The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues)

by Rachel Harris

  Fourteen months away equaled a lot of clothes. Along with her old wardrobe, she had the new things she’d bought for the plan. Hannah had fully intended to launder them all once she returned home, but after a stop to visit Deacon in Magnolia Springs ended in a surprising new job offer, things kept popping up. Between filling in at the church daycare, gathering supplies for the tour, and being mentally frazzled from “the mission,” her mountain of laundry had slipped through the cracks. Finally, with no time left to procrastinate, she’d lugged it down this morning only to have Mama shoo her away, going on about proper fabric settings and service in love. To be honest, Hannah hadn’t put up that much of a fight. Giving in had seemed a whole lot easier.

  Now, she was paying for her laziness.

  The lingerie in question had been an impulse purchase—an impulse that had then led to an epiphany. As an au pair, she’d had one day off a week to spend as she wished, and Hannah usually spent that time taking long walks around the city. About a month before her return to the States, she’d passed a lingerie boutique, and on a wild whim, decided to step inside.

  Blush and jade. Satin and lace. Toile and mousseline…the colors, styles, and textures had been overwhelming. Trying them on, well, that had been extraordinary. The silk had felt decadent against her skin, almost forbidden, and so unlike anything she’d ever worn before. Living an ocean away from everyone and everything she’d ever known, nursing a broken heart, it had been exactly what Hannah had needed.

  Initially, she’d fled to Paris to get over Deacon, but more than that, she’d been fleeing the woman she’d sadly become. A woman who sat on the sidelines of her own life. For far too long, she’d allowed other people to dictate her happiness, and that realization, coupled with naughty lingerie and a few glasses of spectacular wine in an adorable bistro, had birthed her new mission. Hannah liked to call it, Operation Joie de Vivre…or Operation Find My Happy.

  Her mission was threefold.

  First up, no more hiding. Hannah’s bad habit of shying away from experiences simply because they made her nervous was over. Now, she would be bold. Adventurous. Outgoing. Anything from forming friendships to speaking her mind was fair game, with the number one rule being no more skulking in the shadows. Paris had awoken a desire to start truly living—and to stop putting her dreams on hold.

  Secondly, Hannah wanted to find her place in the world. The tour with Blue was a perfect opportunity to explore a new option. So far, her contract lasted only through the national leg, with the idea that they’d extend her stay through the international section once she’d gotten past a short trial period—a test she intended to pass with flying colors.

  At twenty-four, she was excited to settle into a career where she could make a real difference, and while she hoped to find that in this position, she was open to just about anything. Band nanny, au pair, or a preschool teacher, they all sounded wonderful. As long as she could make a real contribution, it would fit the bill.

  Lastly, but perhaps most importantly—

  She was putting her heart on the line, once and for all.

  Lingerie may’ve kicked off her mission, but it was the hope of Deacon that gave it life. Denying her feelings all these years hadn’t changed them. Neither had leaving the country. The only thing that would, or so she’d decided, was pushing the boundaries of their friendship. Flirting (an activity with which Hannah had zero experience) and letting Deacon know she was ready for love were all part and parcel of her new plan to get her best friend to finally see her as a woman.

  Distance had given her perspective on that embarrassing night fourteen months ago. What had seemed romantic and inevitable to her, viewing things as she did through love-tinted glasses, had been just another night for Deacon. The lit candles she’d thought set the mood were purely practical in a storm. As for the kiss she’d felt certain was imminent, well, he’d found it a better time to talk about their friendship…and how lucky Max was to have his “aunt” Hannah in his life.

  Yeah, that part still made her wince.

  It had taken a trip across an ocean to realize her mistake. In all her mooning, she’d never once given Deacon a chance to think of her differently. She never hinted at how she felt, much less told him straight out, and ran around town in shapeless tees and mom jeans—at twenty-two! No wonder he’d never fallen for her charms. She’d looked, sounded, and acted like his same old, familiar, safe childhood friend. Like a sexual nonentity.

