13. Carolina
Chapter thirteen
Carolina
T he next day, the kids and I are still sick, and I’m happy to convalesce with them so Berg can work. In the morning I call Marv, who accepts my resignation, and the girls and I spend the rest of the day drinking tea and watching cartoons. Despite Natalie’s staunch opinions about napping, we all fall asleep again that afternoon. By Wednesday, we’re on the mend, and today will be my first official day as Natalie and Louisa’s nanny. I woke up early, excited and nervous about taking this on, and now I’m biding my time until I need to head upstairs. My fingers hover over my phone screen as I scowl at the messages Emilio sent through on Monday. Every couple of months, he sends through another fresh batch of bullshit. I should delete them. I massage my temples, trying not to sink into the memories from last year. Of obsessively checking my bank account to see if he’d transferred the money back. Of finally having to call my brother and making up some bullshit story about “overspending” so he’d lend me the money for a plane ticket out of Spain. Leaving the country behind felt like a nail in the coffin. It was an acceptance that the money was gone. The temptation to reply is so strong. But what would I write that hasn’t already been said? No. Today I start something new, and that’s as good a day as any to move on from this, too. I delete the message and block his number, pressing my palm over my pounding heart until it slows.
“That was the right decision,” I tell myself.
It’s time to move forward.
At eight o’clock, I peek my head through Berg’s front door, a comforting coffee and toast scent floating through the air.
“Morning!” I call.
Nobody answered when I knocked, and it feels super weird to let myself in.
I slip off my shoes and head toward the kitchen and am nearly bowled over as the girls slide by me in their socks and pyjamas on the way to their bedroom.
“Good morning, girls.”
“Hi, Caro!” they shout before the door slams.
“It’s going to rain! No dresses! Caro? Tell them no dresses.”
I press my mouth closer to their bedroom door. “No dresses.” I pause. “Or else,” I growl, and the only response I get is a burst of giggles .
I find Berg standing with his broad back to me, ingredients scattered across the counter. He’s wearing those work pants with more pockets than seems necessary and the reinforced padding on the knees. He’s filling them out real nice. There’s no way about it. They immediately make me imagine Berg hard at work, kneeling with a sheen of sweat across his brow. I twist my hair into a clip and shake my head. Do not be the nanny that crushes on the dad.
“What are we making?” I ask, a little too brightly, as I join him at the counter.
He glances down at me. Another reminder of how tall he is.
“Lunches. You don’t need to knock, by the way. I gave you the code.”
“Yeah,” I say, examining the label on a box of crackers. “But this is still your home.”
“And I’m expecting you in it. You come on in, okay?”
“Even when you’re showering?” I joke.
The butter knife in his hand clanks against the counter as it falls from his hand.
He clears his throat. “You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Not for a long time, no.”
“Fair enough.”
I clap my hands together once. “Okay, put me to work.”
“I’m making their lunches. I’ve got it.”
He opens a frozen loaf of whole wheat bread and pulls out four slices .
“Let me do it. You should sit down and eat your breakfast.” I gesture at the full coffee pot and the cooling toast.
“I usually have it on the go. You want coffee?”
I laugh, because Berg might have asked me for help the other day, but he sure doesn’t seem ready to actually receive it.
I bump his thigh with my hip. “Shove over.”
Berg is so solid that I might as well have hip checked a small tree, because he doesn’t move, laying the bread out neatly on the cutting board. A smile tugs the corner of his lips, clearly amused at my weak attempt to nudge him out of the way.
“Coffee mugs are above the pot. Why don’t you have a cup and watch how the morning usually goes.”
Stubborn man. Unluckily for him, I’m stubborn too.
“I’m more of a trial by fire kind of girl. I’ve already done the snotty nose thing, so I’m more than ready for a promotion to sandwiches.”
I move to snag the butter knife, but he’s quick, and he holds the damn thing out of my reach, eyes playful.
