Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Nolan
T he smell of fresh concrete fills my lungs as I pace the perimeter of today's job, checking the edges for any imperfections. The sun beats down on my neck, and I can feel sweat trickling down my back beneath my T-shirt. It's barely ten in the morning, but the temperature's already climbing into the eighties.
"Looking good, boss," Marco calls from where he's smoothing out the last corner. "We'll be ready to stamp in about twenty."
I nod, squinting against the harsh sunlight to examine his work. Marco's been with me for three years now, and I trust his judgment, but I still check everything twice. That's how I built my reputation, being meticulous when other guys cut corners.
"Let's make sure those expansion joints are perfect," I say, kneeling down to get a closer look at the lines we scored into the wet concrete. "Mrs. Kingsley specifically requested a clean geometric pattern. You know how these lake house owners are about their aesthetics."
Marco chuckles. "Rich people and their fancy patios."
"Rich people pay our bills," I remind him, but I'm smiling too. The truth is, I don't mind catering to the wealthy homeowners who want custom concrete work. They pay well, they recommend me to their friends, and they let me flex my creative muscles beyond basic foundation pours. They also let me take care of my daughter without having to work eighty hours a week.
I stand up, wiping my hands on my jeans, leaving dusty gray handprints on the denim. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I check the time. I've got that video call with the potential client in fifteen minutes, and I still need to clean up.
"I'm going to grab a quick shower in the site trailer," I tell Marco. "Can you and Luis handle the stamping? I want the cobblestone pattern to be subtle, like we discussed."
"No problem," Marco says, already reaching for the spray bottle of release agent. "We got this."
In the trailer, I quickly rinse off the concrete dust and sweat, changing into a clean company polo shirt that I keep for client meetings. My phone buzzes again with a reminder about the call. I take a seat at the small desk in the corner, run a hand through my damp hair, and open my laptop.
The video call connects, and I'm face to face with Brian Harding, a contractor I've worked with a few times before. He's got a new client building a custom home just outside of town.
"Nolan, good to see you," Brian says, his voice tinny through my laptop speakers. "How's business?"
"Can't complain," I reply, adjusting my laptop so the sunlight isn't glaring off the screen. "We're booked solid through August, but I wanted to make time for your project. You mentioned a front porch pour?"
Brian nods, shuffling some papers off-screen. "Yeah, the homeowners are looking for something special. Let me get them on the call."
A moment later, a couple joins the video. They introduce themselves as the Walkers, first-time home builders with plenty of ideas and an obvious excitement about their project.
"We're thinking about a wraparound porch," Mrs. Walker explains, gesturing with her hands. "With some decorative elements, maybe a custom color mix?"
I listen carefully, making notes and offering suggestions. This is the part of my job I've gotten good at, translating what clients envision into something I can actually create with concrete, rebar, and the right finishing techniques.
"I can definitely work with those ideas," I tell them after they've finished describing what they want. "I'll draw up a detailed proposal and send over some photos of similar projects we've done."
By the time we end the call, the Walkers seem thrilled, and Brian gives me a thumbs up before disconnecting. I close my laptop, feeling that small surge of satisfaction that comes with landing new business.
I step back outside to check on the crew's progress with the stamping. It's looking good, the faux cobblestone texture emerging from the smooth concrete surface. They've got it under control, which means I can leave a little early today.
"I'm heading out," I tell Marco. "Text me if anything comes up, but it looks like you've got it handled."
He nods, focused on the precise movements of the stamp. "We're good here. Say hi to the little princess for me."
The mention of Ashlynn brings an immediate smile to my face. "Will do."
During the drive to the park, I try not to think about Annabelle. I really do. But somehow, between checking my rearview mirror and stopping at a red light, she's there in my mind again, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, how she bites her lower lip when she's concentrating on something Ashlynn is telling her.
That kiss two weeks ago was a mistake. But it doesn't stop me from thinking about it, and the more I think about it, the more I'm willing to change my mind about whether it's something I'd like to do again or not.
I shake my head, forcing myself back to the present as I pull into the parking lot of Riverside Park. I spot them immediately,Ashlynn's bright pink shirt is impossible to miss as she runs around the playground, with Annabelle following close behind.
Ashlynn notices my truck and comes racing toward me, her little legs pumping as fast as they can carry her. "Daddy. Daddy. You came early."
