12. Berg
Chapter twelve
Berg
C aro is my personal lifesaver. Of course, my kids would get sick the first day I’m on project manager duty. Being able to finish my day without worrying about them? Priceless. As I approach the exit for West Isle, I really can’t recall the last time I drove straight home after work and didn’t have to go to the kids' school to get them first. The only question is, how am I going to get her to say yes to nannying for me so that every day can feel like this? So that I can have back up when things go sideways? Chris mentioned she’s headed back to school in the fall to finish her undergrad. Maybe I can convince her to work for me until then.
Whenever Caro’s phone received a text today, I tried not to look. There was one from her brother and another from her mom. Just basic messages between family. But another text came through, and it was a name I didn’t recognize. It’s long, and drawn out, and full of x’s and o’s. The name at the top read Emilio. I’m pulling into the driveway when he messages again. I bite my lip, trying to ignore it, but I’m curious. If Caro isn’t single, well, that makes it easier for me to fight the attraction I feel for her. I lose my brief battle with curiosity.
Emilio: Please, Carolina. Take my calls. I have a plan to get your money back. Emilio x
I scowl at the screen for several seconds, re-reading it. Get her money back? What the hell does he have to do with her finances? In the span of a few short sentences, I’ve already decided I don’t like the guy. Maybe I can find a way to ask her about it later.
When I walk through the front door and drop my keys on the cluttered front hall table, the house is silent. Too silent. I toe out of my work boots and strain my ears for the sound of a television. Maybe they’re hanging out in Caro’s place. My foot is barely across the threshold into my bedroom when I freeze. There’s three heads arranged in my bed, two tiny ones and a larger curly blonde one centred between them. I spot our thermometer on my bedside table alongside crumpled up tissues and empty mugs. Gratitude surges through me that she not only picked them up, but took amazing care of them, too. And, shit, I like the way she looks with her curls splayed across my pillow. Her jaw is relaxed, lips slightly parted, blankets drawn right up below her chin. I track the line of her arm, noticing the bandage I placed on her palm last night, and smile when I see it cupping the back of Lou’s little head. All three of them are breathing loudly, mouths open like they can’t breathe through their noses. Caro’s face stretches into a grimace before relaxing again. Is she sick too?
Quietly, I pad across the carpet to my closet, snagging some clean clothes before shutting my ensuite bathroom door behind me. Making quick work of getting clean, I’m done and dressed in only a few minutes. I should probably wake Nat and Lou up if I want them to go to bed in a few hours and actually sleep.
“Psst, girls.”
Caro’s eyes pop open immediately, settling on me as she sucks in a breath.
“Oh my god, I fell asleep,” she whispers, voice hoarse.
I nod, resisting the urge to stroke the hair off her forehead.
“I told you. I’m the worst babysitter ever.”
I chuckle. “Nah, they aren’t babies. You did great.”
Caro turns her head one way, then the other, and groans. Her eyes look glassy, her cheeks rosier than normal.
“They are freaking cute.”
“Thanks. I made them myself.”
My eyes flit naturally to a photo on my dresser of Trudy holding Natalie on her hip, belly heavy with Louisa.
“Well, with their Mom.”
Caro nods carefully, maybe waiting for me to elaborate.
I give into the urge to touch her, laying my palm on her forehead. She’s burning hot.
“You’re sick.”
Sick, a bruised shoulder, and a cut on her hand. This woman .
“Nah,” she replies, but her voice sounds far away.
“You should have told me you were sick.”
“I was in denial. It got worse as the day went on. I think I’m stuck in here, though.”
I smile as I think about how many times I’ve been in her position. Nap-trapped. Caro slips her arm out from behind Lou’s head and wiggles herself to sitting, neither girl stirring at all. My eyeline falls straight to her shirt, which I recognize immediately. She’s filling it out a lot different than I do. Carolina clears her throat and my cheeks burn as I’m caught checking her out.
“You’re wearing my shirt.”
“There was a tea spill. Is that okay?”
“It’s only a shirt.” I shrug.
But my brain is already remembering what her creamy, bare breasts looked like in her place last night, and knowing all of that is pressed up against my clothing makes me turn away to hide my arousal.
“Here’s your phone,” I say, when I’ve composed myself.
I want to bring up that text I saw, but it’s not the right time. She isn’t feeling well. And what if she thinks I was purposely snooping? It wasn’t my intention.
“Thanks. Yours is charging,” she tips her head to my end table. “I’m gonna head out.”
Caro wobbles, steadying herself by grabbing onto my headboard.
“Nope. Absolutely not,” I say, striding over to take her elbow .
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You have a fever, you’re dizzy, and you spent the day taking care of my sick children. Now let me take care of you.”
Her eyes soften.
