All That Charm: (A Morning Glory Novel Book 3)

by Liz Talley

  Nick rose. “No, I was about to leave.”

  “But it’s you I wish to speak to. About your earlier call,” she said, her dark eyes smiling at him. He wasn’t sure how eyes could smile, but this woman had that twinkle thing going. “I have someone I wish you to meet.”

  Nick’s heart tripped. “You found someone?”

  “After I ended my call with you, I went to the chapel. Our Lady particularly likes to intervene, you know. Like all women, she’s not afraid to try her hand at matchmaking.” Sister Regina Marie grinned.

  “I need a nanny. That’s what you prayed for, right?”

  Dayna gave a bark of laughter at the wariness in his voice.

  “Well, Mr. Zeringue, our Mother Mary and the good Lord do as they wish,” Sister Regina Marie said with a little shrug, her teasing smile still in place. “Now come meet the woman I prayed for. I believe she’s exactly who you’ve been searching for.”

  Eden stared at the stained glass. A nearly nude man with curly golden hair carried a lamb across his shoulders. Latin words wreathed his head. She wondered what the phrase meant. Perhaps she should have taken Latin in high school rather than Spanish. Walking a few more steps, she frowned at the mop bucket with its mop propped against the plastered wall, sitting at the edge of the hallway. A bright yellow sign warned of a wet floor though it was obvious the floor had dried long ago. Eden never would have left a mop bucket full of dirty water unattended, but she didn’t have to worry about what she would do or not do with a mop at All Souls. Glancing at her watch, she sighed and glanced down the hallway where the enigmatic nun had disappeared. Eden really needed to go.

  “Miss Voorhees,” Sister Regina Marie called as if summoned by magic. Or—Eden looked up at Jesus as a boy—divine intervention.

  Eden turned to see the nun rounding the corner down the hallway, a man about the same height walking beside her. He walked with purpose, an energy radiating from him that was easy to discern even in the fading light. As they grew closer, recognition hit her. This was the man who’d been sitting with his daughter across from her in the coffee shop. Uh, Nick. Hot Dad Nick.

  “My dear, thank you for waiting,” Sister Regina Marie said, giving her a smile as they reached her. “I have to say this afternoon has been most providential. I always marvel at the way God works in our lives.”

  As Hot Dad Nick moved closer, Eden felt the full effect of his gorgeousness. His hair looked ruffled as though he’d recently pushed his hand through it. His skin tone hinted at Creole roots, and he possessed broad cheekbones, a square jaw, and shoulders that stretched for miles. His mouth seemed sensuous, whatever that meant. She’d read her fair share of erotic novels in the discount bins at Trader Jack’s Antique Mall in Morning Glory, and that’s how the hero’s mouth was always described. Sensuous. Eden figured that meant a woman wanted to kiss it. Hot Dad Nick sooo had that going for him.

  “Eden, may I introduce Nick Zeringue. He’s one of our parents here at All Souls, and he’s been looking for you,” Sister Regina Marie said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Eden said, stepping back, suddenly uneasy. She wasn’t sure if it was the intimidating vibe Nick had going on or if it was what those words implied. Either way, she forgot about the stupid mop bucket someone had left in the hallway. The back of her calf hit the edge of the bucket before the realization hit her. And she lost her balance.

  Nick lunged toward her, hand outstretched, right before she fell backward.

  “Ahhh,” she squealed, clawing at the air. His fingertips brushed hers, but nothing could stop her downward trajectory. She went back, her butt slamming into the floor, mop water spilling everywhere, soaking her yoga pants. Luckily she caught herself with her elbows before her head smashed into the floor.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Sister Regina Marie squeaked, rushing toward her, holding out her hands.

  Eden popped up, her face flooding with color at the horrible realization that she’d fallen on her ass in front of Hot Dad Nick.

  Good Lord.

  Nick instantly extended his hand. Eden grabbed it and planted her feet so she could pop up and shake it off like a trouper. But her slick-soled shoes, so perfect for teaching dance, could find no traction in the puddle. Which made her look like a complete goose flailing around.

  “Here,” he said, grabbing her elbow and jerking upward a little too hard.

