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He lifts his hand to stop me. “Miss Harlow, has anyone told you that you talk a lot?”
Tough crowd.“Well, yeah. But not usually this soon after meeting me.” When his brows only crinkle, I sigh. “I’m just nervous.” I immediately feel the blush flood my cheeks and want to call back the words.
His eyebrows hiked up. “I make you nervous?”
“No.” I blurt out. “Absolutely not. That’s ridiculous.” I wave my hand and roll my eyes, as if that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. “I spend lots of time with tall, super-fit famous athletes.”
I wanted him to smile or chuckle, something to dispel the tension. But I’m not prepared for his bark of laughter, and I’m definitely not ready for the flare of heat that rushes through me. If broody Duke is sexy, smiling Duke is next-level hot.
Of course this guy makes me nervous. Everything about him feels too sharp. He’s too tall, too big, and his gaze is too intense. It’s not only that, though. I’ve been around good-looking men before, and I’ve never felt this… unsettled. But Emmett York is aloof and almost painfully direct. Plus, uncomfortable situations don’t seem to bother him. That makes no sense to me. I’m all about harmony, which is why I usually have no problem reading people and understanding exactly how to put them at ease. This man doesn’t appear like he is at ease anywhere, and he doesn’t seem to care. I don’t know how to manage him.
Like now. He continues to stand in the doorway, staring at me with amusement, but he says nothing. I made him laugh, so it’s his turn to make this less weird. But he doesn’t. I have no idea what to do with that, how to set this situation on a safe and comfortable course, and I’m out of my element. The whole feeling is unpleasant, and I’m kind of annoyed at him for it.
I doubt being irritable with my new employer is the right play, though. Not if I want to keep this job, and I do. After reading through Tabby’s file last night, I feel like I already know the little girl, and I feel like she needs me.
I change the subject. “Does Tabby know I’m coming?” She’s seven, and usually girls that age are excited to meet people. Her chart mentioned that she’s shy, but I assumed curiosity would get the best of her.
He nods, and the sides of his lips turn down. “I should warn you. Tabby has a hard time with new people. It’s why I wanted to wait until we chose the right person to introduce them. Don’t push her. It might take her a while to warm up to you.” He crosses his arms over his enormous chest, glowering.
Did something in my resume give him the idea I would be a jerk to his daughter? “Okay.”
“The bus drops her off right in front of the house. I usually watch from the porch. It’s getting close.” Shifting, he stares out the window next to the door, his brow creasing like he’s afraid he missed it. In that moment, his guard slips, and the concern and anticipation there—to see his daughter—makes him look like a completely different person. With that softness on his face, he’s more approachable and infinitely more good-looking. Not at all like an egotistical jerk.
Two things become painfully clear to me. First, though my employer unsettles me, he loves his daughter very much. Second, and decidedly more dangerous, is that Duke York is fascinating. One moment, he comes off frustratingly arrogant and the next, his face softens while he worries about his daughter. Add in the way my body reacts when he’s close, and I need to be very careful with him.
I wasn’t lying when I told Ms. Raybourne I wasn’t interested in relationships, physical or otherwise. Yes, Lily needs me right now, but that’s not all of it. I don’t date much. I’ve been busy with school and work. When I have agreed to go out with someone, I stay away from men like Duke York. I prefer low-maintenance men—men who are easy to be with and easy enough to be without. I can’t remember much of my mother, certainly not much good. But I remember the men she preferred, the fights and the drama, the euphoria and the sorrow. From early on, I decided I would steer clear of anything complex like that. It just caused pain for everyone.
Whatever Duke York is, it’s complicated, and that’s before I add in that he’s my boss. He makes me want to growl at him one second, and then he makes my belly warm the next. That can’t be good for a body at all. Right now, I need to stay focused on what it is I’m here to do. A little girl needs me.
“I’ll just wait outside for Tabby.” I hold out the Tupperware of cookies. “Could you put these in the kitchen, please? I baked them for you both.” He only stares at my outstretched peace offering. When he doesn’t reach for the cookies, I push them against him, forcing him to take them from me. “Right. Well, then.” I motion toward the door, the manners Lily drummed into my head surfacing. “Did you want to join me?”
He shakes his head, as if waking from a dream. “No. I’ll let you.”
When he says nothing else, I back away toward the door. “Right. Well, great then.” Unable to stand any more tension, I quickly step onto the porch. Pulling the door closed behind me, I exhale and roll my eyes. As I trudge down the driveway, I try to imagine any way that could have gone worse. Talking with him is painful.
A yellow school bus turns the corner. I hurry forward. I have a new friend to meet.
Duke
Ican’thelpit.I watch June go to meet my daughter.
Though I wanted to go with her to the bus stop, to run interference for Tabby, I held myself back. It won’t show Tabby I trust June if I hover. But I can’t keep myself from watching through the window.
While June walks down the driveway, I realize I’m still holding the Tupperware container full of cookies. I open the lid, and the scent of warm brown sugar wafts to my nose. Unable to stop myself, I snag one, biting into it. It’s the perfect cookie—chewy throughout—and the chocolate is still warm, like she pulled them out of the oven right before she came over. I try to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head. It’s probably been years since I’ve had a homemade cookie this good. The only cookies I can manage are the kind from the log of dough I buy at the grocery store. I force myself to close the lid before I can eat a second one.
Outside, the bus stops in front of my house. Tabby hops down, but she barely gets onto the sidewalk before she freezes. It takes everything in me to stay still when my daughter looks so anxious. But I need to give June a chance.
As June kneels beside Tabby, I can’t help but notice the fine curve of her face, the tilt of her chin. She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. She smiles at Tabby, talking the whole time, and Tabby nods along. But when June offers her a hand, my daughter steps away, her face conflicted. Her uncertainty stabs at my gut, but I continue watching, and that’s the only reason I notice June’s reaction.
When someone scoffs at a friendly overture, I expect them to look disappointed, hurt even. Maybe upset or irritated. I’m a short distance away, but I don’t see any of that on June’s face. Instead, she only looks accepting, as if my daughter’s reaction is exactly what she expected. I don’t understand that.
It’s only a fleeting look, gone in a flash. Then her smile returns. Her mouth moves the entire walk up the drive while Tabby stares at the concrete in front of her. June Harlow definitely knows how to talk.
The two of them head for the house, and I abruptly step away from the window, not wanting to get caught staring. My gaze falls on the beat-up suitcase propped against the wall.
She had to be kidding. There’s no way that’s all of her things. No one is that much of a minimalist.
The door squeaks open, and they both step inside, letting in a wave of humidity. It’s early summer in New Jersey. It’s much hotter here at the beginning of the school year than I ever remembered in Toronto, where I grew up.
