by Penny Wylder
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “I didn’t think you knew who I was.”
“Of course I know who you are. I was always admiring your garden.”
I bite my bottom lip. My head conjures a different meaning to that statement, but I think he’s actually talking about the garden I was always messing around in whenever he was outside in his yard.
“Thank you. Um, if you want, I could bring some vegetables by later. The garden is full and we can’t seem to get rid of them fast enough. They’re better for the baby rather than store bought, and cheaper than buying organic.” I’m rambling. Shut up, I tell myself.
His eyebrows are raised. “I would love that. That’s so thoughtful of you to think of my child that way.”
My face flushes. “I love kids.”
“Come in,” he says and motions for me to come inside.
The house doesn’t look how I imagined it. This is definitely his brother Sam’s style. Boring, basically. It’s crazy to think those two are even related. Deacon clearly got the looks in this family. Sam has a long, horse’s face and jutting chin. He wears the same style button down dress-shirts day in and day out even when he isn’t working, but in different colors to switch things up, and every day it’s khakis. He parts his hair to the side, slicked down with gel. And he drives a Prius for fuck sake. It seems like he actually puts time and effort into being bland. The house mirrors his style. Buttoned down. Muted colors. Basic.
There are a few toys scattered here and there, but for the most part the place is tidy and put together. The clutter must make Sam crazy. He seems like the kind of guy who likes everything in its place.
“Would you like something to drink?” Deacon asks.
“Sure.”
We go into the kitchen. I watch his back as he walks. His shirt is tight enough to see the muscles moving through it. He’s stayed fit. Every dad I know tends to let himself slide after a bit. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Plenty of girls dig a dad body, but I tend to like my men more toned.
He bends over to look in the fridge. Nice ass, too.
“Looks like we have water and juice. Sorry, I haven’t had much time to get out and go shopping.”
“No worries,” I say. “Juice is fine.”
He grabs the bottle from the fridge and pours some into a glass, handing it to me.
“I’ll show you around so you can get a feel for the house, then I’ll introduce you to Bailey.”
The house is two levels. We start on the first level, walking down a long, narrow hall. “If you’re downstairs, this is the guest bathroom,” he says, showing me a small half bath with just a sink and toilet. “And just behind it is the mud room and washing machine in case you need to wash anything. Bailey can be messy and I don’t have much in the way of clean clothes for her at the moment. Everything I have is in storage until I can find a place of my own. I didn’t want to bombard my brother with all of our stuff. I don’t plan to stay too long. He’s not big on kids.”
“I’m so sorry about what happened,” I blurt out without thinking. “With your wife, I mean.”
He turns to look at me, and even though his face still looks friendly, I immediately regret saying it.
“I shouldn’t have said that. It was dumb,” I say, trying to erase whatever damaged I caused by opening my big damn mouth. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just my mom told me about your conversation with her yesterday, and …” I let my words trail off, not wanting to say anything else just in case I dig the hole deeper and make things worse.
“No, it’s okay,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’m glad it happened when it did. Bailey is young enough so she won’t remember her mother and she’ll be able to move on from this. If it were to have happened when she was older, it might’ve been devastating. I’m actually excited about moving forward. My marriage was horrible from day one. I lived in a house I didn’t love, with a woman I didn’t love, and I was stuck at a job I hated. This change is actually a good thing.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Good. I’m glad. You don’t have to worry about Bailey while you’re out working. I love kids and I’m really excited about being here.”
I’m gushing. I can hear the longing in my voice. He has to hear it too. I sound desperate. Maybe he’ll assume it’s just because I need the job and not that I long for him. He can’t possibly know that.
“I’m happy to have you here too,” he says. “Should we go meet Bailey now?”
“Yes, please.”
We head upstairs. As we’re walking, he stops abruptly and turns to me. “Oh, and one other thing—”
The quick stop makes me bump into him and I catch the glass in my hand before it falls, but not before it splashes red juice all over his work clothes and on the floor.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I say, practically in tears. I’m touching the front of him, trying to wipe the juice away but only making it worse by spreading it around. How many times will I have to apologize to him before he leaves the house?
He looks down at the front of his shirt, arms out. He doesn’t look mad like I thought he would. Instead, he laughs. “That is not your fault. Not at all. I’ll just toss this in the wash before it stains.”
He takes his shirt off right there in front of me. My jaw falls open and I can’t help but stare. I think he notices, because he’s looking at me differently too. Shy, almost. Maybe he’s not used to being shirtless and alone with girls.
“There’s still some on your chest,” I say, fighting the urge to reach out and touch his smooth skin. His body is as perfect as I imagined it would be. Thick, corded muscle, but not all sinuous like a body builder. More like a man who stays busy and maybe goes to the gym a day or two a week. There’s a small patch of hair on his chest, and that stomach … I have a thing about men’s stomachs. His is a lovely washboard. I want to lick him from the trail of hair below his belly button up to his sexy full lips. Wait, who am I kidding? I want to lick everything. I want to taste everything about this man.
“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m always covered in some kind of mess. It’s just part of the territory when you’re a parent.”
I’d like to cover him in my own kind of mess. I can already feel myself getting wet with him standing here half naked in front of me.
