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“We don’t say that word,” Chase and I say at the exact same time.
I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.
“I bet you’re not bad at it. It’s just that you’re trying the wrong kind.”
I close one fist and lift my other with my thumb sandwiched between two fingers, mimicking that I pulled my thumb off. It’s a risk with his age. He may be a little too old to fall for it, but he grins, his little mind working overtime to figure it out.
“Cale! She knows magic!”
Cole grabs my hand and drags me toward his brother. After I sit on the floor between the two of them, I spend the next fifteen minutes arranging their tiny hands and getting them used to holding their fists the right way until they’ve perfected the trick. It’s the simplest of things, but I just love how excited they are when they both go to Chase at the same time and fool him, as if he hasn’t been standing off to the side watching us the entire time. Their innocence is so precious, it makes me wonder why I chose interior design rather than early childhood education like I initially intended when I left Lindell for college.
I see the dedication in Chase’s eyes as he plays along with the boys, acting confused and surprised every time they separate their little fists and remove their thumb.
“What else can you teach us?” Cale asks as he runs across the room and throws himself in my lap.
“I can’t reveal all of my tricks,” I tell them. “But, if you remember to make your beds in the morning without being reminded, I think I can show you another one tomorrow.”
They squeal with delight. Not only does it entice them to remember, but it also gives me more time to do some research because I have no idea what to show them next.
I look up at Chase, and when I see his head nod, this interaction with the boys automatically feels like this was the secondary part of the job interview that started earlier at the diner.
If the little grin on his face says anything, it tells me that I passed with flying colors.
The boys are quickly distracted by the cartoons on the television, and it reminds me that I’ll need to have an expectations talk with Chase because the screen time will be limited when they’re with me. I understand it’s completely different for him as a single dad. He has a million things he has to get done during a day, and sometimes the television will be necessary, but with me, they’re my only focus.
I stand from the floor, bringing my copy of the NDA with me, wondering if I flashed him when it takes a long time for him to lift his eyes from my legs. I roll the paperwork and slap it on my palm, both to get his attention and to try and distract myself from just how much I shouldn’t like the way he is watching me.
“When do they start school?”
“They don’t turn five until October, so they won’t start until next fall.”
I nod in understanding. “A delay, especially for little boys, isn’t such a bad thing.”
He frowns as if I’ve insulted his children.
“Boys mature more slowly than girls do,” I explain, but his frown only deepens.
The male ego is so damn fragile. You’d think I called him a name or something.
“I can work on a lot of the things they’d be doing in kindergarten if you'd like. It would be integrated into their play time. I’m not too keen on sitting small children down and forcing them to do worksheets or anything.”
“That sounds good,” he says, his eyes darting over my shoulder toward his boys.
“Do you mind if they spend time outside?”
“I’d prefer it if they don’t go near the pool unless I’m there to supervise.”
“They don’t know how to swim?”
His jaw tightens, anger washing over his face. “We’re working on it.”
I hold my hands up. “Didn’t mean to offend. No pool unless you’re home. Got it. As I recall, the pool is fenced separately from the rest of the yard, but I keep a very close eye on the kids I take care of. I mean, I haven’t watched kids in a long time, but even as a teenager, I took my job very seriously. I promise you, Chase, they’re safe with me.”
He nods as a breath of what I can only read as relief pushes past his lips. Did the man think I’d forget what I was doing like Mrs. Prichard forgetting her teeth before leaving the house?
“Okay, so I’ll get settled in. See you on Tuesday.”
I don’t know why I smack him in the chest with the rolled-up paper as I walk by. I’m not that familiar with the man, and according to the little I read of the NDA while scribbling my signature on the bottom, there’s absolutely no chance I’ll be that close with him.
