loire Valley. Birthdays, weddings, all kinds of family events are lined up that cannot be rescheduled. That’s why they hired me on such short notice.”
“And the dad? He’s treating you right?”
Oh, I do not need to talk about their dad with my dad. One, he doesn’t need to know that I slept with him, and two, he doesn’t need to know I’m working for the enemy. “He’s great. I think I’m going to finish this in my room before the guests arrive for breakfast.”
“You need proper food to go with your pastry.”
“I’m good, thanks.” I jog over to my room and close the door, before accidentally telling Dad anything he does not need to know. Standing at my dresser and picking at my pastry while thinking, I’m baffled. It’s too confusing. When I’m at Cormac’s place, everything just fits. Me with the kids, me with him. It’s been good, and he hasn’t been anything but professional.
And my god, I wish he would be unprofessional. It doesn’t help that he’s handsome, sophisticated, charming, fun, smart…why the hell am I not jumping on him?Oh right. The boss thing.
Besides, I don’t have time for a boyfriend or anything like that. Not even a friends-with-benefits. That would be way too destructive. I like him. Using him like that would not work out. Best we just stay friendly.
I realize the pastry has fallen apart when I notice my fingers are empty and covered with buttery goodness. Pastry bits sit atop my dresser like a light dusting of flakes from heaven. I’d picked it apart while working on my Cormac nerves. I huff, which only spread them out more, and use my hand to scoop them into the wastebasket, hoping not to get ants.
Nope. Better to flush.
After flushing the crumbs away, I stare at myself in the mirror. Maybe the reason Cormac is so professional is he’s sober now, and he’s a horny drunk. Or maybe because he sees me as a matronly type now that I’m taking care of his kids. I huff at the mirror.
Or, possibly, he’s not a jerk who doesn’t take advantage of his employees. It’s not taking advantage if I give him the advantage, though. But I’m the one who said we should be professionals.
In all fairness to Past Lily, she was trying to be good and mature and boring and why did I listen to her?
I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Doesn’t matter now. It’s too late to turn back the clock. Cormac is off-limits. He needs a nanny. Not a fling, and flings are all I am capable of at the moment. Or ever.
I’ve never been good at the whole dating thing. It was one of the many benefits of being a chef. No need to worry about dating when you’re working eighty or more-hour weeks. There are few men who will date a woman who works that much. Or at least, I never found them. Not that I looked much.
Over the years, I’d had a few guys who would have called themselves my boyfriend. But the feelings never worked out for me. They cared more than I did, and eventually, I called it quits on each of them, except for Murphy. He bailed on me, saying I was cheating on him.
I never cheated on him, and when I told him that, he said the restaurant was my other boyfriend. I couldn’t argue with that. He was unequivocally correct there. And maybe that is the real reason I cannot fathom going back into the kitchen yet. I lost my love. I can’t date again this soon.
So flings are where it’s at.
And that’s not where Cormac is at. Although, I didn’t exactly have to cajole him to the hotel that night. Maybe I’m selling him short. He might need a fling, too.
I laugh at the thought of carrying on with him. How could we hide that from the kids? Or anyone else? It’s silly to think we could.
But the thought of doing it makes me want him even more. He was an animal in bed. The ways he moved his body—
“Lily,” Mom says before knocking and opening my door. “You want some breakfast?”
“No thanks, Mom.” Breakfast will not satisfy my appetite.
13
Lily
More than anything else, I need a distraction. So, I gather all the ingredients for the recipe. Beach towels, sunblock of varying strengths, a wide-brimmed hat, a huge beach bag cooler, a bikini, and other associated items sit in my Target cart. The cheap plastic sunglasses in the kid seat part stare back at me, as if to say this isn’t exactly what I need. That I should face my fears and get back on the horse.
I turn the sunglasses face down on the towel so they stop staring at me.
Without knowing what the kids will need for the beach, I grab the components of both crudité, those crispy snap pea things, and some fresh fruit, as well as a case of bottled water. Since they have a day off from school, the beach seems like the perfect way to spend it, and I could certainly use some time in the sun. I look like a damned ghost.
On my way to their house, I bounce to some pop music and hope the kids like the ocean. I’d never asked, and no one had ever brought it up. But what kid doesn’t like the beach? Pulling up to the house, I decide to ask Cormac before bringing it up to them. Just my luck, he’s ready to leave for work when I walk in. Hopefully, I can—
“Good timing. I need to leave early. They’ve had breakfast. Have a nice day—