“And who takes care of you when you’re sick? Hmm?”
I mull that over for a moment while I watch my sleeping kids, their bellies rising and falling beneath the duvet. That answer is simple. Nobody.
“I’m sort of used to powering through on my own, you know?”
There’s an expression that crosses her face that makes me think she does know what that’s like.
“Stay for supper?”
She yawns, stretching her arms up in a way that makes me imagine grabbing the hem of that t-shirt and slipping it right over her head. Or brushing that hair off her fevered forehead and finding out how she takes her tea.
“There better be soup.”
“You think this is my first rodeo with sick kids? I picked up chicken noodle. C’mon,” I tell her, leading her out of my bedroom and shutting the door softly behind us.
***
The girls wake up mere minutes after we leave the room, so by the time they pad into the kitchen looking for Caro, the soup is bubbling in a saucepan on the stove. Now Carolina is sitting at my kitchen table in my damn t-shirt, slurping the last of her broth from the bowl. She’s book ended by each of my daughters who are fishing the noodles out of the soup, ignoring anything that remotely resembles a vegetable.
“Daddy, we forgot to do our highs and lows.”
“So we did,” I say, smiling.
Caro wipes the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “What’s high and lows?”
“It’s something our mom used to do,” Natalie says.
I watch Caro rest her cheek in her palm. “That sounds really special.” She catches me watching her. “Should I go?” She mouths.
I frown, shaking my head. That’s the last thing I want.
“You start then, Natalie,” I tell her.
“My low is feeling so sick.” She gives a pathetic little cough into her elbow. “But my high was getting to watch a movie in your bed.”
I nod, pointing a finger at Lou next. Louisa’s chair has migrated so close to Carolina’s throughout the meal that she’s practically in her lap.
“My low was having to miss gym class this afternoon at school. And my high was that Caro picked us up.”
“Can we watch tv?” Natalie asks, even though she’s barely finished half her bowl.
I shake my head. “Not until Caro has a turn. ”
Her blue eyes widen as she sits up straight. “Oh, that’s a family thing. I couldn–”
I click my tongue in disapproval. “Nope. Sorry. It’s your turn!”
Natalie nods in agreement. “Caro’s turn!”
“Alright,” she laughs, adjusting the clasp of the fine gold chain around her throat. “Let me think.”
She takes a moment, but eventually she smiles. “Okay, I’ve got it. My low was ending up being sick today.”
“That’s the same as mine!” Natalie exclaims.
I press my finger to my lips.
“And my high was getting to spend the afternoon with you two. Thank you for helping me feel better,” she says, reaching around each girl’s shoulders for a one-armed hug.
“Okay, now you can go watch a show. Bowls by the sink, please.”
When they’ve left the room and I can hear the sounds of cartoons from the television, I draw a deep breath.
“Well? What do you think?”
“It’s a really sweet tradition. Thanks for including me,” she says.
“You’re welcome. But I wasn’t asking about that.”
“Oh. I think it’s unfair to ply someone with so much yummy soup and kindness and then ask them to care for your cute kids right after.”
I laugh, then lean back in my chair, arms resting behind my head. Caro follows my movement and her cheeks go pink .
She’ll not only be taking on those hours of care, but also be driving back and forth. I know the girls would love it. And even though I shouldn’t have seen her texts, I know she’s having some money problems, so I know Caro would be better off for it. And as for me? This is going to make my days so much smoother.
“You do remember that I don’t have any experience with this, right? Like, I babysat, but I don’t know anything about early childhood education or whatever.”
I find it hilarious that every time she tries to talk herself out of this she only succeeds at making herself sound even better for the job.
“I don’t want some sort of child expert. I want someone who can be kind to my kids and who knows their way around a thermometer if needs be. Today has obviously proven both of those things to be true. Besides, it would only be short term.”
“It would?” She tips her head like she’s confused. “Why?”
“You have classes starting in September. Right?”
“Yeah! Yup. That’s sneaking up on me.”
“That’s why you moved back, right?”
“Of course.”
A frown creases her forehead, but I don’t prod her. She isn’t feeling well and I need her to say yes.
The words I know I need to say are on the tip of my tongue, but damn, they’re sticky. It’s time to spit it out.
“Caro?”
“Mm hmm?”
“I need help. ”
Breath whooshes out of me the moment the words leave my lips. I know I’m carrying a lot of small weights around with me every day. Work, kids, bills, health, home. But by asking for help, it feels like I set one of them down, at least for a moment. She chews her lip, perusing the growing pile of artwork the girls are always bringing home from school. When Caro looks up at me and nods her head, I rap my knuckles on the table. This is fucking perfect.
“The girls are going to lose it.”
“Yes, well, I might too,” she teases.
“Perfect. They can drive us crazy together.”