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It’s all she says, but she does close the door behind her to step inside, so I guess she’s taking me up on the meal offer. “I was just making us some grilled cheese sandwiches,” I tell her, turning to start toward the stairs. “But I can make something else if you’d rather—”
“I already ate, thank you,” Iris says stiffly.
She’s going to be a tough nut to crack,I think.
I let the silence linger as I step off the landing and move back to the kitchen to get Sophie some juice.
“So how long have you been working here?”
I look up from the counter to find Iris has settled on the couch, watching Sophie climb onto one of the stools at the counter as she readies for dinner.
“Not long,” I say. “Just over a week now.”
“You just seem so at home,” Iris notes.
“Oh, well... Aiden and Sophie have been great.”
“Sorry if I sound rude,” Iris says. “I’ve just always hated the idea of Sophie being left with strangers.”
“Of course,” I answer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. She watches me for a minute as I pour Sophie’s juice, notspeaking again until I slide the cup across the counter to Sophie’s waiting hand.
“How old are you, anyway? You seem kind of young to be a nanny.”
“Twenty-five,” I tell her tightly.
Be nice,I mentally chant.
“Wow.” Iris laughs. “You really are young. You must be barely out of school.”
“Still in, actually,” I correct. “I’ve been working my way through.”
“Oh? And what are you going for?”
“Occupational therapy.”
“Oh, wow.” She nods, looking almost impressed, albeit begrudgingly. “That’s admirable.”
“Let’s hope so,” I respond before taking a bite of my sandwich. “And you? What do you do?”
“I own a flower shop,” she tells me.
I laugh excitedly. “Oh my God! That’s so cute!”
Iris looks at me strangely.
“Because of your name,” I clarify.
“Right...” She’s looking at me like I’ve lost it. “Well. I used to run it with Rebecca. It’s been harder doing it alone.”
My smile dissipates. “Oh. Of course. I was so sorry to have heard about that.”
“Were you,” she says flatly.
I take another bite, and then another, wanting to escape this awful tension. I chew roughly as Sophie gives me a thumbs-up about her own sandwich. “Mom used to give me flowers for my birthday every year.”
I smile. “Oh, yeah?”
“They were really pretty,” she tells me.
