by Lindsey Hart
But the thing I hate more than I hate this whole crazy mess? My own body betraying me.
I drop my duffel on the floor and resist groaning. Making sounds of self-pity isn’t going to help me. Self-pity isn’t going to help me, but I do get out my phone and dial Sam. She answers so fast that it barely even rings. I can tell she’s just been sitting there, waiting for me to call.
“So?”
“I got the job.”
“Yes!” She squeals. “Congrats!”
“I think he did it as a favor to you.” It occurs to me that I should ask how Sam even knows Luke. I guess he’s probably a family friend or maybe one of hers even though he’s older, or more likely, a friend of her older brother or sister, but I don’t get a chance because she’s already talking about other things.
“How is he?”
“Luke?”
“No, the mailman or the guy who delivers packages. Yes, Luke!”
“I’m pretty sure the mailman and the guy who delivers packages are one and the same.”
“They aren’t. Don’t you ever do any ordering for yourself? Never mind. Yes, Luke. What do you think?”
I close my eyes and lower myself down onto the edge of the bed. There’s a nondescript white comforter on it that is as flat and hard as the mattress. I feel like someone just butt kicked me from below. The thing is like it’s made from stone, which reminds me of Luke. It’s not hard to bring him to mind. Luke is unlike any person I’ve ever met before, and not just because he’s so direct that it could be considered openly rude.
He doesn’t look like anyone else either. I have limited experience with guys since I went to an all-girls boarding school, but I did go to college. All my boyfriends stemmed from there though none of them were like Luke. I never saw a single guy there who looked like him. I think Luke is incomparable, at least with humans. He’s a cross between a really sturdy, tall building and a panther. I think. His jet-black hair and dark eyes remind me of the cat, but it’s more his streamlined features. Sharp and chiseled, but elegant. They’re masculine too, so maybe not overly catlike because cats are beautiful. Luke could be called beautiful. His skin is flawless and bronzed from the sun, but he has an olive undertone that almost never sees a sunburn. I bet all of him is flawless—all six feet two or three inches of him. He’s streamlined like an athlete. He’s also not built like a square brick building but more like a Victorian mansion giving homage to a very dark beauty.
What the heck am I even saying?
“Ugh, are you still there?”
“Yeah.” I move to slip the phone to my other ear, but my hands are suddenly so clammy that I nearly drop it. I fumble with it before I get it back to where I can hear Sam.
“Well? What’s he like?”
“You already know what he’s like since you know him.”
“I do, but I want to hear it from you.” She sounds nervous. She’s probably worried about me, and I don’t want her to do that.
“He’s like…like an iceberg with extra ice.”
“You know why that is.”
I think about Luke’s face again. His lips are too thin, but maybe it’s because they look like they haven’t smiled in a long time or known laughter. The lines around his eyes are entrenched in, making him look older than he is, which I’d guess is around thirty-one or thirty-two. He carries himself like a man who was hurt so bad, the pain reached deep down into the nerves and numbed them like a burn or a cut so deep you don’t even know it’s there because the pain sensors are gone.
I haven’t experienced deep loss myself, but I can recognize it. He doesn’t wear his sorrow like a badge to be pitied or a cloak to protect himself, and he’s unapologetic about his gruffness.
“I think I read that emotional pain can trigger the brain to actually make your body feel physical pain. I think…” Sam supplies helpfully.
I want to ask Sam again how she knows Luke. He seems to be in a completely different mindset. And he’s obviously way older than us. I’m about to get the question out when I hear the front door creak open.
“Shit,” I whisper into the phone. “They’re back. I’ll have to text you later.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be here!”
“Just a new phone, for you to call my mom tomorrow, and oh, a new life while you’re at it. Also, for my parents to be normal and for today to never have happened.”
“I can take care of half of that. The other half, sorry, you’re screwed.” Sam hangs up, but she leaves me with her signature dry Sam humor as a parting gift.
I find myself smiling, even though nothing is funny. This is pretty much the furthest thing from funny, and the last thing I feel like doing is laughing. Luke was gone for maybe ten minutes. A neighbor must have been watching Shade for him. I feel like I should have done something with my time. Like gone into his room and cleaned up or gone downstairs and attempted to make dinner. Am I even really employed right now, or does it officially start tomorrow?
Farge my life right now. How the heck did I end up here?
Oh. Right. The farging foofing betrothal. Thanks, mom and dad. Really.
I tuck my phone away and stand up like someone just put a bear trap under my bottom. I walk guiltily to the stairs, but for some reason, hang back by the railing. Shade spots me first. He must have broken away from his dad at the door because he comes running round the bend so fast, he just about wipes out by the stairs. He peers up at me with curious dark eyes. It gives me a bit of a start because he’s like a mini-Luke. With less ice and less bitterness and the regular innocence of a child. Thankfully, he doesn’t look like he enjoys eating nannies like chocolate chip cookies and sucking their bones clean after. No, that one’s all on Luke. He probably finds it ultra-satisfying to act like a raging sasquatch until they’ve had enough and walk out the door.
“I’m hungry!” Shade announces, like a typical four-year-old.