  Eden managed to rise, but just as she straightened, her foot slipped again. Down she went a second time, this time pulling Nick off-balance. Again her butt smacked the floor, but this time she managed to keep upright. Nick yelped right before he crashed on top of her. His leg hit the now-empty bucket, sending it careening across the floor toward Sister Regina Marie and the abandoned mop.

  Quick as spit, Nick rolled off her, but not before his hand awkwardly grabbed a boob. Eden gasped and scooted away, refraining from chanting “oh my god, oh my god” like an immature tween experiencing her first feel-up.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, rolling onto his knees before pushing himself into a standing position. He extended his hand again. Eden looked at it and then glanced toward Sister Regina Marie, who looked alarmed. He didn’t mention touching her boob, obviously intent on playing it off.

  Dear God. She’d just done that. Tripped over a mop bucket. Pulled a hot dude into her lap. How had that happened? She never fell. Never.

  “Are you all right?” Sister Regina Marie asked, fluttering her hands again.

  “I’m okay. Horrified, but okay.” And though she sat in dirty mop water and had been unintentionally groped, she glanced up and reverted into customer-service mode. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Zeringue.”

  He dropped his hand. “What?”

  Now she felt doubly stupid for completing the introduction. Sitting on the floor in wet pants with a bruised ego probably negated the social obligation. But hell, what else could a girl do after making a fool out of herself? She had to pick up the pieces of her pride in some way. Might as well be polite.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, Eden,” he said, no doubt lying. Because what was nice about having to wear sopping-wet pants because some loony tune ran into a mop bucket?

  “I don’t usually greet people that way. Falling down in spectacular fashion is reserved for special people.”

  “I’m honored,” he said with a smile, a devastating smile that warmed her. And she needed warming because the mop water was cold.

  “Good gracious, let me get you a towel or something,” Sister Regina Marie said, nudging the empty bucket aside with her foot before stalking to the closet.

  Not trusting a hand up again, Eden rolled to her knees and carefully stood. Her panties had totally crept into her crack, the polyester blend suctioning to her chilled flesh. She really wanted to pull them loose, but the impression she’d made on Hot Dad Nick was already in the toilet. Digging her panties out of her butt probably wouldn’t be the best thing to do.

  “Here we are,” Sister Regina Marie said, handing both her and Nick two white towels. Eden did the best she could to blot her bottom and pant legs while the man next to her rubbed at the wet spots on his trousers. When they both were done, Sister Regina Marie clapped her hands together. “Now that you’re both dried off and properly introduced, let’s talk turkey.”

  “Turkey?” Eden echoed.

  “Nick needs you, Eden.”

  Eden looked at the man next to her, who had stilled. His gray eyes were focused on her, seemingly measuring. “I don’t understand.”

  “I need a nanny for my daughter,” he said, shifting his gaze to the nun who looked quite pleased with herself. “But I need someone who has experience in taking care of a special-needs child.”

  “Well, there she is,” Sister Regina Marie said, sweeping her arm toward Eden like a ringmaster introducing the next act.

  Wait. Eden wasn’t sure she wanted to take care of Nick’s daughter. Why trade the care of one wheelchair-bound person for another?

  Maybe because you need to eat next
month?

  Pesky mosquito of reason. She flicked it away. “I’m not sure this is what I’m looking for, Sister Regina Marie. After all, I don’t—”

  “You said you were looking for a part-time job,” Sister Regina Marie interrupted, her beetle eyes reflecting confusion. “Do you not like children?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve taught dance for years. It’s just—” Eden closed her mouth, trying to figure out how to explain that she’d spent too many years taking care of a needy disabled woman, and while she didn’t find caring for the disabled necessarily objectionable, she’d rather wait tables or ring up groceries. Was it shortsighted of her? She didn’t know. Was it selfish? Quite possibly. The irony of escaping Morning Glory only to end up doing the same thing in New Orleans didn’t escape her.

  “It’s fine. I prefer someone experienced in handling medical issues,” Nick said.

  “Actually, I’m plenty experienced. I’ve cared for my disabled mother for many years. That’s not the issue.”

  “You don’t want to be tied down,” Nick said. A statement. Not a question.

