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“Are you going to invite me in?” she questions.
“Oh, yeah, come in.” I step aside, motioning for her to come inside. “We have a ‘no shoes’ policy in the house so if you’d leave yours on the rack”—I gesture to the shoe rack in the corner—“I’d appreciate it.”
Marlow visibly winces, probably recalling the only other time she’s been in my house.
“Of course,” she says in a hushed tone. She tugs her sneakers off and puts them on the shoe rack like I asked.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I figure Lola is sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her up.”
Her expressed sentiment brings a wave of relief. At the very least, Marlow genuinely cares for Lola, and I firmly believe she wouldn’t do anything to put her in harm’s way.
“You don’t have to worry about that. She’s a deep sleeper and has a sound machine in her room. She rarely wakes up before her alarm goes off. Let’s just say she’s not an early morning person.” That’s putting it lightly. My child did not inherit my preference for starting the day early. However, since she started first grade, she’s adapted to waking up in time for school.
Marlow lets out a melodic laugh. “She sounds like a girl after my own heart. I’m not a morning person either. I’m more of a night owl.”
And yet she took a job that requires her to be here before sunrise?
“If that’s the case, why did you take this position if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Because Lola asked me to,” Marlow states without skipping a beat.
Her answer catches me off guard. “You’re telling me you agreed to be Lola’s nanny because she asked you to? What about the money?”
She folds her arms across her chest, clearly offended by the insinuation.
“Believe it or not, Dylan, I do very well for myself,” she shoots back. “I offered to help because it’s the right thing to do. The only reason I’m not walking out that door”—she motions outside—“is because it would hurt Lola if I did.”
I’m momentarily speechless. Despite not being a morning person, and having financial stability, she willingly agreed to this simply because my daughter wanted her to. It’s becoming apparent that I should refrain from making assumptions about her altogether, although it’s easier said than done.
“Fuck, you’re right.” I run my hand through my hair. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions. It was wrong of me.”
“Did you just drop the f-bomb? I thought parents were supposed to avoid using expletives,” Marlow quips.
“Yeah, well, I’m still a work in progress,” I mutter. “I got in the habit of swearing as a teenager, and going cold turkey when Lola was born was impossible.”
Marlow lets out a snicker. “You’re older than I thought.”
“I’m thirty-three, not sixty, thank you very much.”
“That’s ten years older than me,” she says in disbelief. “I have to say I’m impressed you don’t have any gray hairs yet… oh, wait, I found one.”
Marlow moves closer, leaning in to graze her fingertips through the hair along my temple. Her brows furrow in concentration as she supposedly counts my gray hairs. She runs her hand along my scalp, and I briefly close my eyes, savoring her touch. Her hands are gentle and soft, and I’m aware of the faint scent of citrus and rose.
Wait… what am I doing?
My eyes snap open as I realize how inappropriate this is. Marlow is here to watch Lola, and my reaction to her touching me is anything but professional. She must be on the same wavelength because her eyes widen, and she jerks her hand away just as I instinctively step back.
“I uh—sorry. Is there anything I should know before you leave?” she asks.
“Yeah, follow me.” I lead her past the living room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. “Lola needs to be out of bed by 7:30 a.m., she eats breakfast at 7:45 a.m., and has to be out the door no later than 8:10 a.m. All the information you need is in here.” I grab the binder from the kitchen island and pass it to Marlow. I woke up early to update several sections, including to add her contact info that she gave me last night.
She glances at the binder and back at me. “What is this?”
“Lola’s binder. There’s a detailed schedule of our daily routine, a list of her likes and dislikes, approved meal options, emergency contacts, our house rules—”
“Oh, is this all?” she teases.
