11. Skylar
Chapter 11
Skylar
T he sun glints off the water as I watch Lucas and Elodie splash in the pool, their laughter echoing across the manicured lawn. I dip my toes in, savoring the cool relief from the sweltering heat.
"Skylar, watch this!" Elodie calls out, her pigtails bouncing as she cannonballs into the deep end.
I clap and cheer, playing my part as the attentive nanny. It's become easier to slip into this role over the past week. No more surprise visits from psychotic exes or uncomfortable standoffs with Austin. Well, those haven't actually gone away completely.
"Quite the little fish, isn't she?" Birdie's voice drifts from the shade of a nearby oak tree. She's perched on a lounger, sipping lemonade and looking impossibly elegant despite the humidity.
"They both are," I reply, gesturing to Lucas as he perfects his backstroke. "I'm starting to think they're part mermaid."
Birdie chuckles, her silver hair catching the sunlight. "Oh honey, with their fathers' genes, I wouldn't be surprised if they sprouted gills and fins by puberty."
I roll my eyes, fighting back a smirk. "Don't give them any ideas, Birdie. I'm barely keeping up as it is."
"You're doing just fine, dear," she says, her tone softening as she looks at me with those wise, knowing eyes. "They adore you, you know."
A warmth spreads through my chest, unexpected and a little unsettling. I shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t let myself get attached. But I have. Slowly, day by day, these kids have chipped away at the walls I built around myself.
"It's just a job," I say, more to myself than to Birdie. But it’s a lie. A terrible, hollow lie. Because I adore them right back. And that terrifies me.
This is temporary though. Everything is temporary.
I might not even be living here by the time school starts. Birdie’s health might decline, or she could decide to sell the house and move down to Florida to live with her sister even if it doesn’t. Now that the seed has been planted, why wouldn’t she? Unlike me, she still has family that loves her, that wants her around.
If that happens, I’ll be left scrambling for new housing, starting over yet again.
And on a teacher’s salary, with barely any savings, the options aren’t great. I can’t afford much—just a shoebox apartment at best—and that’s if I can even find something close to the school. The idea of uprooting my life yet again, of saying goodbye to the small sense of stability I’ve managed to carve out here, sends a pang of dread through me.
I glance at Birdie, who’s humming to herself as she watches the kids, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in my mind. It’s all so fragile. My job. My home. This tenuous little family I’ve found myself a part of.
I need to remind myself not to get too comfortable, to keep my heart out of it. Because when it all falls apart—and it always does—I’ll be the one left to pick up the pieces.
"Skylar!" Lucas calls out, interrupting my brooding. "Can we turn on the sprinklers? Please?"
I nod, grateful for the distraction. As I walk over to the control panel, I catch sight of my reflection in the pool house windows. My chestnut hair is a mess of damp waves, my sundress clinging to my curves. For a moment, I barely recognize myself—this carefree version of me that's emerged over the past week.
The sprinklers burst to life, and the kids squeal with delight as they run through the spray. I can't help but laugh, their joy infectious.
"You know," Birdie says, appearing beside me with a knowing glint in her eye, "it's okay to enjoy yourself, Skylar. The world won't end if you let yourself be happy for a moment."
I bristle at her words, my walls slamming back into place. "I'm fine, Birdie. Really."
But as I watch the kids play, their faces alight with pure, unbridled joy, I can't help but wonder if maybe —just maybe—Birdie might be right.
With a sigh, I slip off my sundress that's covering my swimsuit and dip into the cool water. I can see the kids just fine from here and I need to cool my overheating mind.
As I drift lazily in the pool, my mind wanders to Cohen.
My standoffs with Austin might be less frequent, but Cohen and I? Our eyes have been meeting more frequently lately, charged with an electricity I can't quite explain. There's a flicker of recognition in his storm-blue gaze, as if he's trying to place a half-forgotten melody.
If only he knew.
