Chapter Five
Fletcher
Jennifer kissed me. The nanny slipped her tongue between my lips and kissed me.
She seemed horrified by what she'd done, though she paid no attention to my growing erection.
The last thing I want is to become a stereotype of a single father who shags the nanny.
What would the children think? What would my parents think?
Or my in-laws? My stomach twists as I realize this could turn into a complete disaster.
"Jennifer," I begin, then stop. I have no bloody idea what to say.
She backs away, her eyes wide, and bites down on her bottom lip. "I'm so sorry, Fletcher. That was completely out of line. I have no idea what came over me."
As I shove a hand through my hair, I struggle to process what just happened. "It was...unexpected, for sure."
"I understand if you want to rescind the job offer."
Something about her embarrassment makes me feel protective. It's been ages since I've felt that way toward a woman who wasn't a friend or relative. "No, the job offer stands. We're both adults. We can acknowledge this was a singular moment of madness and move past it."
Jennifer blows out a breath, her shoulders flagging. "Thank you, Fletcher. I swear that won't happen again."
I struggle to ignore the way my pulse is still hammering. "No worries. Moving past it seems like the most prudent option."
But as I watch her smoothing down her skirt and straightening her shoulders, I realize that moving past it might not be as easy as it sounds.
The taste of her lips lingers on mine, and I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't been quite so shocked.
If I'd kissed her back instead of standing there like a bloody statue.
Christ, man. Get it together.
"Should we head to the backyard?" I suggest, needing distance from this small, intimate space. "Let me show you the aboveground pool and the treehouse, then we can go over the children's routines."
"That all sounds perfect." Jennifer's voice is steadier now, more professional. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that I find oddly endearing. "Let's go."
I lead the way through the kitchen and out the back door. The yard is larger than it appears from the window, with a lawn that isn't enormous but is well kept and vegetable garden that's been overtaken by weeds. I point toward the covered pool.
"We usually open it in May," I explain, grateful for the neutral topic. "The kids practically live in it during summer holidays."
"But it's June, and you haven't removed the pool cover yet."
"Ah, yes." I grimace. "My job at the hotel has taken up a large part of my summer so far. One disaster after another. That's part of why I need a nanny."
"I'd be happy to get the pool set up for you." Jennifer smiles politely, keeping a professional distance between us now. "Do the children all know how to swim?"
"Joshua and Charlotte are strong swimmers. Amelia thinks she's part mermaid. Henry's still working on his swimming lessons. He can manage a doggy paddle across the shallow end. Joshua swims well and loves to belly flop into the pool strictly to make the girls shriek."
"Sounds like a happy, loving family."
"Yes, we are that."
I watch her surveying the yard, noting that she spots the basketball hoop with its frayed net, the swing set that needs new chains, the sandbox that's become a toilet for our neighbor's cat than a play area.
I haven't had time to deal with those issues.
While most nannies see only maintenance problems, Jennifer clearly notes the possibilities.
"There's a treehouse," I point toward the ancient oak at the back of the property. "Joshua built it last summer with minimal adult supervision. It's structurally questionable but somehow still standing. I ordered the children to stay away from it until I can fix the problems."
Jennifer shades her eyes with her hand, squinting up at the wooden platform wedged between thick branches. "Looks like it has character."
"That's one word for it. The fire department had to retrieve Charlotte from it twice last year. She kept climbing up but forgetting she's afraid of heights."
"Classic eleven-year-old logic."
I study her profile as she examines the yard. The afternoon light catches the highlights in her hair auburn, and I notice that she unconsciously toys with her earring when she's concentrating. Professional distance, I remind myself. We've already crossed one forbidden line today.
"The children's schedules are fairly straightforward," I explain, pulling my phone out of my pocket. But I realize I'm not actually looking at my phone. I'm staring at Jennifer's lips again, remembering how soft they felt against mine for that brief, electric moment.
Focus, you bloody moron.
My trousers have grown tighter, though fortunately, not enough that she might have noticed.
I clear my throat and focus on the screen.
"Joshua has football practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Charlotte has soccer practice on Wednesdays.
Amelia refuses to commit to any activities because she's convinced they'll interfere with her 'transformation schedule,' whatever that means. "
Jennifer pulls out her own notebook again and begins scribbling. I notice her hand trembles slightly as she writes. At least I'm not the only one still rattled by what happened earlier.
"And Henry?" she asks.