I start to speak, but I’m interrupted by Sam as he comes up the stairs behind me. “What’s going on here?” he says.
I hadn’t heard him until he spoke. He’s a sneaky guy. Makes sense because he looks kind of sneaky. He just has that weasel appearance that I don’t like. Maybe it’s because he’s the one who bought Deacon’s house and ruined my most cherished childhood fantasies. I secretly blamed him for Deacon leaving, even though I know it wasn’t his fault.
“Oh, hey, Sam,” Deacon says, unperturbed by his brother’s sudden intrusion like I am. “Do you know Remy?”
“I do know Remy from next door. What I want to know is why she’s here and why you’re practically naked in front of her.”
Deacon’s face loses its good natured appearance and turns into a hard, sculpted mask of distaste. “She’s here because I need a babysitter for Bailey and I’ve been around this girl since she was a kid and I know her mom. I’m not going to trust my child with some stranger I’ve never met. A glass of juice was spilled and now I’m about to put my shirt in the washer. So that’s why I am currently shirtless. Any more accusations you’d like to make?” he says, voice flat and curt.
It’s nice of him not to throw me under the bus by telling Sam I was the one who spilled the juice in the first place. What I would like to do is step on the wet carpet and really set that stain. Sam seems like the kind of guy who would cry over a stain.
Sam looks at me, then at Deacon and says, “Can I talk to you for a minute.”
Deacon breathes long and slow, then turns to me, his expression lightening, but I can still see the shadow of anger haunting his eyes. “Could you give us a minute,
Remy?” he says.
I chew the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something stupid to Sam. “Sure. I’ll go get a towel to clean up this mess,” I say.
“Do you know where the towels are?” Deacon asks me, his voice softer, nicer when he speaks to me.
I nod. “I saw some in the laundry room.” I also saw some of Sam’s clothes in the laundry room as well as a muddy pair of boots. Let’s see if I can get creative.
This doesn’t look good. Both of them are fuming. I don’t know what I did wrong or why Sam doesn’t like me. I suspect he’s just being a dick because I don’t remember ever having an actual conversation with him, and it’s not like I’ve ever thrown a raging party at my house that would’ve pissed him off. I’m so confused.
I rush downstairs while they argue at the top of the staircase. When I’m in the laundry room, I realize there’s a vent above my head and I can still hear everything they’re saying as clear as if we were standing in the same room. My plot to ruin his fresh pressed clothes is set aside for now.
“What’s going on here?” Sam says. There’s no denying the accusation in his voice.
“Nothing’s going on. It’s completely innocent.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Sam says. “Did you not see the way that girl was looking at you? She was stripping the rest of you down with her eyes.”
Deacon laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “She was not.”
I open my mouth, shocked. How long had Sam been standing there before he announced himself? I seriously need to figure out how to rearrange my face to not be so transparent about my feelings. I’m surprised Deacon didn’t pick up on it.
“You’re blind, brother. That girl wants you,” Sam says.
“There’s no way a girl that young and beautiful is going to want an old single dad like me. She could have any man she wants.”
My breath stops. How can he not see how incredibly hot he is? Every woman in the neighborhood wanted him when he lived here. Him being a single dad doesn’t make a bit of difference. Whenever my mom’s book club would come to the house for their Thursday night meet-ups, it was more like the Deacon fan club. Ten minutes were spent talking about whatever book they were reading at the time and the other fifty minutes were spent talking about his ass. I used to sit at the top of the stairs, rolling my eyes at all the sad housewives. It’s been a few years since then, but he hasn’t changed much in looks. If anything he’s gotten better looking with age. He’s still as incredibly sexy as ever.
And he thinks I’m beautiful. I was afraid he’d still think of me as a child—if he even thought about me at all.
The brothers continue to argue. Sam begs him not to hire me. He thinks I’m trouble and that I’m just like Deacon’s ex-wife. What an ass. How could I not be incredibly offended by the things he’s saying? He doesn’t know me. I’ve never had a conversation with him. We’ve never even said ‘hi’ to each other in passing, so where does he get off saying I’m trouble? I would never leave Deacon and my kid to go off and party. I hardly ever party even though I’m eighteen and that’s what most eighteen-year olds do. That’s never been me. I’ve always been the responsible one in my group of friends. The one who always gets A’s, who always gets home before curfew, and I’m always true to my word. Deacon’s ex is a disgrace. How dare he compare me to her.
I take long, slow breaths to calm myself down. I want to storm out and slam the door behind me so that he knows I’ve heard what he said, but I know Deacon really needs a babysitter and I’m not about to bail.
I grab a towel off the top of the stack and go back to the stairs, making plenty of noise so that they can hear me. Sam walks down the stairs, glaring at me when he passes. I keep my expression neutral so I don’t show my loathing for him. This is his house after all and I’m not trying to make things difficult for Deacon. I don’t want to give Sam a real reason to kick me out and not let me come back.
I try to put a smile on my face when I look at Deacon, but I know it looks fake as hell. Deacon gives me an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry about my brother,” he says. “He worries about me.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Everything’s great.”
I bend down to clean up the juice mess.