My skin prickles with heat as memories of Vegas flood my senses. Two days of uninhibited passion, fueled by tequila and an intoxicating freedom I'd never known before. Cohen’s hands on my body, his rough fingertips exploring every inch of my skin. The way his lips trailed fire in their wake, setting off explosions of sensation that made me forget everything but him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the vivid images to fade, but it’s no use. I can still hear the low rumble of his laugh, feel the press of his body against mine, and taste the salt of his skin. It was supposed to stay there, in Vegas, tucked away like a souvenir from a life that wasn’t really mine.
But now, every glance, every casual brush of his skin against mine, threatens to pull me under. And he obviously doesn’t remember a fucking thing.
And then, of course, there’s Theo.
I bite my lip, my heart racing as I think of the way he’s been slipping into the carriage house every night this week. The way he lounges on my couch like he belongs there, all easy charm and effortless confidence. His smirk is maddening, his touch electric. He’s a distraction I can’t seem to resist, no matter how much I tell myself I need to keep my distance.
It’s just physical. It has to be.
I can’t afford to let my guard down, not with any of them. This arrangement—this thing —can’t be anything more than stolen moments and tangled sheets. I’ve learned the hard way what happens when you let people in.
Austin, Cohen, Theo—they’re all dangerous in their own way, each one capable of unraveling the careful threads of my resolve.
But no matter how much I want to believe I can keep my feelings out of it, the lines are starting to blur.
And that terrifies me.
The shrieks of laughter pull me from my reverie. I blink, focusing on the present scene before me. Lucas and Elodie are darting through the sprinklers, their small bodies glistening with water droplets in the afternoon sun. From my perch in the pool, I can't help but smile at their unbridled joy.
"Time for a lemonade break, kiddos!" Birdie calls out, her silvery hair catching the light as she waves them over.
I watch as the children scamper towards her, their excited chatter filling the air. Lucas, ever the cautious one, approaches slowly, while Elodie practically bounces with each step.
"This is the best lemonade ever, Miss Birdie!" Elodie exclaims, her blue eyes wide with delight.
Birdie chuckles, a warm, rich sound. "Well, thank you, sweetheart. It's my secret recipe."
As I float on my back, letting the cool water soothe my sun-warmed skin, I hear Elodie's sudden gasp of excitement.
"Look! A butterfly!" she cries out, her voice filled with wonder.
I turn my head, curiosity piqued. Sure enough, a delicate monarch butterfly is fluttering past, its orange and black wings a stark contrast against the clear blue sky.
"Oh, isn't that lovely?" Birdie says, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "You know, I planted special flowers in my garden just to attract those beautiful creatures."
"Really?" Lucas asks, his usual shyness giving way to genuine interest.
I smile to myself, impressed once again by Birdie's ability to captivate the children. As she launches into an animated explanation about her butterfly-friendly garden, I can't help but feel a twinge of envy. How nice it must be to find such joy in simple things, to be unburdened by complicated feelings and tangled relationships.
But then again, I muse as I lazily paddle through the water, perhaps it's not too late for me to learn.
"Can we go see?" Elodie asks, her voice brimming with excitement. "Please, Miss Birdie?"
Lucas chimes in, "Yeah, can we?"
I hear Birdie's gentle laugh. "Well, that depends on your nanny. Skylar, dear, would you mind if I showed the children my butterfly garden?"
I lift my head from the water, pushing my wet hair back. Part of me wants to keep the kids close, to maintain the careful routine I've established. But their eager faces make my resolve waver.
"That's a great idea," I say, treading water. "But remember, your dads will be home soon. Don't be gone too long, okay?"
"We won't!" the kids chorus in unison.
As Birdie leads them through the yard toward the gate, I call out, "And no touching anything without permission!"
"Yes, Skylar," they reply, their voices already fading as they disappear into Birdie's yard.
I watch them go, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. It's been a week of this nannying gig, and I've already grown more attached to these kids than I'd like to admit. I sink back into the pool, relishing the sudden quiet.
The water envelops me, cool and soothing. For a moment, I let myself float, eyes closed, enjoying this rare moment of peace. No kids to watch, no complicated men to avoid. Just me and the gentle lapping of the water against the pool's edge.
I take a deep breath, savoring the tranquility. But even as I relax, I can't quite shake the nagging thought that this peace is temporary. Soon, the kids will be back. Soon, their fathers will return. And with them, all the complications I've been trying to ignore.
