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“Sounds good.” I force myself to go back to the dishes, like holding her meant nothing to me. Like I feel nothing at all.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her go and then close my eyes, sucking in breaths that do nothing to slow my heart. This whole situation is supposed to have made my life easier. I have no idea how I’ve lost control of everything.
June
WedecideonaSaturday evening for the barbecue because the team is off Sunday. I want to make some of the food, but Duke insists we cater. I agree but draw the line at desserts. They’re my specialty. Since we were talking about it over text, I think he tires of arguing with me and gives in.
I don’t know any caterers in Haddonfield, but Moorestown is close enough. On Tuesday, I contact the local delicatessen there. Marie, the owner’s wife, takes my call. “Oh, Miss June! It’s so nice to hear from you. How is Lily?”
Marie and Lily went to school together. We used to walk to Marie and Luca’s deli on Sundays to buy snacks. Lily had limited extra money, but she said Sundays were special. She let us pick out something sweet while she caught up with Marie.
“She’s claustrophobic, living in a small apartment. You know how she is. She needs space to roam.”
Marie chuckles. “That she does. What can I do for you?”
I explain what I’ll need for the barbecue, and Marie has suggestions. We agree on a menu, and she offers to deliver the food, but I decline. Marie and Luca aren’t young anymore, so they hire out for delivery. It’s not a big deal for me to get it. In the garage, the Range Rover is sitting there, not being used. I can use it for this.
The second week of training is more intense than the first, so I hardly see Duke at all. He leaves before six and comes home after dinner most nights. Though she misses her father, Tabby doesn’t seem phased by the change. This isn’t her first rodeo, I guess. But I can see now why having a live-in caretaker makes sense to them. To keep her mind off missing her dad, I enlist her to help organize the barbecue. When I suggest we decorate the backyard, Tabby isn’t enthusiastic, so I keep it simple. But she gets excited about the karaoke machine. I bring it up as a joke, but she is immediately on board. I text Duke, thinking he’ll put a stop to the idea, but he surprises me, too. So, Saturday morning, someone Duke’s hired sets up a karaoke machine under the rented tent out by the pool.
I pick up the food, and by mid-afternoon, we’re set. There’s pulled pork, sausage and peppers, roast beef, and a bunch of vegetables and salads. I tried to keep in mind the guys’ diet as much as I could. For the kids, we’ve got macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. We rented an ice cream machine, too, since it’s going to be a hot day. I figure the kids will be in and out of the pool, so they can cool off if they’re hot.
After Duke’s morning practice, he gets home as Tabby and I are putting together cookie trays. “Whoa,” he says. “You said you’d keep it simple for dessert.”
“This is simple. It’s cookies.” I survey the counters. Tabby and I made three different types this week—chocolate chip, white chocolate macadamia nut, and snickerdoodles. Yesterday, we worried that wouldn’t be enough, so we made brownies and blondies too.
“Didn’t you rent an ice cream machine too?”
“Yes.”
The doorbell rings, and he laughs. “Your definition of simple and mine are not the same.” He wanders off to answer the door. I glance at Tabby.
“Do you think it’s too much?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’m seven. Looks good to me.” She hops off the stool and heads into the foyer, probably to see if anyone her age is here. Quickly, I wash my hands and take a deep breath, staunching anxiety. There’s no reason to be nervous, after all. This isn’t my house or my party, at least not really. Still, I want everyone to have a good time, and I want Duke to be pleased he let me coordinate it.
Mostly, I’m excited to spend some time with him, even if I plan to stay mostly in the background, making sure things run smoothly.
Though I told myself I was trying to keep Tabby busy so she wouldn’t miss her father, I missed Duke too. We’ve been busy. Besides baking cookies with Tabby, I’ve been working with her on her writing. She’s struggling, and she hates it, so we take a lot of breaks. I sent in the Vanderbilt scales on Monday, but I don’t know how long it’ll be until we get the results.
During the days, I took Lily to dialysis three times this week. There’s not much to do there, so I stopped at the thrift store Tuesday and got us some new books—romance for her, some new science fiction for me. I already finished one and left it on Duke’s desk in case he wanted to try it. Because we’re friends and friends share books.
My problem is that I haven’t been thinking of him as a friend at all this week.
I shake my head and plant a smile on my face to greet the first guests to arrive.
Duke is talking as he walks into the kitchen with an enormous man and a beautiful blonde. “I’d like you to meet June. This entire party was her idea,” he offers, and I beam. Then he adds, “She’s Tabby’s nanny.”
The words bother me. I don’t know why—they’re true. But sometime this week, I stopped focusing on that role and started seeing myself differently. Like I’m more important than that, somehow. Though what could be more important than the person who takes care of his daughter? Nanny is exactly what I am. I need to keep that in the forefront of my mind.
I hold my hand out to the newcomers, doing my best to keep my face bright. “Hi. Thanks for coming.”
“This is Hunter Mason,” Duke offers. I mustn’t have hidden my reaction well, because he gives me a questioning glance. “And his girlfriend, Violet.”
“Not his girlfriend,” Violet adds, folding my hand in both of hers. I catch the softest hint of a Southern or Midwestern accent, but I can’t place it. “Friends. Hunter and I went to college together in Chesterboro. He’s been showing me around since I moved here.” When she grins at me, it’s warm and welcoming. Violet is gorgeous, tall with blond hair, and she radiates confidence.
“You know that’s not true,” Hunter adds. His voice is calm and firm as he shakes my hand. Hunter seems to be Violet’s opposite. Quiet, reserved. In dark-framed glasses, he has a serious, unreadable face.
She waves a hand at him, making the movement look sophisticated and breezy. “You’re right. I’m lying. I’ve been dragging him out every chance I can get. So many fun restaurants and bars in Philadelphia, such interesting culture here. After Chesterboro, I’ve been dying to soak it up. Hunter is my begrudging plus-one.”