“Natalie won’t eat crusts, never has, never will. Both girls usually like carrot sticks, but Lou has a wiggly tooth, so that’s a no go right now. Natalie can’t have nuts in her lunch because there’s a classroom allergy.”
I wait, seeing if he’s going to continue.
“Is that all?”
He shakes his head but lowers his arm and places the butter knife in my palm. “Not, really. No.”
“I’ll figure it out. This was your idea. Remember? ”
He frowns, exaggerating the lines between his brows.
“I know. I’ve been doing this for so long, though. It’s routine.”
It was hard for him to ask me to do this. I was so worried he only offered me this job out of pity or as a favour to my brother, but Berg actually needs some help. He’s an exceptional dad, that’s clear to see, but something has to give. Passing off morning sandwich duty seems worth it, so he can sit down and have a hot meal before working all day. Moving around him, I open the cupboard he said the mugs are in and pull one out.
“Well, today will be day one of a new routine. For all of us,” I add.
The coffee smells strong as I pour it, and then I turn and press the warm mug into his hands.
“Now get out of my way.”
He grumbles, but accepts the coffee and takes his toast and eggs to the table. I feel his eyes on my back as I lay the slices out on a wooden cutting board. The only sounds in the kitchen are the hum of the dishwasher and the occasional clink of his fork on his breakfast plate. As soon as I squirt a dollop of mayo on a slice of bread I hear the sharp click of his tongue in the universal sound of disapproval. I roll my eyes to the pot lights dotting the ceiling, but don’t turn around.
“Yes?” I ask, smoothing out the mayonnaise.
“Usually I put some butter down first. So the bread doesn’t get soggy by lunchtime,” he says, matter of factly.
“I’ll keep that in mind for tomorrow. ”
It’s not a bad suggestion, really. But who likes being told how to make a sandwich?
I lay the turkey meat out and after adding thin pieces of cheddar, I close it up and cut it down the centre with a serrated knife.
A tsk from behind me cuts through the silent kitchen as easily as my knife sliced through the bread. Setting the knife down, I rest my palms on the counter, let my head fall forward, and suck in a deep breath.
“Dare I ask what sandwich-related grievance I have committed?”
“Everyone likes diagonal cuts, Caro. Everyone.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” I lift the sandwiches into the colourful divided containers Berg already laid out.
Returning from their room (not in dresses), the girls seem fully excited about the fact that their dad can sit down and eat with them this morning. I smile, despite my annoyance with Berg, as I poke around the pantry and fill the rest of the empty spaces in their lunches.
“Don’t forget the–”
I whirl around before he can finish. “Ice packs? Is that what you were going to say?”
The man has the sense to simply nod before becoming very interested in a snap on his pants.
“I swear on every pocket on those freaking pants, that if you have one more suggestion for me regarding sandwich assembly, I’ll walk right out that door. So either enjoy that hot coffee and shush, or put it in a to-go mug and be on your way."
Natalie and Louisa’s eyes are the size of the oreos I just popped in their lunches.
“What’s wrong with having so many pants pockets?” he asks.
I ignore him.
“Us girls have this handled, right?”
They nod in solidarity.
“Excellent!” I smile, shooting Berg one more ‘I mean business’ look for good measure before zipping the lunch kits.
“Do you know how to do braids, Caro?” Natalie asks, mouth full of toast.
“I do.”
She’s got a ponytail in, but it’s more than a little lopsided.
“Do you want me to do your hair?” I offer.
I don’t want her to think that there’s anything wrong with the style she did herself.
Natalie nudges her sister, who is colouring in a picture of a cat. “Lou. Caro can do braids.”
Louisa drops her orange crayon onto the table. “Really?”
I laugh at the level of excitement over something so small, but then it hits me. Except for the very early years of Natalie’s life, these girls have never lived with a woman. Of course, braids and makeup and that sort of thing are out of Berg’s realm of expertise. Suddenly, I’m looking at the first night we met through a different lens. Imagining what it must be like to be a dad who has to fill all the parenting roles in his home. It’s clear that he has no qualms over his daughters practising their hair styling skills on him.
