by Kendall Ryan
Corrigan winks at me, and oh God, it does way too much to all my organs, but I take it for the purely practical cue she almost certainly meant it as. I gather up the basket, the blanket, and all of Grier’s stuff, and start back to the parking lot as Corrigan follows with Grier.
By the time I’ve unlocked the car, Grier is down for the count, her head lolling heavily on Corrigan’s shoulder. She only lets out a barely audible mumble, popping her thumb into her mouth as Corrigan maneuvers her into her seat like a rag doll and buckles her up.
At home, when I take Grier upstairs to bed, Corrigan surprises me by following. Together, we watch my sleeping daughter for a minute.
Finally, Corrigan says, so quietly I almost don’t catch it, “Today was nice.”
“It was.” It’s been a long time since I’ve had a casual day of fun like this, and even longer since I spent one with Corrigan. “Although now I’ve got sand in places a man should never have sand. I seriously need a shower.”
Her mouth quirks. “Well, let me know if you need any help.”
I can’t resist the opening. “Showering?” I ask, smirking.
“N-no, I meant with Grier,” she stutters, looking away. “Just text me.”
I clear my throat. “Right. I will.”
After I walk Corrigan back down to the front door and she’s gone, I let my head thud gently against the frame. Wow, Lex, great job keeping your shit together.
She’s only been officially working for me for one day, and I’m already losing my grip on sanity. I clearly need to get laid ASAP. But it won’t be with the hot-as-fuck babysitter. Nope, definitely not.
Dammit, what a disappointing thought.
11
* * *
CORRIGAN
“Hola! Hola! Hola!”
The sounds of Grier playing in the living room echo throughout the house, loud and clear, even over my working in the kitchen. I guess she’s getting G.I. Joe and Flapflap in the spirit of taco night. After almost four hours playing in the sandbox at the park today, you’d think she’d be more worn out than this. But no. My little ball of energy is wide awake, despite me having already changed her into her pj’s.
“And what does hola mean, sweetie?” I call into the next room, wondering how much actual learning she did today, and how much is just her repeating what she heard me say.
“Hola!” I hear her squeal, followed by the familiar thunk of G.I. Joe being tossed against the couch.
Poor G.I. Joe. That girl really puts him through it.
Stepping away from my homemade pico de gallo, I crane my neck to see into the other room, double-checking that G.I. Joe was the one hurt, not Grier. Sure enough, she’s happy as a clam, swinging Flapflap around by one wing.
“Hola!” she says, waving to me. “Hola is hello!”
Holy cow, she actually does know what it means. This toddler officially knows one tenth of the Spanish words I know, and three of mine are mas, cerveza, and por favor, which I’m certainly not about to teach her. Still, helping her learn something new does my teacher heart good, and listening to her make her toys repeat hola back and forth to each other does my heart some good.
“Whatever you’re cooking, it smells amazing,” a low, husky voice calls from down the hall, and Grier hops to her feet, squealing at the sight of her daddy.
Honestly, I can’t blame her. One look at him in that fitted navy blazer, and I could squeal too. It only gets better once he takes it off and unbuttons the cuffs of his white button-up, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows.
What is it about a man’s forearms, specifically this man’s forearms, that’s so freaking sexy? And when said sexy forearms pluck the pj-clad toddler up off the floor, holding her tight against his hip? The whole situation has me split somewhere between an “aww” and a “goddamn.”
“How was your day, baby girl?”
I hurry back toward the kitchen, biting down on my lower lip to keep from answering. That was not directed at me, no matter how much I secretly would have liked it if it were. I should really stick to my pico de gallo.
“Hola, hola, hola!” Grier babbles at her daddy, her holas getting louder as Lexington follows behind me.
I look up from my slicing to see his brows knitted tightly together. “Do I have a bilingual kid now?”
“That would require hiring a nanny who knows more than ten words of Spanish,” I say with a grin, adding a bowl of homemade guacamole to the spread of taco fixings I’ve laid out across the kitchen island. “I was just trying to use taco night as a learning opportunity.”