  Guilt flooded her. She needed a job and here one sat. “It’s not that. Since I arrived, things have been rather . . . challenging. I’m good at rolling with the punches, but . . .” Eden looked around, wishing someone would toss out a life preserver. But that wasn’t going to happen. As usual, it was up to her to make her life work. She faced a muddy, rocky row to hoe. Easy Street was far, far away.

  “No worries,” he said, sounding resigned.

  Eden lifted her gaze. No worries. Such simple words. For most people. In Eden’s experience, not worrying wasn’t an option. Worry was her little friend, constantly tugging at the hem of her skirt, always there. But Nick Zeringue’s eyes reflected sincerity, and something in their depths gave her pause. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a conversation about the position. I do need a job, and since I have the skills you’re looking for . . . Well, it seems silly for me to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe this is a meant-to-be.”

  “A meant-to-be?” he repeated.

  Now she sounded as silly as the nun. Perhaps all the religious imagery surrounding her had imprinted onto her brain. She could admit to the occasional romantic wobble, but mostly Eden was pragmatic. Meant to be was something misty-eyed girls sat around and dreamed about. “Or maybe I should have said coincidence. I need a job, you have a job, yada yada.”

  “Please use my office to discuss this further,” Sister Regina Marie said, gesturing past them. “I need to go to the preschool wing to measure for the new whiteboard before I leave for the day.”

  Internal acceptance sighed inside Eden. If the job paid well enough and the hours worked, she’d be stupid to pass it up. Taking care of Nick’s daughter didn’t have to be permanent. If she found something else, she could always quit. His daughter seemed sweet, but at one point, the child had flirted with pitching a fit. Of course, dealing with her mother had given her plenty of fit-pitching experience. Betty wasn’t just a disabled ex-junkie. She was bipolar.

  Sister Regina Marie retreated, leaving them alone.

  Nick crossed his arms. “This doesn’t seem to be something you want to do. My daughter is the most important thing in the world to me, and I won’t hire someone who resents her, regardless of skill.”

  “I would never do that,” Eden said, feeling a bit prickly before realizing his response was fair. Nick didn’t know her. He had no clue that when she did something she did it well or not at all. Initiative was something Aunt Ruby Jean had instilled in her growing up. How many times had Eden heard “Stop half-assing everything. Give good effort”? With those words ringing in her ears, Eden hadn’t had a chance at being a slacker. “If we agree upon this job, you’ll get my best effort.”

  His assessing eyes lightened. “Sister Regina Marie’s office sometimes makes me nauseous. All that pink. Want to sit in the foyer instead?”

  Eden nodded. “You’d think an office the color of Pepto-Bismol would lessen the queasiness.”

  “But it doesn’t.” Nick stepped back and let her pass, and though she really wanted to pull the panties spackled to her backside loose, she didn’t. Because she was about to embark on a job interview.

  Fifteen minutes after a brief game of twenty questions, Eden had a new part-time job. Caring for Sophie paid almost exactly what the dance school had offered, and the hours were flexible enough to ensure her own education at UNO was a priority. Eden would pick up Sophie after school, take her to physical therapy twice a week, and would stay until Nick arrived home, usually around six o’clock in the evening. She would also work one day on the weekend, to be determined by both Nick and her depending on his issues with the restaurant and her needs as a college student. After he checked her references and she completed a two-week trial period, she would officially go on his payroll.

  “Here are the pertinent phone numbers to reach me. Since tomorrow is your first day at UNO, I’ll cover Sophie. Can you start on Wednesday?” he said, handing her a business card.

  “Sure. I’ll be at your house.” She paused, glancing at the number he’d scribbled on the back of the card. “By two o’clock. If you’ll make a list of her likes and dislikes, including what she likes for meals, et cetera, that would be helpful.”

  “I don’t expect you to cook.”

  Eden smiled. “I’ll be taking care of your daughter. That includes all of her.”

  Gratification unfolded when she saw appreciation blanket his face. Poor man. Had to be hard juggling being the—she glanced down at the heavy vellum card featuring a leaping sailfish—Vice President of Operations at Parran Z Inc. and a single father.

  “I need to head downtown,” he said.