“Here, let me do that,” Deacon says.
He bends down to help. When he reaches for the towel, our fingers touch and he leans back as if the feel of my skin has shocked him somehow. When I look up at him, his mouth is open and he’s staring right at my chest. Glancing down at my shirt, I realize it’s hanging wide open, the tops of my breasts spilling out of my bra, bared to him. My nipples are just barely hidden, but the pinks of my areolas are showing.
I hurry and sit back. I’m just glad Sam wasn’t here to see it or he would’ve said I did it on purpose.
Deacon stands and won’t make eye contact with me. The bulge in his pants is undeniable. He quickly covers it. I pretend not to notice. But I can’t help the stirring it causes between my legs. From the looks of it, he’s hung. Not that I’m an expert on size. I’ve never actually had sex with a man before. I’ve gone down on boyfriends in the past, but they weren’t nearly as big as Deacon looks.
“Do you want to meet Bailey?” he says, flushed.
“I’d love to,” I say.
We go into Bailey’s room and try to pretend nothing happened. I hear a car door slam. Looking out the window, I see Sam’s car speeding off. At least I don’t have to deal with him anymore.
Bailey is asleep in a playpen. The room is a makeshift nursery. It must’ve been Sam’s office before Deacon arrived. There’s a large desk and papers everywhere, books on rare birds and tax law.
Bailey is as cute as she can be, about a year old, curly blonde hair, and rosy cheeks from the heat. There’s a pacifier in her mouth and a blanket clutched in her little hands.
“She’s adorable,” I say.
When I look up at Deacon, he’s staring at me again. It’s a different look than he’d given me before, as if he’s actually just noticing me for the first time. Almost like he’s studying me, trying to figure me out like I’m some complicated puzzle needing to be pieced together. He’s looking at me the way I’d always wished he would when I was younger.
Was it seeing my breasts that gave him this change of heart? Or maybe it has something to do with what Sam had said. Maybe Deacon’s trying to make comparisons between me and his ex-wife. But I don’t think so. If that were the case, I don’t think his eyes would be as open and curious as they are right now. He’d probably look at me with resentment.
No, it’s something else. It could be that he’s checking to see if I really am infatuated with him like Sam had said. If that’s the case, I’m making it kind of obvious. When our eyes lock, I can’t seem to look away. He’s everything. Gorgeous, sweet, polite, and a great dad to his kid. I mean, what’s not to swoon over?
Finally, he breaks eye contact. He spreads his fingers apart, then balls them into fists, over and over again, a nervous tic. When he speaks, there’s a slight tremor in his voice. “Um, when Bailey wakes up, she’ll probably need to be changed, and she’ll be hungry. I have her food labeled in the fridge.”
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll be fine. I’ve spent every summer since I was fourteen babysitting for my mom’s friends. I’m great with kids. No need to worry.”
His eyes widen. “I’m not worried.”
“Oh, I thought you might be. You look really nervous right now.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s just this new job has my stomach twisted. Not sure what to expect.”
I nod even though I’m pretty sure he’s not being entirely truthful. I think he’s nervous and it has something to do with me. He’s been looking at me strangely ever since his argument with Sam.
Babysitting is pretty boring. Bailey is asleep so I read most of the time. I don’t want to watch TV downstairs for fear she’ll wake up and I won't hear her.
&nbs
p; I contemplate going into Deacon’s room. Just to see what it looks like. My guess is it’s the one closest to the office so he can be near Bailey. It’s the same room he had when this was his house.
Bailey stirs. I glance over at her and she’s watching me with a sleepy look on her face. She’s the cutest baby I’ve ever seen and looks so much like Deacon. From what I remember of Deacon’s ex, she had dark, nearly black hair and equally dark eyes. Bailey’s hair is blonde like her dad’s and she even has those same light green eyes too.
“Hi,” I say to her, smiling.
Her chin wrinkles and starts to bob. I’m a stranger. She’s used to having her dad with her. She must be so scared.
“Oh, sweetie, come here,” I say, and pick her up when she starts to cry.
She continues to whimper as I change her. When I’m done, we go downstairs and I make her something to eat. The crying stops and she watches me like a nervous dog would. No yet sure if I’m friend or foe.
We play with toys and when she gets bored of those, I read to her. It doesn’t seem to matter what the words are. She’s more interested in the sound of my voice. So when we’ve read through all the books in her small library of children’s books, I read to her from the one I brought. It’s a cozy mystery. Nothing with potential of scaring her. Just a good who-done-it. She tugs at a set of plastic keys on a ring, playing contently as I read to her.
After a few hours she starts to doze off. By far the easiest baby I’ve ever taken care of out of all the children I’ve ever babysat. I carry her to her room. Afraid of waking her, I sit on the floor and hold her on my lap instead of putting her back in the playpen.
I’m still reading to her, wanting her to feel comforted by my voice even if she’s asleep. She’s in a new home, surrounded by new things, so I don’t want her to feel alone or scared. Especially with her dad gone.
Suddenly I have this strange feeling like I’m being watched. When I look up, Deacon is standing there, leaning against the door jam. I have no idea how long he’s been watching me.