  That was why this job was so perfect. As Blue’s nanny, she’d have ample time to show off the new Hannah. The older, better dressed, slightly more confident version. Soon, they’d be living together in a tiny house on wheels, breathing the same oxygen, with plenty of opportunities to flirt and push those boundaries. And if, after the tour was over, Deacon still didn’t feel that way about her…well, then that would suck. But at least she’d finally know. She’d no longer stay up late night after night wondering, what if.

  “Oh, to be young again,” Mama mused aloud, snapping Hannah’s attention back to the present. “It does my heart good to see you living your life, off buying nonsense undies and traveling the world.”

  Walking over, she cupped Hannah’s cheek with a weathered hand. “But I admit it makes me even happier knowing Deacon will be with you for this next adventure. The two of you are at your best whenever you’re together. Besides, that boy always did look out for you.”

  Hannah sighed. That he had. Deacon had beat up bullies, slayed dragons, and wiped away her tears for years. It was why she called him her Superman. But all that protecting had also solidly cemented her place in their friendship—a girl not quite his equal.

  “Well, he can retire the cape,” she replied, stepping back from her mother’s touch. “Living in Paris changed me, Mama. For the better. I’m not the same girl I used to be. Deacon doesn’t have to save me anymore.”

  “Hmm.” Her mother pursed her lips and considered her a moment. “The way I remember it,” she said slowly, “you two saved each other.”

  She shifted her gaze to the ribbon board, and Hannah followed the motion, scanning the series of old photos secured on her wall. A thousand perfect moments hit her at once. Deacon saying hey the day that they’d met. Him holding her hand as they walked the halls his first day of school, staring down anyone who dared look at her wrong. His strong, sure voice in her ear whenever mean girls and asshats gained laughs at her expense. Him teaching her self-defense in the backyard, “just in case.”

  Strolling over to her favorite picture, Hannah smiled at what an unlikely pair they’d made back then. Deacon in an ill-fitting leather jacket, Hannah in her Pollyanna clothes, they’d both been total misfits, only in vastly different ways. No one had seen their friendship coming. Least of all her.

  “No,” Hannah said softly, tracing a finger over the intense look captured in Deacon’s eyes. If she’d only known what a risk he’d taken inviting her to stay that first afternoon. “Deacon saved himself.”

  Gentle footsteps fell across the floor, and then Mama slid an arm around her waist. She hummed in agreement. “That boy always was a force of nature.”

  “Still is,” she replied, resting her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I used to pray that some of that bravery would rub off on me,” she confided, chuckling at her own past ridiculousness. “Or soak in through osmosis.”

  Mama hummed again, a sound that conveyed disagreement. Her mother could have an entire conversation in hums. Hannah lifted her head, and she pinned her with a knowing look. “I reckon it did.”

  Stepping forward, she slipped the picture Hannah had traced from the ribbon board and then walked over to the bed, placing the old photo in an open suitcase. When Mama lifted her eyes again, they were glazed with moisture. “Your daddy and I are so proud of you, baby girl. Never, ever doubt how strong you are. How strong you’ve always been.”

  Matching tears welled in Hannah’s eyes, and she dove forward, covering the distance between them and burying her face in her mother�
�s neck. The scent of rosewater filled her head, comforting her, and as she realized it’d be months before she breathed it in again, she inhaled deep, already missing home.

  Could Mama be right? Was she brave? If she were, Hannah certainly never felt like it. So many nights she’d spent lying out on the roof beside Deacon, wishing on falling stars that never came true…or at least, so she’d thought. Now with her mother’s words ringing in her ears, she realized that she had left the comfort of home to live abroad, and was now embarking on an adventure with an international music sensation. Furthermore, she had a plan to win over Deacon’s heart and finally put herself out there.

  What do you know? Maybe there was a bit of courage buried in her after all.

  A muffled beep echoed up the stairs, followed by her daddy’s voice calling out, “Sweetheart?”

  Mama sniffled. Leaning back, she gently ran her fingers through Hannah’s loosened curls and then hollered back, “Be right down, Bill!” loudly enough to wake the dead.

  Grace and fire, that was Mama.