For a second, I think he’s demanding I do something about it, but then I watch him turn and address the shadow that approaches. Holy banana pie. Now I do get a real start because this isn’t Luke, the gruff, icy, hairy yeti with an attitude to match, who went out the door. This Luke has no gruffness on his face, is softer, and obviously adores his son and doesn’t have to fake any emotions for him. Good freaking gravy. It’s like seeing a guy with multiple personality disorder. Not that I’m ruling it out. And if he does have that, well, maybe it’s okay. I mean, it’s not like he can help it, I think? Good thing I’m not a doctor.
“Shade,” Luke says in a deep voice that is so much more friendly now. He sets his hand on his son’s shoulder and stares at me so directly, I nearly squeak like a mouse and scamper down the stairs. Luke waits until my foot is on the bottom tread. “This is your new nanny. Her name is Feeney.”
“Feeney?” Shade giggles. He’s pretty adorable, so I don’t hold it against him. “That’s a funny name.”
“So is Shade,” I inform him amicably.
Luke’s lips curl back, but Shade just laughs harder. “I know. We both have funny names. Glad I’m finally meeting someone else who has one. Although, there was this girl named Sunny Day at space camp last year.”
“No! For real?”
“Yes!”
“It’s true,” Luke says ruefully.
“Hmm. Well, maybe she was born when the sun was shining, or maybe it was a prophetic sort of thing, and her mom hoped she’d bring sunshine wherever she went.”
“But my name’s Shade. Wouldn’t that be a bad thing then?”
Jeez, this kid is smart. How is he only four? I guess he’s more like four going on forty. He’s lost his mom, had a string of nannies, and probably has to hang around adults all the time while his dad is working. I’m sure he’s had a pretty unconventional childhood so far. I’m going to have to watch myself around this one. Honestly, things are looking up. I’d hate to look after a bratty kid, but preciousness, I can handle. I think it will actually be a lot of fun.
“Uh, w
ell, have you ever been outside when it’s so hot and you’re so thirsty, and you’re sweating and wilting, and you feel like you might keel over at any second? Like you just can’t take it anymore?” Shade nods at me. “Then you’ll know what a great thing shade can be. It’s like a shelter for people when they need it most.”
Shade considers that. Finally, he grins at me. “I’m hungry,” he announces again.
Singular-minded directness can be an attractive quality. It beats the heck out of guessing, which is what I’m currently doing when my eyes flick to Luke’s face. He’s back to being stony once he notices me looking at him. His eyebrow lifts suggestively, but of course, he’s not going to say anything. I want to point out that it’s after five, and does this day even really count as day one? But I figure I should make a good first impression.
“Can we have hot dogs?” Shade asks.
“No,” Luke responds.
“Fries?”
“No.”
“Pizza?”
“Not tonight.”
“Chicken nuggets?”
Jeepers on a stick. So much for the health food talk that Luke tried to give me. None of those are nutritious.
“It’s a surprise,” Luke says before guiding Shade away from the steps. He doesn’t have to give me a stink eye for me to realize he’s just waiting for me to fail.
Well, eff that. It’s not going to happen. “I’ll make something,” I blurt.
“Kitchen’s all yours. We’ll be in the backyard.” Shade cheers and runs off while Luke follows after him. His expression never changed, but I know he’s dang well satisfied with himself.
I have a moment of panic after they clear out, and my panic only increases when I head into the kitchen. It’s not big and scary with complicated appliances, which works in my favor. Instead, it’s a normal L-shaped kitchen filled with espresso cabinets, a small island, a double stainless-steel sink, and appliances. The same dark hardwood that’s on the rest of the main floor carries through in here. Like most kitchens, there’s a table off to the left, and it’s round and has four chairs. All very normal.
Luke doesn’t appear to be in the same income bracket as Sam or any of her family, and I still think it’s weird she knows him, but whatever. I have bigger fish to fry at the moment. Maybe literally.
My hopes sink when I search the fridge and cupboards and find them basically empty. What the heck do they eat around here? Luke must have been ordering in every night or going for takeout. Shade’s demands make sense then.
I do find a package of unopened macaroni, a jar of pasta sauce, and a very dubious package of frozen sausage that looks like it’s more ice than sausage.
I’ll have to ask for some money or a card and the keys to the vehicle if Luke wants to eat in the future or have me feed Shade. The kitchen seriously looks like the inhabitants of the house cleared out ages ago and sort of forgot a few things on purpose because they’re gross and inedible.
Fudge my life for so many, many reasons. Today just keeps getting better and better.
As I fumble around the kitchen, I happen to glance out the window. There’s a big fenced yard back there. Huge, actually. There’s also plenty of grass and a deck to the side. It’s all very neat, if quite soulless. Shade and Luke are throwing a little yellow toy football around, and I can tell Shade’s laughing even though the house is fairly soundproof. He seems like a happy kid.
I can’t get over how different Luke is when he’s with his son. He’s so warm, so alive. Maybe not happy exactly, but a close approximation. He’s probably the one person on earth who doesn’t force happiness like everyone else. The sadness is still there; it’s just less visible for his son to see.
I turn away from the window and flex my fingers. Maybe I’m going crazy. I’m not usually that perceptive. Everyone always said so. I’m probably just making it all up.
