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Chapter Seven
Alice
I pull up at a gate, large and imposing. Seems to be a theme where Simon Morrow is concerned. I can’t believe I was starting to feel different toward him when he was talking about his charity. I’m such a fool, but you know what they say—fool me once, shame on you. I won’t let it happen again. This will be something I have to do since I signed a contract, and I might as well keep Ivy occupied for the summer and get paid for it. I refuse to think of it as helping Simon out. I’m doing it for myself. And for Ivy, of course.
The guard at the gatehouse sticks his head out of the small window and waits for me to speak.
“Alice Whitman, here to see Simon Morrow.” I sigh, shaking my head. I sound cold and impersonable—the way our relationship started out and will continue to be.
“Welcome, Miss Whitman. Dr. Morrow said to give you a pass and a remote so that you can open the gate. I hear you are going to be Miss Ivy’s new nanny.”
“Yes, that’s me,” I say, giving him a smile. He doesn’t deserve my bad mood.
“She’s a sweet girl, that one.”
“She is.”
He extends an envelope with a few things in it, and I take it.
“I’m George, if you need anything.” He hooks a thumb at himself as he rests his elbow on the bottom of the open window.
“Thanks, George.” I give him another smile before he presses the button to open the gate.
I roll through, mouth agape at the monstrosities that come into view. From the outside, each one looks like it could fit my apartment inside them—fifteen times. Maybe twenty. I’m so immersed in idling by, staring up at each arching rooftop, that when I finally look at the numbers on their mailboxes, I see I’ve gone too far.
Which monstrosity belongs to Simon?
I realize I’ve been slowly driving down the street like a creeper and stopping in front of houses, so I pull into a driveway and back up quickly, hoping no one is watching me from their kitchen window or anything. I backtrack, and my eyes finally land on the right address.
I follow the driveway up to the front of the house. A cute little planter of flowers sits underneath the house number. The small porch has a Welcome mat and a bench beside the navy-blue front door. The gray of the house is decorated perfectly with white shutters framing the many windows facing the street, and I sit here, gaping, not understanding how this is his house. It’s immaculate, but it also has the touches of a home that’s lived in.
I put my car in park, shutting it off. The front door opens, and I steel myself, waiting for Simon to step out. I don’t want to be swayed back into softening toward him by his roguish good looks or how he might appear with a gorgeous and perfect house in the background. But it’s not him standing there. A woman, probably late fifties or early sixties, is waving at me, and as I squint, looking closer, I see that it’s Vicky.
A smile breaks across my face, and I wave back, quickly opening the door and meeting her halfway for a hug.
“Alice, dear, it’s so good to see you again,” she says as she pulls back, grasping my arms to keep me close.
She exudes warmth and comfort, and she smells like baked goods. I instantly want to pull her back in for another hug.
“Come on. Let’s get your stuff and get you set up in your room. I just baked some cookies.”
Ah.
I walk to the trunk of my car and pop it, dragging my suitcase out and hugging my pillow to my chest. I have to sleep with my own pillow; otherwise, I lie awake forever. It goes with me everywhere.
“Can I carry anything?” Vicky asks.
I shake my head, extending the handle on my suitcase, and follow her to the front door.
“Is Dr. Morrow here?” I ask, wondering why he didn’t come out to greet me himself.
“No, he is taking Ivy up to his parents’. He will be back this evening. He wanted me to show you around and explain what all you’ll need to know about Ivy, which I expect won’t be much since you were her favorite teacher.”
She beams at me, and I soften, my body relaxing now that it’s just me and her. I try not to analyze the feeling.
Am I more comfortable that he’s not here because I don’t like him? Or because, sometimes, I think I do?
“Your room is up here, right next to Ivy’s room. There’s a connecting door, just in case she needs anything at night but that hasn’t happened in a while. She’s getting older, more independent. She’s almost eight. Next month is her birthday, you know. And she won’t let you forget it.” Vicky starts up the stairs with me trailing behind.
