“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.