11. A Towel Bandit
A TOWEL BANDIT
RAYMOND
A s I leave Quill’s room, the swarm of anxiety gremlins is no longer clawing at my shoulders, whispering that Willow’s trying to replace me. My heart has finally stopped thundering with that irritated energy as I make my way toward the left wing. But as I near Willow’s room, I hear her dog’s woof faintly from outside. Changing course, I step into the back garden.
Under the soft glow of fairy lights strung across the pergola, Willow sits curled up on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. Her dog is sprawled across her feet, eyes half closed as if he owns the place. I’m hit with a wave of déjà vu.
It reminds me of my first night in this house, sitting in this exact spot, wrapped in the quiet hush that only settles after all the staff have left. There’s something mesmerizing about this place at night. The endless sky above feels like a canvas where I can fling all my jumbled thoughts—good, bad, and everything in between—without fear of judgment. It’s as though the stars themselves are willing to absorb all the noise in my head and transform it into background music.
Willow looks like I felt that first night—lost, yet somehow a little found at the same time.
Before I can announce my presence, Captain Lick’s ears perk up. He lets out a low, friendly whoof. Willow’s head turns, and her gaze locks on to mine. She stands quickly, looking a bit caught off guard.
“Grandpa Will said I could wait for you here. I hope that’s okay,” she says, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
I take a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill my lungs. “It’s fine.”
And just like that, it hits me—I’ve completely messed up this process with Willow.
With every other nanny, I’ve had a meticulous four-step protocol: conduct a formal interview, introduce them to Quill, walk them through her routine, and give them a thorough tour of the house, including all off-limit areas.
But with Willow all my carefully laid plans went up in flames. She’s like a whirlwind that swept in and rearranged everything I thought was set in stone. Then again, she’s nothing like any nanny—or anyone—I’ve ever met before.
“You wanted to talk?” Willow’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been standing there like an idiot.
I nod and step closer, the wooden deck creaking softly beneath me as I take a seat across from her. Somehow, we always end up this way—on opposite sides of everything.
“Quill fell asleep?” she asks, her voice soft.
I nod again.
“Okay, so, before we go into other details, there’s something I wanted to go over with you,” she says, sitting up a bit straighter as she grabs her phone. Her tone shifts, all business now. “I made a list of activities Quill and I could do together. I wanted to get your thoughts.” She glances down at her phone, her face lighting up. “Daisy told me Quill loves baking, so I’m learning how to bake cookies. I’m not great in the kitchen, but I’m trying.”
She grins, flashing her phone where her notes are open. “I was also thinking of taking her around town, showing her my favorite spots. And, of course, since your daughter, the little bookworm, loves books, I want to take her to Cherrywood Library. I just found out that they organize weekly kids’ night, where the volunteers do book readings and dress up as cute characters. I can’t believe I didn’t know about it sooner. Anyway…”
Her enthusiasm is contagious, and if I were anyone else, I’d probably be charmed by the way she’s throwing herself into this. But instead, a familiar knot tightens in my chest. She’s doing everything I do for Quill, and then some more. Why? She’s not Quill’s mother. She’s just here to help.
Logically, I know Willow is just being…Willow. She commits herself wholeheartedly into everything she does, whether it’s running her B&B or caring for my daughter.
But there’s a part of me—a small, insecure part—that can’t shake the feeling that she’s encroaching on my territory and taking over something that’s mine. My daughter. My life’s purpose. My happiness.
And maybe, deep down, she’s here for revenge—for the inconvenience I caused her in the past because of my connection with her cousin.
“What are you doing?” The words snap out before I can stop them.
Willow freezes, her gaze lifting from her phone. “What? Did I miss something?”
“You’re her nanny, not her parent. You don’t get to make decisions. You wait for instructions.”
Her face pales, and I instantly hate myself for it. But I’m unstoppable now. “Are you trying to make me feel like I’m not enough for my own daughter?”
She stares at me like I punched her in the gut. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she manages, “Are you kidding me? You think I’m here to…what, undermine you?” Her eyes are wide, searching my face like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. “I’m just trying not to screw up a job I have zero experience in. A job where you’ve already made it clear there’s a sword hanging over my head.” Her voice cracks, and I feel about two inches tall.