“Hola is hello!” Grier says proudly to her daddy, her smile spanning the full width of her face.
My smile is just as big. “You’ve got yourself one smart cookie there.”
Grier whips her head back toward me, her blue eyes suddenly wide and wild. “Cookie?”
Lex and I exchange a long, knowing look before bursting into laughter. Smart as she is, this little munchkin is still completely dessert driven.
“No cookies yet, love bug,” Lex says gently to a suddenly disappointed Grier. “But, hey, these tacos look just as tasty, don’t you think?” He pauses, looking back to me with narrowed eyes. “You know you don’t have to cook, by the way. This is above and beyond what I’m paying you for.”
I shrug as I head for the sink and rinse any remnants of avocado off my hands. “I enjoy it. And it’s one less thing for you to worry about.”
“Well, at the very least, you have to stay to enjoy this,” he says, motioning toward the spread. “As long as you don’t have other plans, that is.”
“My other plans would involve leftovers and an early bedtime,” I say. “And I can never say no to tacos. It’s a rule I live by.”
“Smart girl,” he murmurs with a chuckle.
While I situate Grier in her high chair with her trusty friend Flapflap, Lex takes the lead on building the perfect taco for her, all the while regaling me with a story of their last trip to a Mexican restaurant in New York. Apparently, one-year-old Grier had quite the thing for putting black beans up her nose, and dipping her fingers into the queso.
“Kids are weird.” He shakes his head, adding a two-year-old’s portion of ground beef to the flour tortilla.
I have no idea why I’m staring at him. But Lexington Dane is the lead contender for the hottest dad in the world award.
When he looks my way, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Don’t worry. As someone who teaches first graders, I can say for certain that they just get weirder.”
The three of us settle in at the table, and dinner flies by in the blink of an eye, or, more accurately, two flaps of Flapflap’s wings. Grier insists on wrapping her stuffed bat inside a tortilla, then proceeds to howl with laughter so raucous that I’m sure we’ll never calm her down for bedtime. At the first sight of a yawn, Lex snatches the opportunity to start winding things down.
“Someone’s probably about ready for bed, huh?” He reaches over and tousles Grier’s white-blond hair, earning him a pout.
“No!” She huffs, jutting her lower lip out. “I don’t wanna!”
Lex and I both sigh in perfect unison. We should have known she wouldn’t go down without a fight. He props his forearms on the table, giving me another chance to grapple with why in the world his forearms are such a turn-on.
Leaning in closer to his daughter, he offers a solid proposition. “What about this, love bug? I’ll read you two stories instead of one tonight. How’s that sound?”
Grier’s face twists up as she considers the offer, but apparently, it’s not up to her standards. “No. I want corgi.”
I turn toward him, hoping he’s prepared to crack this code, but the look on his face tells me he’s just as confused as I am. It’s not until Grier jabs a finger in my direction that we understand what she’s talking about.
“Corgi,” she says again. “Corgi reads stories.”
“I guess that’s me.” I chuckle, pushing my plate away and pressing
to my feet. “Silly me. I thought I was the nanny, not the family dog.”
Lex snickers at my joke, but when it’s time to actually take the little goober to bed, he’s entirely serious. “You can head home if you want. She doesn’t always have to get her way.”
“It’s not a problem.” I scoop the little sleepyhead out of her high chair and bounce her against my hip. “Put your feet up for a bit. We’re gonna go read about the dragon and the dodgeball game, right, kiddo?”
I look down at Grier, catching her as her yawn turns to a sleepy smile. We’re halfway up the stairs when the sound of Lex’s voice calling after me stops me midstep.
“I owe you the world, Corrigan.”
Just hearing my name in his sweet, resonant tone freezes me in my tracks, a tingling feeling spreading from the arches of my feet to the tips of my ears. Jeez, I need to shake this. I told myself I wouldn’t get mixed up with this man again. Which means no tingly feelings. Ever.
“It’s fine, really,” I call back, trying to convince myself as much as him.