  Eden extended her hand. “Nice meeting you.”

  Nick took it, causing warmth to again envelop her. For some odd reason, she wanted to hold on a bit longer. Which was odd. And wrong. He was now her boss . . . and a huge step up from Squicky Gary at Penny Pinchers. Huge.

  She pulled her hand away.

  “And you. I hope this arrangement will work out. I need this to work out,” he said, releasing her hand and rising from the bench. “If you see Sister Regina Marie, tell her I said goodbye . . . and thanks.”

  Eden nodded. “See you Wednesday.”

  Minutes later, after saying goodbye to the nun who looked a bit too pleased with herself, Eden climbed inside her car and dumped her bag on the passenger seat. Thankfully it wasn’t yet dark, which meant she’d be able to pick up a few things from the store to hold her over until her furniture came. Like an electric blanket and some roach spray. As she cranked the engine, she noticed a paper flopping beneath her windshield wiper. Unrolling the window, she leaned out and snagged it.

  A ticket?

  Parking in a fire lane?

  She spotted the fire hydrant she hadn’t seen early because of a car that had parked over the line. Jumping out, she studied the street. Her front end was barely over the line. So not fair.

  But then that was something Eden had known since she wore scuffed pumps from the Goodwill bin to her first prom. Life was so damned unfair.

  God, what a day.

  But at least she had a job.

  Two weeks later, Eden stood in front of her psychology class and tried not to dissolve into a puddle of misery in the middle of the hallway.

  Despite procuring a job, things weren’t getting any better.

  Over the past two weeks, she’d managed to get her belongings down to New Orleans, thanking her lucky stars Jerry and Little Ray were big and strong and able to negotiate stairs and narrow doorways. Once she’d gotten her hodgepodge furniture, she’d added a few throw pillows she’d found in the clearance section of the Walmart in Metairie and sewn some curtains from discounted shower curtains she’d brought with her from Penny Pinchers. A full-price area rug made the place somewhat livable, but she resented the amount she’d been forced to spend even while rationalizing that the better quality would hold up for years.


  Working for Nick Zeringue hadn’t been easy either. For one thing, Sophie didn’t like her. Okay, the child was grieving the loss of her former nanny. A few days after starting the job, Eden had attended Rhoda’s small going-away party at the Zeringues,’ mostly so Rhoda could show Eden the ropes before the party. Sophie had melted down when it was time for Rhoda to leave, and no amount of cajoling would placate her. Eden had managed to get Sophie to her room and tucked into bed, but not easily. The child had resisted every attempt at tugging on her jammies and, once in the bed, refused to say her prayers or read the book Eden had spent precious money on as a “let’s be friends” gift. The whole episode left Eden feeling alienated. Nothing was worse than the intimacy of taking care of someone who glared at you.

  And even now, though she’d put the check Nick had left on the counter for her in the bank, the raw, sucking sound of her money draining away pulled at her.

  It was all so depressing.

  Eden walked away from the classroom she should be entering, trying to tuck her grim thoughts away, trying to discount the fact she couldn’t afford the class fee for her theatre class. But she’d lived this way her whole life. Why would living in New Orleans be any different? So much for being tough and determined. Perhaps she should go back home, beg for her old job back, and forget about this dream nonsense.

  Dreams of being a modern woman in a big city. Dreams of museums, fancy cocktails, and cab rides to an apartment with a leather sofa and a sleek cat curled up on expensive bedding. Dreams of raucous applause and standing ovations. Stupid, unreachable dreams, fanciful notions given steam by her late friend. Eden’s silly musings were all Lacy’s fault.

  “You deserve more,” Lacy would say, blowing a huge bubble, letting it pop and stick to her lips before plucking the gum out and dabbing up the stickiness. Lacy was always doing that. Eden particularly remembered a lunch they’d shared a month before Lacy was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.

  “That’s gross,” Eden said, watching her friend play with her gum. Lacy had brought Eden a pimento cheese sandwich for lunch, meeting her at the Veteran’s Memorial by the old mill pond. Fat ducks waddled nearby, quacking their requests for Eden’s bread crust. “And stop saying I deserve more. I’m nothing special.”