The guilt hits me like a sucker punch, but she’s far from done.
“I left my home, my business, and I’m staying in the house of the man I hate most in this town because I care about his daughter and what’s at stake. Do you have any idea how hard it was to cram a hundred fifty hours of the How to Be a Nanny 101 podcast into my brain in less than two days? You think I’m overstepping? Well, damn you, Raymond. Take it up with the ladies who run that podcast, because I’m doing exactly what they said.”
“Willow—” I try to interrupt, but she’s on a roll now.
“No, you don’t get to talk. I told you I’ve never taken care of a kid before. But you insisted I do this. And like an idiot, I thought maybe this could work. But I should’ve known better than to trust a man who’s already proven he doesn’t care about anything but himself.”
Her face is flushed, and my heart feels like it’s being hit with a sledgehammer.
What the hell have I done?
In all my worry over how close she was getting to my daughter, I didn’t stop to see how much she genuinely cares. If anyone here needs a lesson, it’s me, in basic decency and how to trust.
“Well, Mr. Teager,” she says coldly, “from now on, you can give me step-by-step instructions on exactly how you want me to handle your daughter, because clearly, I can’t be trusted to make a single decision.” She scoops up her dog. “And unless you have something else to say, I’m going to bed. I’ve been up since two in the morning, and my head is hurting like a bitch.”
Willow doesn’t give me a chance to apologize or explain. She storms off, leaving me feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
* * *
Her words ricochet in my mind like a relentless echo: “I left my home and I’m staying in the house of the man I hate most in this town.”
Even though it hurts, I know I deserved it.
Since when did I turn into the resident jerk of Cherrywood?
For the first time, the night air around my home feels thick and suffocating. Instead of its usual calming embrace, it’s heavy with whispers of judgment and disappointment, wrapping around me like a weight I can’t shake.
I stand there, rooted to the spot, unsure how long I’ve been staring into the darkness. Willow’s face keeps flashing through my mind like scenes from a movie I can’t pause—her frustrated eyes, the tight line of her frown, the way her brows knit when she’s annoyed.
I know I won’t find a shred of peace until I apologize for being an even bigger jerk than she already thinks I am. But each step toward her room feels like I’m dragging cement blocks.
“She told you she’s had a long day,” my annoying inner voice chimes in. “Let her sleep. You can grovel in the morning.”
But what if she’s like me—too restless, too wound up to sleep when things are left hanging?
My brain feels like it’s been tossed into a blender set on high as I finally reach Willow’s door. Indecision gnaws at me, but then I notice a soft glow spilling through her window, casting a sliver of light onto the rhododendron shrubs outside.
She’s still awake. Probably thinking about the same damn conversation.
I knock on her door. Nothing. No response. So, I knock again, and this time, the door swings open under the weight of my hand, as if it had barely been latched.
Fuck. Any other day, Willow might tolerate me invading her space, but today? Not a chance. Today’s the day I royally screwed up, and she probably doesn’t even want to see my face.
“Willow?” I call out, my voice quieter than usual. When there’s still no answer, a cold panic grips me, hitting me like a freight train.
Did she leave?
An unexpected knot tightens in my stomach. Worry, genuine and unselfish, rises to the surface. It’s late and dark and she mentioned a headache. I step inside, eyes darting around the room, searching for any clue. Her luggage is still there, and I exhale, feeling a flicker of relief. But before I can get too comfortable, the en suite bathroom door creaks open.
And there she is.
Willow Pershing. In nothing but a towel that’s doing a terrible job of covering anything up. The pale green fabric clings to every inch of her like it was custom-made for this moment. The towel barely hits mid-thigh, and if she so much as breathes wrong, it might reveal more than either of us is prepared for.
My brain decides now is a good time to short-circuit.
Words? Gone.
Thoughts? Useless.
Coherent sentences? Not a chance. Every single one was vaporized by the sight of Willow looking like a walking heart attack.