Yes, I’m playing house with an ex, but I’m getting paid for it. It’s fine. Totally normal. No strings attached. Employee and boss. Totally fine. Even if the sound of my name in his deepvoice does all sorts of things to me that I wish it wouldn’t. I need to ignore it all and remember how much he hurt me. Because I truly believe I wouldn’t handle another broken heart caused by Lexington Dane.
After one more read-through of Dragons Play Dodgeball than I promised, Grier is sound asleep, meaning my workday is nearly done. All that’s left to do is the dishes.
I tiptoe down the stairs, half wondering if the ground-beef pan will need to soak. But by the time I make it to the kitchen, the dirty dishes have already disappeared from the sink, and I can barely hear the low hum of the dishwasher churning faintly.
It looks like someone went ahead and did my work for me. And that someone is standing in the middle of this freshly cleaned kitchen, balancing two long-stemmed wineglasses in one hand and a bottle of chardonnay in the other.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a hushed voice. Sound travels with these vaulted ceilings, and the last thing I want to do is wake up Sleeping Beauty.
Lex tips his head toward the sliding glass door, the low-hanging sun shining a glimmer into his bright blue eyes. “It’s a nice night. I thought you could help me christen the patio.”
I fold my arms over my chest, not sure if I should believe him. “You’ve lived here two weeks and haven’t used it yet?”
“Haven’t even opened the sliding glass door,” he says quietly, almost sounding embarrassed. “Our beach day yesterday was the first relaxing thing I’ve done since moving here, what with Mom and work and settling in.”
“Right,” I murmur, shooting him an apologetic smile as my stomach twists into a knot tight enough to impress a Boy Scout.
Duh, Corrigan. This man is trying to balance a real estate empire with a two-year-old daughter and a terminally ill mother. He hasn’t had the time to lounge around and put his feet up.
“Anyway, the last owner left some patio furniture behind. What do you say we break it in?”
I chew my lip, carefully considering the offer.
This definitely extends beyond my nannying duties, although I’m not one to say no to a glass of chardonnay. But one-on-one time with Lex seems awfully dangerous. Throw wine in the mix, and the whole situation has bad idea written all over it.
The warm, hopeful look in his eyes is making it borderline impossible to say no. Swallowing the nervousness creeping up my throat, I nod, deciding that one glass couldn’t hurt.
Lexington muscles open the sliding glass door, and I follow him out onto the patio, the brick pavers cool on my bare feet despite the thick, humid air.
Summer heat in North Carolina can be punishing, but then there are nights like these, where the sky looks like a watercolor painting, and the air smells salty from the ocean breeze. I’d endure all the humidity in the world for this. It’s one of the many, many reasons I never left Wilmington.
We settle into the two wrought-iron chairs at the edge of the patio, and Lex wastes no time uncorking the bottle, filling each glass with a generous pour. He holds one glass out toward me, and hesitantly, I take it, trying to ignore the little spark of heat that leaps between our fingers as they brush.
“What should we toast to?” Lex asks.
“To Grier?”
The suggestion earns me a wide, genuine smile that spreads all the way to his eyes. “To Grier,” he says, lifting his glass toward mine. “And to you. I’m so grateful to have you looking after my daughter, Corrigan.”
Clink.
I take a long sip, letting the crisp, oaky flavor wash over me. Wow, this stuff is good. Far from my usual five-dollar bottle, my go-to for making grading spelling tests more tolerable.
“What is this?” I lick the flavor from my lips as I eye the unfamiliar label on the bottle. Whatever it is, it looks as expensive as it tastes.
“You like it? It’s been gathering dust for years. Something I picked up at some wine shop in Tribeca.” His usual confident tone wavers slightly as his gaze shifts away from mine. “It’s, uh, it’s been a while since I’ve had anyone to split a bottle of wine with, if you know what I mean.”
My chest tightens, every nerve in my body suddenly alert. This is it, Corrigan. The perfect opportunity to reopen the conversation he’s been avoiding from the beginning.