"He has swimming lessons on Saturdays, though he spends most of the time trying to dupe his instructor into believing his sister Amelia is actually a mermaid who lives in the pool.
" I scroll through my calendar, focusing on the task at hand instead of the lingering sensation of Jennifer's lips against mine.
"Henry also has a standing playdate with the neighbor's son on Saturday afternoons.
They build elaborate LEGO structures and make up ridiculous stories about them. "
Jennifer grins. "That sounds adorable."
Then her attention returns to her notepad, and her pen moves quickly across the page. She's all business now, as if the kiss never happened. I should be relieved.
I'm not.
Jennifer puts away her pen and notepad. "I think I've got everything I need for now. The rest I can find out on my own when the kids get home."
"I need to make an appearance at work. I should probably check in, make sure everything's running smoothly." I clear my throat, trying to sound like a responsible adult instead of a man who just kissed his new employee. "Will you be all right here on your own for a few hours?"
"Of course." She adjusts her purse strap, looking every inch the competent nanny.
"I'd like to get settled in my room, maybe familiarize myself with the house layout before the children arrive.
But I won't peek into their rooms. Kids need their privacy, especially with a stranger joining the family. "
I nod and move toward the front door, though part of me wants to stay right here with Jennifer. To see how she'll react to Joshua's collection of dismantled electronics in the hallway closet. Or Charlotte's "Twelve Rules of Living with brothers" that she taped to her bedroom door.
"The spare key is under the ceramic frog by the front steps," I tell Jennifer. "I know it's not the most secure hiding spot, but with four children constantly losing their keys..."
"Don't worry about it. I understand completely."
I check my watch. "I really must head to the hotel. I've been away longer than planned."
"Go, go," Jennifer says, making a shooing motion with her hands. "I've got this. You'll be back before the children come home. I'm looking forward to finally meeting them."
With the front door halfway open, I turn my head to glance at Jennifer. "If the little monsters should arrive early for some reason..."
"Relax, Fletcher. I promise not to let the kids bamboozle me with tall tales about family life in the Murgatroyd clan."
"I'm impressed that you've already mastered our family's odd surname."
Jennifer's smile is warm enough to melt butter. "Well, I wouldn't want to say it wrong when I meet the children."
I linger at the door, reluctant to leave despite knowing I should. The hotel will be in chaos without me. My assistant manager, Debbie, is capable but easily flustered when the owner's wife, Iris Wheeler, makes her surprise inspections.
"One more thing," I say, my hand still on the doorknob.
"The children don't know about their mother.
I mean, they know she left and that she's in Australia with her Aussie yoga instructor boyfriend.
But they don't know about Claudia's postpartum depression that lasted long after she gave birth to Henry.
I think that's why she left her children behind, though that's no excuse. "
"I understand. That's not my story to tell."
"Thank you."
With that, I finally force myself to walk out the door. The sun blinds me as I walk to my car, and I catch myself glancing back at the house. Through the kitchen window, I can see Jennifer moving about, already making herself at home.
The drive to The Millbrook Grand takes twelve minutes, but my mind isn't on traffic or the quarterly reports waiting on my desk.
I keep replaying that kiss. The way Jennifer rose onto her tiptoes, the soft pressure of her lips, how she tasted faintly of mint and something else I can't identify. Something sweet and inviting.
I shake my head, determined to keep my eyes on the road.
Thinking that way will inevitably lead to disaster.
I've hired Jennifer to care for my children, not to complicate my already chaotic life with romantic entanglements.
But bloody hell, when was the last time a woman kissed me?
Really kissed me, not just a polite peck on the cheek from one of the school mums at a parent-teacher meeting.
My phone buzzes as I pull into the hotel car parking lot. It's a text from Debbie: Mrs. Hartwell is here asking about the wedding preparations for next weekend. She's in your office.
I growl under my breath. Iris Wheeler is known for her ability to find fault with everything from the thread count in the linens to the angle of the flower arrangements. Her husband, Clarence, is much more reasonable.
I count to ten and then march inside.
The Millbrook Grand isn't actually grand by London standards.
But for a small American town, it's quite respectable.
Victorian architecture with modern amenities, the kind of place that hosts wedding receptions and corporate retreats.
I've been managing it for five years now, ever since Claudia and I moved here for what she called "a simpler life. "
Ironic, considering she buggered off to Australia for an even simpler life with a man who can bend his leg behind his head.
I shove those thoughts aside and get to work.