Nora
“I’m making a birthday cake for Bandit,” Charlotte announced proudly as she pressed her tiny thumb into a lump of pink playdough. “He’s turning four.”
It was just after ten in the morning, and we were tucked into a cozy corner of Theo’s kitchen at the kitchen table. Bandit, the stuffed raccoon, was seated upright in the chair beside Charlotte.
“Four?” I lifted my brows. “That’s a very special age.”
“Uh huh.” Charlotte nodded solemnly, then slid the cake into the tiny plastic oven that was next to her. “We’re both going to be four on our birthdays.”
“You’re going to be four, too?” I gasped softly. “That’s so big. Is your birthday soon?”
“Not for forever.” Her shoulders dipped for half a heartbeat. But then she brightened again, eyes sparkling. “But Daddy said I can have a princess party like Aspen if I want!”
“Well, that sounds very fun,” I said, smiling. “You’d make the perfect princess. You already made a beautiful Jasmine on Saturday.”
Charlotte glowed at the compliment, her curls bouncing as she happily punched a new lump of playdough into submission.
I was attempting a playdough rose—one that currently resembled a distressed donut—when a sharp knock rattled the front door.
I froze mid-roll, glancing toward the hallway.
Who knocked this early? If it was a delivery, they’d just leave it, right?
But apparently, Charlotte didn’t avoid unexpected knocks on the door like I did because as soon as she heard it, she squealed and yelled, “Someone’s here!” before sliding off her chair and bolting toward the front door.
“Wait—hang on, sweetheart.” I stood and brushed playdough from my fingers before chasing after her.
By the time I reached the entryway, she was already on her tiptoes, working the deadbolt like a tiny escape artist.
And with skills like that, I instantly understood why her dad had installed the child-safety cover on the handle. Because this curious little girl would probably open the door for anyone.
“Let me get that,” I said, stepping beside her.
When I opened the door, a middle-aged woman stood on the porch, brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, both arms full of grocery bags.
“Oh—hi,” I said, blinking in surprise. Theo hadn’t said anything about having groceries delivered today. “Thank you.”
But when I reached to take the bags, the woman hesitated, her brow creasing like she wasn’t sure she should be handing them to me. Then, seeming to think again, she offered the reusable grocery bags to me and said, “I’ll just grab the rest.”
“Perfect, thank you,” I said.
But before I could take the groceries into the kitchen to put away, Charlotte darted out the door after the grocery-delivery lady.
“Charlotte!” I half-laughed, half-yelped as I chased after her, grocery bags in tow. “Hey—no, sweetheart. It’s not safe to run outside with strangers, remember?”
Okay, yes—this woman looked perfectly normal, but I was pretty sure Theo wouldn’t appreciate me letting his three-year-old sprint off with a random delivery driver.
But Charlotte didn’t slow down. She spun back toward me and shouted, “But that’s Jessie! She brings me snacks!”
Great. The classic lure: snacks. That was a familiar story in every cautionary tale ever.
And the woman even had a white minivan. Seriously? Could this situation look more textbook?
I hurried after them toward the van, groceries still cutting into my fingers, when something caught my eye—sitting beside the open trunk was a cleaning caddy.
Not something I usually saw with grocery deliveries.
And Charlotte was happily rifling through bags like this was a routine part of her Monday morning.
A new thought nudged in.
Is it possible this woman actually knows them?
Maybe Theo had a housekeeper he forgot to mention. Honestly, it would explain why his place had been so impossibly clean for a single dad with a demanding job and a three-year-old tornado.
“Do you, um… do more than deliver groceries?” I ventured a guess. “Charlotte seems pretty comfortable with you.”
The woman laughed. “I clean the house and prep meals every Monday and Thursday to help Mr. Archibald out.”
“Oh okay, that makes much more sense.” Relief washed over me. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m just watching Charlotte this week since the nanny quit, and Theo didn’t mention a housekeeper coming.”
“No problem at all,” she said.
We carried the bags inside, setting everything on the massive kitchen island. She held out her hand. “I’m Jessie.”
“Nora,” I said, shaking her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you. And I’m glad Charlotte doesn’t run outside with just anyone.”
“No,” Jessie said with an amused shake of her head. “Charlotte and I are good friends.” She glanced toward the table where Charlotte had already climbed back into her booster seat to continue with her playdough creations. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Nora.”
Jessie began putting the groceries away with practiced familiarity, moving around the kitchen like she knew every drawer by heart. I hesitated, unsure if I should offer to help, but this was clearly part of her job.
“I guess I’ll let you get to your work,” I said. “And I’ll get back to mine.”
“Perfect,” Jessie replied with a quick smile.
But when I sat back down at the table, I pulled out my phone to text Theo.
Me: Hey, do you have a housekeeper you forgot to mention?
Me: Just making sure I didn’t let a friendly serial killer into your house.
He must have caught a slow moment in court because he replied almost immediately.
Theo: I do. Sorry for not giving you a heads up. But if she’s in her thirties with dark brown hair and calls herself Jessie, then you’re safe.
I exhaled, relieved.
Me: Okay, good. Also, do I need to stay home while she’s working, or is it fine if I take Charlotte out? I noticed the library has story time this morning and thought she might like it.
Another quick reply.
Theo: You’re fine to leave. Jessie should be there most of the day and has a key to get in and out if needed.
Me: Perfect. Thanks. And good luck in court.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and looked over to see Charlotte carefully pulling her playdough cake out of the plastic oven, her face lit with excitement.
“How did Bandit’s cake turn out?” I asked, leaning closer to admire the blue and green masterpiece she set proudly on the table.
“It’s perfect,” she said, her eyes smiling.
“You did a really good job,” I told her. “I think he’s going to love it.”
She nodded, solemn and satisfied.
“Should we make him something else?” I asked. “I was thinking of making a rainbow cookie. What do you think?”
“I love rainbows!” she said, already reaching for a lump of yellow dough. “I can help!”
“Awesome. And then once that’s done and we’ve cleaned up, we can go to story time at the library.”
“Otay.”