I gulp down a second, larger sip of wine, praying the liquid courage will kick in quickly.
“Will you tell me about Grier’s mom now?”
It’s quiet between us, and for a moment, I think Lexington is going to flat-out say no. But then he nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows a hefty sip of wine.
“There’s not much to tell, to be honest. I told you, she was never in Grier’s life. She was ‘the egg donor,’ remember?”
I roll my eyes at the reminder of that stupid nickname. Men can be so gross sometimes. “Yeah, I remember. But I still want to know the whole story. You promised you’d tell me everything. I’m cashing in on that promise.”
Lexington chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re as stubborn as always, Cor. But I guess you deserve to know. She was a lawyer living in New York, at the time. We’d been seeing each other for a few weeks, but it was never anything serious. And then, well, she got pregnant. I thought we were being careful, but I guess not careful enough.”
“Accidents happen,” I say, doing my best to suppress my teacher voice. “No matter how careful we are.”
“I tried to make it right, though. I told her we could figure out joint custody, or even try to make a relationship work. Give the baby the life he or she deserved. But she couldn’t have been less interested in either of those ideas. Next thing I knew, she was looking into adoption agencies. She said she never wanted to be a mom.”
“But you wanted to be a dad?”
He scrubs a hand through his dark hair, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, yeah. I didn’t envision it happening like this, but hell, life doesn’t always go as planned. And my conscience couldn’t let me just walk away.”
With that, he takes a hefty swig of his wine, so I follow suit, draining what’s left in my glass. It sends a warm, pleasant tingle radiating through me. Maybe wine was a good idea after all. It’s certainly taking the edge off this conversation.
“So she gave you full custody then?” I can’t help but press. No way am I letting this conversation fizzle out without getting every detail that I can from him.
“We didn’t make anything official until a few months after Grier was born. You know, in case she changed her mind. But she didn’t. Last we spoke, she was preparing for a big case. She’s one of New York’s top trial attorneys. I guess that’s kind of hard to do with a toddler.”
My chest constricts with an unexpected bit of jealousy. “Oh. So you two still talk?”
“No, not really.” Lex’s laugh cuts through the tension, a
nd for the first time since this conversation began, I feel like I’m not walking on eggshells. “Not like there was bad blood between us or anything. But after she signed the paperwork, it was just me and Grier from then on.”
“Grier and Lex versus the world,” I murmur, pouring myself a tiny bit more of my new favorite chardonnay.
“And Corrigan,” he says. “Grier and Lex and Corrigan versus the world. I couldn’t be doing this right now without you.”
I shake my head. “No way. You got this far on your own. I’m just lending a helping hand where it’s needed.”
“Maybe. But Grier sure has taken a liking to you. My mom has been saying from the start that she needed a woman in her life. I guess she was right.” He pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “Don’t tell my mom I said that. It’ll go to her head.”
I cross my heart. “Your secret is safe with me.”
It’s quiet between us again, but this time, the silence is easier. Comfortable, even.
It reminds me of the nights we used to spend walking the beach back in high school, our fingers intertwined. Sometimes we’d chat away about whatever it is teenagers talk about. But other times, the only sound between us would be the crashing of the tide. If I hold my breath, I swear I can hear it now, even from a quarter mile away.
I’m so laser focused on listening for that distant sound that I hardly catch the words coming from the man right beside me. Something about dinner? That can’t be right. We already ate.
I turn his way, refocusing my attention. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
There are those warm, hopeful eyes again. They’re an even brighter blue in this light. And they cut right through me as Lex repeats the words I swore I misheard.
“You and I should get dinner sometime. Just the two of us.”
I blink a few times to be sure I’m not imagining things. Is the wine going to my head, or is he asking what I think he’s asking?
“Are you . . . asking me out?”
“As long as you want me to be.” He shifts in his seat, leaning in a bit closer to me, close enough that I catch a whiff of his woodsy cologne. It’s earthy and sweet, with notes of honey and leather.