But fake it ‘til you make it, right? I’m going to fake the faking fakest fake out of this dinner. I’ll cook it like a rock star—like a gourmet chef in a five-star establishment.
I stare at the ingredients I’ve set out on the amber flecked granite counter—time for my pre-game pep talk.
“I can do this. Yeah. We’re all able to transform ourselves. I can become a cooking master. I can whip this into shape and cook like there’s no tomorrow. I can chef this up and cook the shit out of it. The internet is my friend. Recipes are my friend. Tutorials are my friend. Macaroni is my friend. Sausage is my friend.” No. That just sounds wrong. Sausage is not my friend. Not sausage.
I inhale a deep breath, getting myself Zen ready. This isn’t the first time I’ve made myself a meal. Come on. I can use the stove and a microwave.
How hard can it be?
CHAPTER 5
Luke
I have low expectations for dinner. Seriously low. But what I’m not expecting? For Feeney to burn the house down. Literally.
“Look, dad!” Shade points excitedly as the football goes whizzing past his head. I turn to see what he’s pointing at.
Big, thick clouds of grey smoke are billowing out the kitchen window.
“Holy bananas! Stay right here!” I check to make sure Shade is going to obey, but he looks scared at my obvious surprise. He’s not going to go anywhere.
I dart up the deck stairs and let myself in the sliding patio door. I leave it open to clear the smoke out. In the kitchen, I can barely make out Feeney’s shape. The smoke detector is ringing shrilly overhead, but I can still hear her coughing and choking.
I rush past her to the source of the smoke. There’s something in the frying pan on the stove, charred into a hunk so black that it’s entirely unrecognizable. But that’s not the only thing going wrong. There’s a pot that’s smoking away too. I remove them both from the burners and throw them not so gently into the sink.
“What were you trying to do? Burn the place down?”
“Obviously not!” Feeney shouts from behind my back.
I can only guess what’s in those pots. I bend closer to inspect it as some of the smoke clears away. I can’t tell what was in the frying pan, but I think I can make out the elbow curve of a piece of macaroni in the pot.
“Did you boil the macaroni dry?!”
“What do you mean boil?”
“You mean you didn’t add water?! Don’t you know you have to boil water, then put the pasta in?! Sweet cheese and crackers, don’t you know even the basics?”
“That’s cute,” she snaps. “I like that you make an effort not to swear when Shade’s around. Just like I do. Because yes, I know the basics. Sorry I was too busy being stressed about how to make what little is in the cupboards and the fridge and got preoccupied trying to figure out what I’m going to feed your child tomorrow and going through a hundred other things in my head. Yes, I know you have to boil water. I just…forgot.”
My god, this is never going to work out.
Shade saves me from saying something that is best left unsaid. I’m not sure what, but I know it would be foul, coming out. Like those silent but deadly farts that you’re afraid of because you know they’re going to linger for hours after, and everyone will smell it and know it was you.
“Are you barbequing hamburgers?” Shade sniffs. “I think they might be a little bit burned.”
I stare at Shade’s big eyes and innocent expression, and my doubt and anger evaporate. If nothing else, Shade needs this. He needs someone who can be there for him in ways I will never be able to be. Feeney might not know the first thing about cooking, and I might get an alert in the middle of my workday that my house is on fire. She might not be much in the way of an actual nanny, but Shade needs someone he can trust, and I can tell, somehow, that Feeney, if nothing else, is nice. She seems kind and compassionate, which goes a long way. It might even stretch far enough to cover the fact that she doesn’t even know how to cook pasta.
She does seem intelligent, though. The looks she gives me hints at dark, deep, brooding thoughts. You can’t have those if you’re not
smart.
It’s not really like I have any other choice. I’ve already agreed to this.
I get my phone out of my back pocket, and Shade’s grin is automatic. He’s a smart kid too. Terribly smart. There’s very little I can sneak past him, but there’s so much he still just doesn’t have the capacity to understand yet because he’s too young. It’s hard to find a happy medium. It’s been hard to find a happy anything around here after Britt passed.
Annnndddd, I’m not going there.
Not while Feeney is watching me. I can feel her narrowed, slightly shocking green eyes burning through me.
“Pizza?”
“Yay! Pizza!”
“Pizza sounds better than what I was trying to make anyway,” Feeney whispers. She’s embarrassed, but god knows I don’t know what to do or say to make her feel better. I mean, burning macaroni? Really?
She doesn’t supply what kind of pizza, so when I order, I order the normal cheese for Shade—because what four-year-old eats anything other than cheese—and pepperoni for us. I hope Feeney’s not a vegetarian, but then I suddenly realize what she was trying to cook in the pan. Sausage. That’s about all I had in the freezer since the last nanny quit. As for me, I haven’t been very good at cooking for a long time. We eat out way too often, but we get the healthy stuff too, not just the bad stuff. Still, maybe I should give her a break.
I don’t really know how not to be an asshole, so I turn to Feeney. Apparently, I lack subtlety and tact as well. “I wouldn’t leave those pots for the cleaner tomorrow. She’ll pitch a fit if she finds them.”