“Of course I can. C’mon, finish up your meal and then I’ll meet you in the bathroom.”
Berg’s chair scrapes across the floor as he stands and slips his plate into the sink before pouring the rest of his coffee into a beat travel mug. He gathers his belongings, and for some reason I follow him to the front door.
“Before I forget, I want to give you this.”
Berg is holding a card out to me, and it takes me second to figure out what he’s offering.
“Your credit card?”
My heart rate picks up. I don’t want that. Not even one bit. Me and money? Not the greatest relationship.
“If you’re going to be driving my kids around, I want you to use my card for gas, grabbing something for them when you’re out, you know?”
I stare at the silver piece of plastic. I’ve kept to a strict cash budget for months now. Seeing how much money I have, knowing where it is, those things make me feel secure in my spending.
“And, I don’t want to pile too much on, but the girls need some spring clothes that I haven’t had time to get them because…”
“Because?”
He shrugs. “I was going to make an excuse about being busy, but I've actually been putting that one off because I don’t want to do it. This might shock you, Caro.” Berg glances around the foyer as though he’s looking for anyone who may overhear. “But I’m not really a fashion guy. They’re getting older and always complain about what I pick.”
I gasp, covering my chest with a splayed hand. “I’d never have guessed.”
Berg doesn’t need fashion. Even in any old pair of jeans and a t-shirt he pulls off a rugged, casual vibe. It’s really unfair for a man to have all that going on in the back of his jeans. Tentatively, I accept the card like it’s a piece of irreplaceable fine china.
“Hilarious.” He pulls open the front door.
“We’ll start with party dresses, then shoes. Can’t have too many of those.”
He scowls in that amused way that I’m beginning to love. Like.
“Regular clothes, Caro. Play clothes.”
I tap the credit card against his shoulder. “Only teasing.”
“Have a good day. Thanks, again.”
We’re standing on the threshold when Berg leans in closer and extends an arm. I mirror his movement, surprised by this sudden show of affection. Maybe Berg is a hugger and I’m only finding out now. There’s a spot of shaving cream on his throat and I can smell the minty, rich scent of it clinging to his skin. My chest grazes his middle before I briefly touch my cheek to his pec and give him what I hope is a friendly embrace, patting his back.
“You have a good day, too,” I reply .
There aren’t any rules against smelling people you’re hugging, so I inhale a bit more of Berg.
But then, everything goes wrong. Or right, the jury is still out. I raise my chin and hand simultaneously, figuring I shouldn’t let him walk out the door with a blob of shaving cream on his neck. But our signals cross, get a little jumbled. The next thing I know, his beard is rasping against my cheek and I’m not doing a damn thing to stop it. His lips touch mine, my brain has ceased to function, and I’m rising onto my tips toes and kissing him right back. One of those hot, capable hands splays itself across my shoulder blades and pulls me close enough that my breasts are no longer grazing. They’re mushing right up against all that male.
I sigh.
He groans.
And two little girls gasp.
Then we rebound like coiled springs.
My hand flies to my mouth and I catch a hint of a garbled goodbye before the door swings shut.
Holy shit. I kissed my boss. Or he kissed me. What the hell just happened?
Both girls stand there staring at me with loose jaws, like maybe I’ll explain what the hell just happened. Sorry kids, can’t tell you because I don’t quite know myself.
If they ask about it, I’ll come up with something. But for now deflection is the name of the game.
“Should we get some braids going? ”
That does the trick, and they race off to the bathroom, leaving me to collect myself. My heart is thudding against my ribs, a whole other pulse thrumming between my thighs. That may have been sort of awkward, but there was a moment where that felt perfect. The solid oak door behind my back does little to ground me, though, and I think it’s going to take me a while to get my feet, and my heart, back on earth.