The sad yearning in Joanna’s voice felt like a hiccup in his own chest. He needed to take this opportunity to help keep a family together. “How do you imagine . . . unleashing them?”
“First and foremost he needs a friend. Someone to show him all this town has to offer. Show him what a new home could look like. Maybe even to encourage him fall in love again.” Her eyes darted around the room, and back to him. “That’s what this interview is for. Sussing out your compatibility.”
Reid beheld the strong young woman, nodded, and answered her hypothetical queries. If he found a book that told his life story, would he finish reading it, knowing he couldn’t change anything?
“I’d stop reading and hope for a happy ending.” Even if he feared he couldn’t manage one. “Any other questions for me?”
“What’s your star sign?”
Reid didn’t believe in zodiacs or horoscopes, but he found it charming that Joanna seemed so serious about it. “Cancer.”
A wonderful smile crested her face. “A homemaker. Perfect.” Her posture deflated. “Ugh, not the greatest match with Aquarius, but you and I should get along like two fish in the sea. Or two fish and a crab.”
A throat cleared, and Joanna whirled off the couch. “Dad!”
Reid jerked with recognition. Holy shit, the demigod from the café was standing at the door.
His whole body goosebumped at the coincidence. Crazy, synapses-frying goosebumps. This felt bigger than coincidence—like the stars had lined up. Like something in his life was about to change.
Reid shook off the eeriness, silently laughing. It was all this talk of star signs that did it. Nothing more.
Sullivan wore a faded brown jacket and casual jeans. A scuffed bike bag hung from a strap over his shoulder, and his eyes were riveted on Reid.
Sullivan recognized him too, then.
Joanna threw wiry arms around her dad, and Sullivan’s bag plonked to the slat floor. He wrapped his big arms around his daughter and kissed her cheek. “Started without me, I see.”
More Britishy accent. Even more Britishy than Joanna’s.
“Oh, Dad, Reid is perfect.”
“Perfect? High praise indeed.”
“Not in all areas,” Reid said. Not even in most. “But I make an excellent manny.”
Joanna set down Reid’s resume on the counter. “See for yourself.” She ducked behind the half island. “I’ll make us all elderflower tea.”
Sullivan busied himself slotting his bag in a cubbyhole and hanging his jacket in a hidden closet. Shirt sleeves shoved to his elbows, he picked up Reid’s truncated life story.
Expression undecipherable, Sullivan read every line, strolling nearer.
Milky light washed over him from the overhead hatch, and Reid was hit with Sullivan’s full . . . magnitude. His hair was mostly mahogany, a darker shade of the ship’s wooden interior, with silver kissing the top of one ear. He was also tall—topping Reid by six inches—and his presence flooded the saloon. Maybe it was the way he moved. Easy. Comfortably in control. Balanced.
The boat rocked and Reid clutched the couch.
Sullivan side-eyed him. “Two pages of extra-curricular activities?”
“What can I say? I used to be interesting.”
Sullivan read aloud, drily. “Economics club.”
“I can file any finances. Blindfolded.”
“History club.”
“War is bad.” Sullivan looked at him, unimpressed. Reid amended, “Sorry. War is very bad.”
Sullivan’s gaze scrolled down the list. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”
Reid stiffened. He and most of his friends were gay or bisexual. His last job had been working for married couple Theo and Jamie Wallace, babysitting their adorable twins Atticus and Darcy a few afternoons a week, living for free in their attic. While Reid was inexperienced with men, he sat happily between gay and straight. “If you have a problem with that, I am not the manny for you.”
He’d stand to emphasize his point, but the floor was moving, and he wasn’t sure he actually could.
“That won’t be what I’d have a problem with.” Sullivan continued scanning the list. “International Thespian Society, Red Cross Club, Civil War reenactor?”
“History buff, remember?”
Sullivan turned the page and then dropped the resume with a snort. “National Spelling Bee?”
Reid rolled his shoulders and projected his voice. “Uptight. U.P.T.I.G.H.T. Uptight. Origin: possibly staring at it.”
Their gazes clashed and Reid detected a faint glimmer in Sullivan’s eye. “Boss,” Sullivan replied. “B.O.S.S. Definition: I choose whether to hire and when to fire.”
Reid shivered. A pleasant, very inappropriate shiver. Boss: One in charge. One Reid shouldn’t become attracted to. “Touché.”
“Stop intimidating him, Dad,” Joanna snickered from the kitchen.
Sullivan’s gaze frisked Reid from his ruddy sneakers to his ruby-red lips. Sullivan took in his high cheekbones and stubborn chin, lingering on his styled blond hair. Reid fought the impulse to thread his fingers through it.
Was Sullivan calculating how much authority Reid projected? Or was he judging his protective qualities?
Well, Reid could fight. He could fight like a pro.
As long as the opponent wasn’t armed with anything sharper than a silver tongue.
He rolled his shoulders back and held his chin high. Sullivan landed on Reid’s eyes, mouth curved into a grimace.
Did Reid’s tear-splotched face make the man uncomfortable? Or did something else bother him?
“Look,” Reid said, “I love working with families, and I have references that will convince you I’m experienced—”
“—to care for babies. My daughter, as you can see, is not a baby. How qualified are you at providing teenagers with appropriate developmental experiences?”
“Well, I’m not academically qualified . . .”
Sullivan clasped his hands behind his back and paced the living room. “Nannies are not a decision to make lightly. Your influence may leave long-lasting impressions.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“You must have a great deal of patience.”
“So I’m beginning to see.”
“And be safety conscious”—Sullivan eyed his vest—“though I don’t think there’ll be any issue there. Sound judgement, on the other hand . . .”
A laugh tumbled out of Reid—this man! He’d never met anyone so . . . tightly wound? Overprotective? Uninterested in a nanny?
All of the above?
Sullivan slid open a cupboard wall and drew out a fat book with a glossy black cover. “It’s a live-in position with every other weekend off. I like to start work early and Joanna needs breakfast and a ride to school. A good portion of the day would be spent on this boat.”
“Yay.” Reid tried for enthusiastic but his sudden couch-gripping didn’t lend him much credibility.
Sullivan handed him the book.
Reid gaped at the title. “The Titanic?”
Sullivan’s brow quivered into an arch. “As a history buff, I thought you might enjoy it.”
An incredulous laugh jostled out of Reid. “Are you against the idea of Joanna having a manny? Or against the idea I might be that manny?”