Chapter 5
Kieran
brOTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
I would pick up some nuggets on the way home if I were you
KIERAN
Emmy not eating?
brOTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
big time
Bella’s starting to take personal offense and you know how determined she can get…
KIERAN
Nuggets it is
brOTHER FROM ANOTHER MOTHER
thank you
you’re saving my kitchen and sanity
Layla’s not stopped talking for over ten minutes, and I’ve just been happily following behind her pushing the cart as she yaps.
It took one statement, just one small mention of how I didn’t know Target sold books, and she was off like a rocket.
I knew she read books, had eavesdropped on enough of Bella’s phone calls with her this past year to pick up on her love for them, but my god, the spark that enters her eyes as she talks about them… I’d ask a million questions over and over just to see it again.
It’s how I imagine I look when I step on the rink.
It’s the expression of pure joy.
She’s been going on and on about printing and distribution and how it’s changed since the resurgence of reading that she only now realizes where she’s walked to. She comes to a sudden halt, almost making me crash into her with the cart as she twists this way and that in the cleaning aisle.
“Why are we here?” she asks with a frown.
Shrugging, I admit, “I just followed you.”
Muttering something under her breath that I can’t catch, she spins on her heels and ushers me out of the way.
“I got distracted.” She shakes her head. “I swear I lose my marbles when I start taking about books. Why didn’t you stop me?”
“Why would I want to do a thing like that?”
Now heading in the right direction, her brow quirks. “Boredom?”
My voice is thick as I drawl, “Do I seem bored to you?”
Coming to a stop, her gaze trails down my body and fuck me, as she takes her lower lip between her teeth, I want to kiss her so badly my grip turns white on the cart.
Layla has no idea how attractive she is. None.
She makes a hmph sound as she turns away, but not before I catch the blush blooming along her cheeks. Shaking my head and getting a wrangle on my emotions, I face the endless aisles, entirely overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the baby section. “Christ,” I curse. “Where the hell do we start?”
“I had a feeling we were going to need more than just clothes,” she explains. “Emmy doesn’t have much, does she?”
My eyes shutter closed at the memory of the very small trash bag the matron handed me containing all of Emmy’s belongings. And the few clothes in there don’t even fit her.
“Emmy essentially has nothing.”
Forcing out a deep breath, I open my eyes and see the same sadness mirrored in Layla’s.
“I know,” I whisper, feeling utter devastation for what Emmy has had to endure.
She’s fucking three years old, and was found next to a woman who overdosed on heroin.
Layla wipes a tear from her cheek. “People can be so cruel.” She seems to mull something over before nodding to herself. “Well, she has you now and you won’t let anything bad happen to her.” She says it with such conviction I’m momentarily stunned.
There she goes again, having no idea the effect she has on me.
“While we’re on the topic of that,” I say, watching her brows furrow in concentration as she reads the labels on— “Wait, does she still wear diapers? How do we know if she needs them, and what kind?”
I take my hat off for a moment to run my hand through my hair before sliding it on again. It’s quiet for a beat too long before I catch Layla staring at me.
I give her a lopsided grin. “See something you like?”
She narrows her eyes. “You have dandruff.”
“I do fucking not,” I scoff.
She shrugs. “Only reason I was looking, and yes, I think we should get nighttime diapers for her to sleep in.”
Layla takes off without another word, ignoring me completely. As she inspects the labels again, trying to find the right one, I quickly remove my hat to double-check.
A snort escapes me.
Dandruff my fucking ass. She was ogling me.
“What were you saying?” she calls over her shoulder as she moves onto the next thing.
My smirk is now firmly in place.
Little Miss I-Don’t-Text-Back was checking me out.
Layla all but growls as she snaps her fingers. “Earth to Kieran, what were you going to say?”
“Are you still looking for a job?” I ask. Before she can answer me, Layla places a handful of oddly shaped plates in the cart. I frown. “What the fuck are these and why do I need them?”
Layla’s sigh is more humor than annoyance. “They’re plates with suction cups on the bottom. It sticks to the table so kids don’t throw their food.”
My nose wrinkles. “Three-year-olds throw food?”
“If they’re cranky and don’t want to eat something, yes.”
“How do you know so much about this stuff?” I ask as she adds colorful plastic spoons, forks, and knives too. “You don’t have a secret kid in hiding, do you?”
“Funny,” she snorts. “But no, my cousins all have kids. I’ve picked up a thing or two over the years.” Rounding the corner, she pops that bottom lip between her teeth, back to checking out the items.
Fuck, I should be reading alongside her. She shouldn’t really be doing this at all and yet here I am, leaning against the cart, following her like a distracted puppy because well…
Layla’s back.
Not that she ever left my mind.
“And yes, I’m still looking for a job.”
My eyes snap up. An emotion passes across her face but before I can decipher it, it’s gone.
We finally stumble upon the clothing aisle and sift through the racks, guessing Emmy’s size.
I decide to go up two sizes from the clothes she’s currently in now and it seems Layla had the same thought.
I pick out onesies, dresses, tops, and pants.
It’s the middle of August so winter gear isn’t needed yet; I’ll do another large haul for her before then.
I’ll take her shopping next week to children stores to let her pick stuff out. If she chooses her own clothes and toys, maybe it can give me a peek into what she likes and that shy little personality she’s hiding.
Layla and I fall into a comfortable silence but the words I need to speak are building on my tongue and I don’t know why I can’t seem to force them out.
Squaring my shoulders, I take a steadying breath, pushing my panic, and oddly, my fear of rejection down deep as I turn to her and ask, “Would you work for me?” I quickly go on to explain as she cranes her head to look at me.