  Hannah grinned, and her mother squeezed her hand. “Pot roast and mashed potatoes sound okay?”

  Dear Lord, her knees went weak. Parisian food might be amazing, but it didn’t hold a candle to her mama’s home cooking. Paired with a tall glass of her delicious sweet tea? “That sounds incredible.”

  Mama winked. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  Once her mother was headed downstairs, Hannah turned back to the bed, her spirits renewed. Grabbing a favorite scarf, she gently wrapped the old photo of her and Deacon and placed it back in the suitcase before dumping her entire wardrobe from the laundry basket, sans lingerie, on top. Easy enough. She placed her new silk purchases in the smaller carry-on, then, with a nod at her handiwork, decided only a few essentials were left.

  Singing a silly ditty about meat and potatoes, and the need for a double portion, Hannah waltzed to the dresser. She grabbed a couple of extra pairs of jeans and her favorite fuzzy sweater, and when she bumped the drawer closed with her hip, she spotted a swash of green silk lying on the ground.

  “Hmm. Must’ve fallen out of the basket.”

  She set the jeans and sweater on her bureau, then bent and scooped up the garment. Holding it out, a grin swept her mouth as she thought back to the day she’d bought the dainty nightie trimmed in luscious lace. It had felt so gloriously wicked.

  A gruff exhale came at her back. “Dear God, woman, tell me you’re not bringing that.”

  …

  Good Lord. Cherry was trying to kill him.

  Right there, in his best friend’s childhood bedroom, Deacon was having a heart attack. Gripping his chest, he swallowed thickly and tried to force his gaze away from the scrap of silk and lace held high between Hannah’s fingers—but his eyes refused to budge.

  Visuals fired in his mind, enticing images that he had zero business picturing. Visions of Hannah sauntering toward him, her sea-green eyes filled with heat as her long red hair bounced around her creamy shoulders. Her slender body draped in that wisp of high-cut silk. Lace playing peek-a-boo with what lay underneath.

  Biting back a curse, Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose. When the bite of pain didn’t stop the blood rushing south, he started reciting last year’s Tar Heels statistics, figuring cold, hard facts would knock some sense into him, but even the glow of last year’s championship win didn’t stem the tide.

  He was going to hell.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  Deacon blinked, wondering if he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. “You’re what?”

  “Bringing this on the road,” she clarified, brandishing the nightie with a huff. “In fact, I’m bringing them all.” She motioned toward the bed where, indeed, a plethora of options were piled high in an open suitcase, available in a rainbow of colors, too. Awesome.

  “They make me feel sexy,” Hannah went on, shocking him even more. “And…and I’m a woman, so I should feel that way. Cosmo says feeling sexy leads to acting sexy, which makes men think about sex.”

  At that, Deacon’s eyes snapped back to hers, and he watched as the pale skin of Cherry’s throat turned pink. The familiar sight of her sweet and innocent blush—the reason, along with her red hair, that he’d christened her with the nickname years ago—reminded him that it was, in fact, his best friend talking. But the words coming out of her mouth didn’t compute.

  Hannah bit her thumbnail and rocked back on her heels. “Does um…does it make you think about sex?”

  Deacon nearly choked on his spit. No way in hell was he answering that one.

  What had gotten into her? Ever since she arrived on his Magnolia Springs doorstep a month ago, Hannah had been acting differently. Almost unpredictable, which was unsettling, since he looked to her to be his constant. Paris seemed to have altered her in hundreds of tiny ways he was only starting to get a glimpse of—and now she wanted to talk about sex? There weren’t enough basketball statistics in the world.

  He held his palms skyward. “I plead the fifth.”

  Hannah frowned, which only confused him more, and shoved the silk and lace temptation in her carry-on with the others. So, so many others.

  Bouncing his gaze to the floor, Deacon grit his teeth.

  It’d been too long since he’d taken a woman to bed. That explained the inappropriate images in his head. When was the last time he’d even seen a woman in lingerie, or a sexy pair of panties discarded on his floor? A year? If the band wasn’t rehearsing for the fall tour, then he was hurrying home to be with Max—throwing together dinner, giving his son a bath, and crashing into bed before waking up to do it all over again. Casual hookups didn’t fit into that.