I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to blink. All that exists is that dangerously short towel and the way it clings to her like it’s fighting for dear life.
She freezes in the doorway, her eyes widening with surprise, mirroring the shock I’m sure is plastered on my face.
“What? Got more to say?” she snaps finally, though her cheeks flush a shade of pink that has nothing to do with the steam from her shower.
Her words are sharp, laced with fury, but I’m too distracted by the droplets of water sliding down her neck, disappearing beneath the edge of that dangerously small fabric like a damn tease.
I know I should look away. Really, I should.
But it’s like trying to ignore fireworks when they’re right in front of you. Her damp red hair tumbles over her shoulders in loose waves, framing her face in a way that’s both fierce and frustratingly beautiful, so unmistakably her.
The vines of her tattoos, the ones that have taunted me from a distance, are now vividly clear. My gaze zeroes in on the red circle over her heart, inside which a green weeping willow tree stands gracefully. Fitting, since she’s been taking root in my brain, driving me nuts. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“Raymond.”
The way she says my name shakes me back to reality, and it sends a jolt straight through me. She breaks one spell, only to cast another, one with her name written all over it.
“Can I have some privacy?”
Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? I feel like the biggest cliché—single dad ogling the nanny. Could I be any more of a walking stereotype?
“I…I’m sorry,” I stammer, feeling far from the guy who controls a boardroom.
“For which time?” She crosses her arms, and I have to fight the urge to groan as the motion hikes the towel up even higher, teetering on the edge of disaster.
“I’d suggest you don’t do that. Or maybe just, you know, use a bigger towel.” The words slip out before my brain can catch them, and I’m instantly regretful.
Willow’s eyes widen, and she glances down as if suddenly realizing how precarious the situation is. Her arms drop immediately, but she doesn’t scramble to hide.
No, this is Willow—unapologetic, fearless. She never backs down, especially not when I’m the one in the wrong. She levels me with a look that could kill.
“Do you realize some people would call this harassment? In case you forgot, I’m your employee. I really hope this isn’t how you treat all your staff, barging into their rooms when they’re half naked.”
And, there it is—the fire, the sharp tongue. And despite every logical reason to apologize, I can’t resist firing back.
“I didn’t barge, I knocked. Multiple times. And I did announce myself. I’m here to?—”
Before I can finally get to the damn point, her dog barrels into the room, and Willow lets out a high-pitched squeal that’s louder than when she first saw me here.
“Shut the damn door!” she yells, clutching her towel and running around the room in full panic mode.
“What’s going on?” I shout back, thoroughly confused.
Captain Lick, who usually moves at the pace of a sloth on vacation, is now sprinting after Willow like there’s a steak tied to her ankle.
“Cap, bad dog! Shoo! Go away!” Willow pleads, dashing around the room while that tiny menace leaps after her, practically bouncing off the walls like he’s had an entire pot of coffee.
And then it clicks. The little towel bandit!
“Raymond! Do something, dammit!”
Her frantic voice snaps me out of my stupor. I let out a sharp whistle, the kind that would make any dog trainer proud.
Captain Lick freezes, looking at me with an expression that says, Who, me?
But the damage is done. His paws rest on the green towel, a corner clamped between his teeth like he’s conquered Mount Everest.
Willow dives behind the love seat, trying to cover herself. Her head peeks above the backrest, eyes wide, looking both heartbreakingly cute and completely freaked out.
Keep it together, Teager.
“What the hell just happened?” I’m doing my best to stay focused and not replay the last five seconds—the part where the towel went airborne and Willow scrambled for cover.
“He’s got a thing for these inn towels,” she mutters, licking her lips nervously, which sends an inconvenient jolt straight to my lower half.
Great. Now’s really not the time for my hormones to stage a coup.
“Can you…?” She gestures toward the pink bathrobe on the bed.
I grab the robe and drop it beside her, turning away before I do something stupid, like look again. Thankfully, I’ve got a few shreds of decency left.
There’s some rustling behind me, and I can practically feel her wrapping herself up. After a moment, she speaks again, much calmer this time.
“You can turn around now.”