And, there’s everything else lurking in the background.
As I open my eyes, my gaze drifts toward the house. That's when I see him. Austin. He's standing just inside, his piercing blue eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
The heat in his stare is unmistakable, a stark contrast to his usually cold demeanor. It's as if he's undressing me with his eyes, and suddenly, I'm acutely aware of every inch of my body beneath the water's surface.
"Enjoying the view, Mr. Rhodes?" I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
He doesn't respond, but his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. I can't help but remember our last encounter by this pool, when he caught me skinny-dipping. The memory sends a wave of heat through me that has nothing to do with the warm summer day.
Emboldened by the distance between us and the shield of the water, I decide to push his buttons. I maintain eye contact as I reach for the strap of my bikini top, toying with it between my fingers.
"You know," I say, my voice low and teasing, "I could give you a repeat performance of the other day. No one else is around."
I let the strap slip down my shoulder, revealing just a hint more skin. Austin's eyes follow the movement, his gaze darkening. For a moment, I think he might actually take me up on my offer. But then he turns abruptly, disappearing into the house without a word.
I'm left alone in the pool, my heart racing. What am I doing? This is my employer, for crying out loud. But the way he looks at me...it makes me feel things I shouldn't. Things I can't afford to feel.
The sliding glass door opens again, and I instinctively pull my bikini strap back into place. But it's not Austin who emerges—it's Cohen. My stomach does a little flip as he approaches the pool, his tattooed arms on full display in a fitted t-shirt.
"Hey," he calls out, his deeper blue eyes scanning the yard. "Where are the kids?"
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice neutral. "Birdie took them to see her butterfly garden. They should be back soon."
Cohen nods, then settles into one of the lounge chairs near the pool's edge. I can feel his gaze on me, and it takes everything I have not to squirm under its weight.
"How are they doing?" he asks. "Lucas mentioned something about a new game you taught them."
"They're doing well," I reply, my tone clipped. "And yeah, just a simple card game to keep them busy."
I watch him from the corner of my eye, searching for any hint that he remembers our weekend in Vegas. But his face remains frustratingly neutral, almost carefully so.
"That's good," he says, leaning back in the chair. "They seem to really like you."
I shrug, treading water. "Kids are easy. It's the adults that complicate things."
Cohen raises an eyebrow at that, and I wonder if I've said too much. But instead of pressing, he just chuckles softly.
"Fair point," he concedes.
We lapse into silence, and I can't help but think about how different this is from our time in Vegas. Back then, we couldn't stop talking—or doing other things with our mouths. Now, every word feels like a potential landmine.
Is he fucking with me? I wonder, studying his relaxed posture. Does he really not remember, or is this some kind of game?
Cohen shifts in his chair, his eyes suddenly taking on a more serious glint. "So, Skylar," he begins, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity, "Theo mentioned you two have some history."
My body tenses involuntarily, and I sink a little lower in the water, grateful for its coolness against my suddenly flushed skin. "Did he now?" I keep my voice neutral, but inside, my heart is racing.
"Yeah," Cohen continues, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. "He didn't go into details. So, anyone serious in your life now?"
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Serious? No, not since Theo." I pause, debating whether to continue. Screw it. Let's see how he reacts. "I did have this amazing weekend in Vegas last year, but he probably doesn't even remember it."
My eyes lock onto Cohen's face, searching for any flicker of recognition. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it echoing across the water. For a split second, I swear I see something flash in his eyes—surprise? Guilt? But it's gone so quickly I can't be sure it was ever there.
It hurts that he doesn’t remember. But, at the same time, I can’t exactly fault him. Neither of us shared our names—we did that on purpose. And while he looked like he does now, I had looked different. Full makeup, shorter hair, and thanks to the bride’s demands, a temporary dye job that left me with bright bubblegum pink strands for the bachelorette party weekend.
I tell myself it’s better this way, that it’s a sign our weekend was meant to stay in the past. But as Cohen's gaze lingers on me, a shadow of something unreadable in his expression, I realize—maybe it’s not just the past I should be worried about.