  Unfortunately, his monk lifestyle now had him reacting to his friend like a dog in heat.

  Linking his hands behind his neck, Deacon exhaled in frustrated self-disgust, and Hannah tossed him a look over her shoulder.

  “Oh, please,” she said with a snort. “Don’t act like you’re scandalized by women’s panties. I’d bet the pairs tossed your way since you joined Blue could fill a Victoria’s Secret.”

  Amused at how very wrong she was, he raised an eyebrow and leaned his hip against the doorjamb. “Exactly what part of single dad and fiddle player slash keyboardist do you think warrants panty dropping, Cherry?”

  She shrugged with a distracted smile, an expression he’d seen a thousand times, and he figured that was the end of that. Good. Maybe there was more of the old Hannah in there, after all. But then her chin lifted, even as her blush spread up her throat, and Deacon braced himself for impact.

  “Maybe the uh…musician with talented fingers part,” she murmured, glancing up through thick eyelashes and biting her plump lower lip.

  Holy hell. His mouth fell open. For a second, Deacon considered the possibility that he was in the middle of a bizarre dream, or even had fallen into a parallel universe—but everything around him screamed Hannah. The antique ballerina jewelry box, the ribbon board filled with old photos, and the tall vase of fresh freesia. This was her room, and Deacon was almost positive he was awake. Which meant this conversation really was happening.

  Also, she really was trying to kill him.

  Looking closer at Hannah, he realized it wasn’t just her attitude that had changed. Her whole appearance was different. Her curls were loose and soft around her face, her makeup more noticeable, and her clothes actually fit her body. She looked more like a woman and less like the childhood friend he’d always known.

  That unsettling sensation twisted his gut again.

  Deciding to play off her comment like a joke—mostly because he hoped like hell that was exactly what it was—Deacon chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. “Watch it now, or you’ll make me blush.”

  Hannah scoffed again as she placed a sweater into her suitcase. “You’ve had girls eating out of your hand since preschool. I’d bet my last tub of Ben and Jerry’s that you’ve never blushed a day in your life, Deke Latrell.”

  Well,
she’s not wrong, he thought with a smirk. Girls, like basketball and music, had always come easy to him. There were three areas where Deacon almost felt he had some level of control. A sliver of belonging. Of course, he knew better than to trust that feeling, but it was still nice.

  “Tell you what,” he said, pushing off the wall. “Once we get on the road tomorrow, you and I are sitting down and going over everything that happened in Paris. Skip the highlight reels this time. I want every detail, every conversation, every thought that went through that pretty little head of yours, because I’m getting the feeling you’ve left a few things out.”

  A small grin curved her mouth, and she pushed aside a suitcase as she sat on the edge of the bed. Tucking her chin like she did whenever she was embarrassed, she murmured, “Well…maybe a few things.”

  The glint of happiness he caught in her eyes eased the pressure in his chest.

  God, he’d missed her. FaceTime had been a poor-ass substitute, and the time difference between them had straight up sucked. Everything they talked about had inevitably happened hours before, and it drove him crazy not being able to share life with her as it happened. She’d missed his audition for Blue. He’d missed whatever led to her new look. Now he was learning he’d missed even more than that—apparently, a few things.

  Deacon’s smile fell as his curiosity took over. What sort of things? Had she met someone over there? Was that the real reason behind her new attitude and appearance?

  As he sat down beside her, she shifted toward him on the mattress, and Deacon imagined her sharing that same sweet smile with another man. Making him laugh with her silly random songs. Heat raced through his body.

  It wasn’t jealousy spiking his blood—at least not in the traditional sense. Deacon wanted Hannah to be happy, but while she’d gone out with a few guys in college, she’d never found anyone really worth her time. He didn’t think she’d seen anyone past a couple dates. Selfishly, he hadn’t minded that fact because it let him keep her to himself…until that selfishness sent her running, that is.