“For Emmy…would you be interested in a nannying job?” I have no fucking clue why I feel so exposed right now.
“I don’t want to hire a stranger to look after her and, well, after you got her to speak, I feel like she would be comfortable with you. ”
To give myself something to do as Layla continues to stare at me, I place the sunflower top in my hands in the cart, adding to the pile.
“I’d pay you a very comfortable salary, along with health insurance.
Your schedule would have to be flexible because of my games, and when I go away, you’d have to stay at my house with Emmy—”
“This isn’t a pity job, is it?”
I trail off, in shock. “Why would it be a pity job?”
Layla’s swallow is audible as she averts her eyes, embarrassment tinting her cheeks. “Because I haven’t been able to land a job yet.”
Stepping forward, I gently place my hand on hers, drawing her attention. “I don’t pity you, Layla, far from it,” I say earnestly. “And no, it’s not why I’m offering. I trust you and clearly Emmy sees the goodness in you too, otherwise she wouldn’t have spoken.”
Something I said landed, and in replacement of her wariness is elation.
“I’d love to,” she breathes. “I love children. I want to be—”
“An elementary teacher,” I finish for her, smiling as she reacts with surprise.
“How did you know?”
Stepping back, I shrug. “Bella told me.”
“Keeping tabs on me, Ashford?” she asks, cocking her hip.
“Always,” I half joke, though it’s not entirely a lie.
She licks her lips. “I feel like we need to have a conversation about my health before you officially offer me a job to take care of your daughter.”
Leaning against the clothing rack, I fold my arms over my chest, noting how her gaze flicks to my biceps and lingers.
“How was Berlin?” I ask, although I only do that so I don’t sound like a creep.
Little does Layla know I hounded Bella almost every day for updates on her medical treatment.
When it became apparent Layla wasn’t going to respond to me, I had to get creative.
Something tells me Layla would cuss me out for that.
Is it weird that I want Layla to cuss me out?
She nods, a small smile stretching across her plush lips. “Good. Actually, really good. Just a pill a day and it keeps my symptoms at bay.”
I make my brows rise in feign surprise, pretending like this is the first I’m hearing of it. “That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you, Layla. You deserve it.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “But it didn’t fully heal me. I still have lupus, always will. I could have a flare-up any day.”
Despite her words, she lifts her chin with such determination it takes everything in me not to smile.
You wouldn’t know it when you meet Layla—the kindness that is so ingrained in her is disarming—but beneath it, there’s a type of spark that only a survivor has.
She’s endured a lot and she’s a fighter through and through.
It takes one to spot another.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t do this job, though, and I would like to be treated just like a regular employee. I can manage my illness and help you with Emmy just fine.”
“I know.”
Her mouth opens, only to snap shut as she quickly shakes her head. “With that being said, we should have a plan in place…just in case I have a flare-up. Perhaps I could give you the name of my doctor and send you my medical files for—”
I push off the rack and slowly stalk toward her, loving and savoring the way she inhales a sharp breath, her small frame swallowed by mine.
“I trust you to manage your own body, Layla. You don’t have to share your private medical files.
If you have a flare-up, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. ”
Her head rears back. “Oh. T-thank you,” she stammers out.
Winking, I turn back to the clothes to find Emmy some pajamas. I wonder what TV shows kids watch these days. There seems to be a lot of Bluey and Paw Patrol merch.
I should Google which one is best for kids. Or should I be a parent that does no screen time? Fuck, maybe we should go down to the book section and pick out some parenting books.
“You can’t flirt with me.”
Layla’s sudden outburst has me turning to face her, my lips twitching at her crimson cheeks.
“Excuse me?” I drawl, my voice filled with humor.
“You’re going to be my boss. You can’t flirt with me.”
I snort out a derisive laugh. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“What?” she asks incredulously.
I place my hands on my hips as I stare her down. “I’m not going to stop.”
She all but huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “And why not?”
Smirking, I let my eyes trail down the length of her shamelessly, savoring every inch before admitting, “It would be impossible to stop.”
“Then I won’t take the job.”
“You’re taking the job,” I say.
She throws her hands in the air in exasperation. “Kieran, you can’t flirt with me!”
“And why not?”
“Because…because it would confuse Emmy.”
“Fine, I won’t flirt with you while she’s around.” Winking, I all but purr, “But all bets are off when she’s not there, Red.”
“Layla,” she snaps, correcting me once more.
Is it wrong that I love her flash of irritation every time I call her Red?
Probably.
I’ll stop eventually. I don’t want her to think it’s because of her, though. Truth be told, Red doesn’t suit her as a nickname. Doesn’t do her vibrant personality justice.
“That’s as far as you’ll get with me on the matter,” I call over my shoulder as I take the cart and head down the next aisle. Layla trails behind me, cursing and cussing me out under her breath.
Grabbing blankets and teddy bears because why the hell not, I throw them in the cart as I turn to her, stopping her mumbling in her tracks, literally. She crashes into my chest and I gently cup her arms, righting her before she falls on her ass.
I can tell she’s about to snap something at me, that feisty side that only comes out and plays with me, but before she can I say, “One of these days you’re going to admit just how much you love flirting with me.”
Her eyes blaze. “With you? This is all one-sided and entirely for your own merit.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“I don’t have to tell myself shit.”
My grin is devilish as I bend down, my lips a hair’s breadth from hers. “Then why are you clinging to me like you don’t want to stop touching me?”
Her eyes snap down to her hands on my biceps and she jumps back a foot, gasping. She spins away. “You’re insufferable!”
“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” I sing to her retreating form.
Her growl of frustration from the next aisle over has me throwing my head back on a deep belly laugh.