Chapter 7
chapter
seven
Official Rules for Wind from the East Nanny Service
Winnie’s take away: a bikini is professional if there’s swimming involved
Winnie
The first time Clementine asked me to join them for dinner, I assumed it was just her asking. After all, she’s been making little comments lately that make me think she has it in her head that her father and I would make a good couple. She might be invested in that fantasy. I, however, am not.
I know the truth. Single dads of precocious children never fall in love with the nanny. They’re above that.
Super hot, former footballers are definitely above falling for the nanny. Which means I have no illusions when Brody invites me to join them for dinner.
Of course, I’m using the phrase “invites me for dinner” generously. What he actually does is storm into my room one night at 6:07 and announce, “It’s silly for Mrs. Billingsly to make you your own tray for dinner.”
It takes me a moment to process his words. Mostly because I’m so surprised by his presence, but partly because his presence is just so … much. Every time he walks into a room, my senses spring into high alert.It’s like he’s so big that the actual amount of available oxygen alters.
I want to tell him that not once have I asked his cook to make me a plate.
Ms. Billingsly, the adorable aging woman makes enough food to feed Brody and his enormous brothers.
I’ve only met Bryant, but I’ve seen the other two from a distance.
They work on the ranch or farm or whatever this place is actually called.
Ms. Billingsly and I came to an agreement early on when Brody made it clear that I should make myself scarce during dinnertime. I’d run downstairs, make myself a quick plate while she was busy telling Brody and Clementine that dinner was ready, and they should wash up and meet in the dining room.
I’m not even sure if the brothers eat at the house every night; I just know that Ms. Billingsly makes enough food for a small army.
“I’m fine having dinner on my own. Besides, you previously made it clear that dinner was family time, and I am not family.”
He merely arches a brow. Then he takes a step further into my room and drops his voice to a growl. “You will start joining us for dinner.”
“Is that an order? Because you can’t fire me if I’m violating the contract but following an order.”
“I’m not going to fire you for eating dinner with us.”
“Are you sure? Because I know you still wish I had a penis.”
His gaze drops to the lower portion of my body. “I really, really don’t.”
The heat of a blush warms my cheeks. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to trick me into violating my contract that would be a dick move.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake, Killer, that’s not what’s happening here. You don’t need to make everything complicated. Clem wants you to eat dinner with us.” A long beat passes where he swallows. “And so do I.”
So I do. I bring my plate downstairs and sit in the dining room with Clementine and her father.
There’s a subtle shift in the mood around the house after I start eating dinner with Clementine and Brody. Once the dinner barrier breaks, other cracks start to show up in Brody’s natural reserve.
Sometimes, dinner involves us all sitting at the table with our various reading devices, eating in silence while we read. If Clementine is feeling chatty, we talk throughout the meal. I break out my deck of Table Topic cards to keep the conversation moving.
Once I start eating with them on a regular basis, the rhythm of our days shifts yet again.
Clementine and I fall into the kind of easy routine that naturally arises during the long days of summer.
We take bi-weekly trips to the library to check out books and for the craft days.
Brody brings Clementine out to ride several times a week.
We feed the chickens every morning. Clementine looks for eggs, even though the chickens are clearly all roosters.
We explore math and chemistry through baking projects.
We swim for exercise during the early afternoons when the rest of the house is quiet.
I quickly realized that running a horse farm is not a simple nine-to-five job.
Even though Brody always keeps the hours of six to eight reserved for Clementine, he’s away from the house, working long hours in the barn every day of the week.
I can see the barn, nestled up against the tree line, on the far side of the property, but I’ve never been there myself.
If it wasn’t for the crafting hour on Wednesday at the library, I would lose track of the days entirely. Which is why Clementine and I are swimming, practicing floating on our backs, one afternoon, when what sounds like an entire fraternity of guys stomp into the yard.
It takes me a minute to get my bearings and realize what is happening.
Clem jumps out of the pool and throws herself into the arms of one of the four, huge burly men.
Brody stands at the back of the pack, his scowl more fierce than ever.
I recognize Bryant immediately. He gives me a wide smile and greets me.
I surmise that the other two guys must be the remaining Callahan brothers.
Bryant puts me at ease immediately with his easy charm. The one called Bear is somehow even bigger than Brody and impossibly even grumpier. Briggs, the youngest, I’m told, is like a golden retriever and makes Banana-Noodle look calm.
Brody continues to stand sentry, scowling as Bryant and Clementine introduce the other brothers. Turns out they showed up for a Sunday barbecue. Briggs tosses Clementine into the water and then jumps in himself without changing clothes.
Clementine’s peals of laughter ring through the air as Banana-Noodle jumps into the pool too. Bear and Bryant are methodically removing their shirts and shoes, and this is looking more and more like a family pool party by the minute.
Until I see Brody storm off and stomp back into the house. I can’t help but wonder if he’s mad because I’ve somehow managed to insert myself in the middle of his family’s weekend antics.