I scoop her up, lifting her high into the air and earning a delighted squeal before bringing her down for a hug. Her small arms wrap tightly around my neck, and I breathe in the scent of strawberry shampoo and playground dirt.
"I missed my girl," I tell her, setting her back down. "Thought we could play for a while before dinner."
"Belle and I are playing tag. You can play too." She tugs on my hand, already pulling me toward the playground.
And there's Annabelle, standing by the swings, looking like she belongs in a magazine rather than a public park. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She smiles when she sees me, and my stomach does that ridiculous flip thing that I thought I was too jaded to feel.
"You're early," she says as we approach. There's a hint of something in her voice. Maybe it's excitement? Nervousness? I can't quite tell.
"Job went smoothly," I reply, suddenly aware of the concrete dust still embedded under my fingernails despite the shower. Next to her pristine appearance, I feel rough around the edges.
"Swings, Daddy. Push me on the swings." Ashlynn demands, already climbing onto the nearest one.
I move behind her, giving her a gentle push to start her swinging. Annabelle takes the swing next to her, using her feet to push herself lightly back and forth.
"So, how was the client call?" she asks, looking over at me with genuine interest.
The fact that she remembers I had a call today catches me off guard. "It was good. New construction, custom front porch. The kind of project I enjoy."
She nods, her swing moving in rhythm with Ashlynn's now. "I like that you create things that last," she says thoughtfully. "Concrete is so solid, so permanent."
Permanent is everything I'd like to have with her, without the complication of Ashlynn and her being my employee.
"Higher, Daddy." Ashlynn calls, and I give her another push, careful not to send her too high.
"Not too much, princess. You know the rules."
Annabelle smiles at our interaction, and I catch her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. When she realizes I've noticed, a slight blush colors her cheeks.
"What about you?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. "How was your day with the little monster?"
"We had a fashion show," Annabelle replies, her eyes lighting up. "Ashlynn designed some very avant-garde outfits for her stuffed animals."
"I was the judge." Ashlynn announces proudly. "Mr. Bear won first place."
"That's because you're biased," Annabelle teases. "Mr. Elephant clearly had the superior ensemble."
I laugh, enjoying their banter, the easy way they've connected. The change in my daughter has been remarkable since Belle came to work for me. She's more confident, more creative, happier.
As for the change in me,well, that's more complicated.
Ashlynn grows tired of the swing and runs off to the slide, leaving Annabelle and me momentarily alone. There's a heavy silence between us, filled with all the things we're not saying.
"About the other night," I start at the same time she says, "I've been meaning to,"
We both stop, laugh awkwardly, and I gesture for her to go ahead.
Annabelle stands up from the swing, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I just wanted to say that I'm not usually so... impulsive."
I step closer to her, close enough that I can smell her perfume, something light and floral. "I'm not usually so unprofessional," I counter. "You work for me. That kiss shouldn't have happened."
Her eyes meet mine, unwavering. "But it did happen."
"It did," I agree, my voice dropping lower. "And I've thought about it every day since."
The confession hangs in the air between us. Annabelle's lips part slightly. The same way they did when I went in for that kiss. It feels like she's about to say something important, but then Ashlynn's voice cuts through the moment.
"Daddy. Belle. Watch me go down the big slide."
We both turn to watch my daughter climb the ladder to the tallest slide in the playground. Annabelle steps away from me, putting a respectable distance between us, but I can still feel the electricity crackling in that space. It's got me hard in my jeans, and I'm trying to figure out how I can slightly readjust with anyone noticing.
"We should probably talk about this," I say quietly. "When we don't have an audience."
She nods, keeping her eyes on Ashlynn. "Tonight? After she's asleep?"
The suggestion sends a jolt through me, anticipation, nervousness, desire all mixed together. "Tonight," I agree.
As we watch Ashlynn zoom down the slide, arms raised in triumph, I can't help but wonder what I'm doing. Getting involved with Ashlynn's nanny is complicated at best, potentially disastrous at worst. If things went badly, it wouldn't just affect me, it would affect my daughter.
But when Annabelle's hand brushes against mine as we both applaud Ashlynn's slide performance, and those green eyes flash up to meet mine with undisguised interest, I know I'm already past the point of sensible decisions.
Tonight, we'll talk. And maybe, just maybe, we'll figure out what exists in this space between responsibility and desire.