Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
HAYDEN
Water sloshes over the side of the tub as Jemmy sinks another ship with his toy dinosaur, but I barely notice it. Instead, my thoughts seem focused on one thing and one thing only.
Rowan.
Can I hire her as my kids’ nanny? She’s so different from the last few nannies they’ve had. Maybe that’s a good thing.
She’s the first person who didn’t look at Presley with sympathy or pity after learning she doesn’t talk. Maybe it’s because everyone else I’ve hired already knew our tragic story. Knew about our loss.
But Rowan just rolled with Presley not talking like I told her she prefers grape juice over apple. No gasp. No sorrowful eyes. No whispered poor baby energy.
Just acceptance. Casual. Uncomplicated.
Maybe that’s what she needs.
What we all need.
“Easy, buddy,” I say, attempting to get a firm grip on Jemmy’s head so I can wash the ketchup out of his hair. “This is a bath. Not a water park.”
He picks up his toy dinosaur and roars.
“Point taken.”
He returns his attention to the tub filled with toys, and I take advantage of his momentary distraction and lather shampoo into his hair.
“What do you think of Rowan?” I ask as I rinse the suds away. “Would you want her to play with you during the day?”
He looks at me. “Dino?”
I laugh. “Yeah, bud. I’m pretty sure she’d have no problem playing dinosaur with you. Or building racetracks. Or playing giant in the forest.”
His eyes brighten, as if I just promised him a pet T-Rex.
“Does that mean you think I should hire her?”
“Yes,” he declares.
Then he picks up his dinosaur and dive-bombs it into the tub, another tsunami of water splashing over the ledge.
By the time I carry a now-dry version of Jemmy downstairs, the house feels different. Cleaner. Brighter. Like someone turned the contrast up.
The smell of burnt cheese and bread that had permeated the kitchen twenty minutes ago is gone.
In its place is something clean and lemony.
The clutter that once covered every surface has vanished.
And there’s music playing in the background.
For a second, I feel like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and am in a different world.
Until my eyes land on the kitchen table. Rowan sits beside Presley, both of them taking turns making doodles and sketches in Presley’s pad. Even better, Presley’s plate has essentially been wiped clean, only a few crumbs remaining.
But that’s not what stops me in my tracks.
It’s Presley’s smile.
I don’t think she ever smiled around the other nannies.
Hell, I don’t think she’s smiled much this past year. She hasn’t had much to smile about.
But it warms my heart to see it again.
Jeremiah wiggles, his tiny arms extended toward Rowan. “Play dino.”
Rowan snaps her head up, her eyes locking with mine.
And for the first time, I really look at her.
Her dark hair falls in soft waves to her mid-back.
She wears a pair of light jeans and her socks have tacos all over them.
She’s wearing a t-shirt that says “it’s a good day to read a book.
” I squint slightly, noticing what looks like part of a tattoo snaking along her collarbone.
It makes me wonder what the rest of her tattoo looks like… And where it goes.
Which is the last thing I should be thinking about, considering I may very well hire her as my kids’ nanny. But there’s no denying it.
Rowan is beautiful.
And probably more than ten years younger than me.
“Are you ready for your grilled cheese, Jemmy?” She scoots back from her chair and heads toward the stove, as if she’s lived here for months.
“I can do it.”
She gives me a pointed stare. “The evidence suggests otherwise.” She puts a small pat of butter on the pan. “Apparently, culinary skills don’t run in the family.”
I put Jemmy back in his high-chair, along with some crayons and his coloring book, then head toward the stove.
“I’m normally not this bad,” I say, leaning against the counter. “While Dylan is definitely the chef in the family, our mom taught all of us how to cook. It’s just…” I blow out a long breath. “It’s been a day. Hell. A year.”
Why am I telling her this?
I never share this kind of thing with anyone, my family included. But there’s something about her that makes the truth slip out easier than intended. Like she gets it. Like she won’t make it weird.
I felt that way around Cora, too.
We’d grown close when I took my father to his doctor appointments after he’d been diagnosed with ALS.
Cora worked at the sandwich shop next to my father’s neurologist’s office where I’d often wait.
She always kept me company between customers.
She didn’t ask how I was coping with my father essentially receiving a death sentence.
Instead, she spoke to me without that look of pity I got from everyone else in town.
Just like Rowan.
“Would you like a sandwich, too?” she asks, cutting through my thoughts. “Or something else? I may not be as good as your sister, but I quite enjoy cooking.”
“You don’t have to. Dylan dropped off some lasagna for me this morning. I’ll reheat it once I get these two to bed.”
“Okay.” She shifts her attention back to the pan, lifting the sandwich to check the color, a silence falling between us.
Despite Jemmy’s incessant babbling and singing as he colors, the quiet feels heavy.
“Listen,” I begin at the same time as Rowan says, “I’m not—”
We both stop short.
“You go first,” I tell her.
She nods, checking the grilled cheese and flipping it. “I just wanted to say I’m usually better at controlling the dogs I walk. Bark Twain hasn’t—”
“Bark Twain?” I ask, confused.
She looks at me. “The dog I was walking.”
I arch a brow, folding my arms in front of my chest. “The dog’s name is Bark Twain?”
She grins, and her smile does something to me.
Something I can’t quite explain.
“I’m quite proud of that one. I was there when he was brought in so I got to name him, along with a few others.”
“And what did you name them?”
This has absolutely nothing to do with her ability to take care of my kids, but it’s like some other force is at play, encouraging me to engage with this woman when I’ve spent the past year distancing myself from everyone.
“Bilbo Waggins is one, naturally.”
I chuckle. “Naturally.”
“There’s also Sherlock Bones and Winnie the Pooch.”
“I’m catching a theme here.”
“I love books,” she explains somewhat sheepishly. “Oh, and there’s also Dogberry. He’s named after—”
“The constable from Much Ado About Nothing.”
She gives a low whistle. “I’m impressed.”
“What can I say? I have a knack for remembering useless information.”
She holds my gaze for a beat, then quickly looks away, checking on the grilled cheese once more.
“Since they’re stuck in the shelter, they spend most of their days in a cramped space.
So when Bark Twain got the chance to stretch his legs, he was like, freedom!
” she explains, doing her best impression of Mel Gibson in Braveheart.
Then she scrunches her nose. “Maybe I should have named him William Woof-lace instead.”
I chuckle again, this time even louder than before.
Presley looks up from her sketchpad, her eyes finding mine. I can feel her confusion from across the room. She hasn’t heard me laugh like this in ages.
“It’s not your fault. Or Bark Twain’s,” I say, glancing back at Rowan. “I had a rough morning around here. That spilled coffee sort of tipped me over the edge. I was an ass and you didn’t deserve that, so I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
She turns off the burner and places the sandwich on a cutting board. Grabbing a pizza slicer I didn’t even know I owned, she cuts the grilled cheese into bite-size pieces before depositing them in front of Jemmy.
“I’ll just clean up and be on my way,” she says, heading to the sink.
“No need. You’ve already cleaned up quite a bit.” More than any of my other nannies ever did, but I don’t tell her that. “I can take it from here.”
“Of course.” She heads toward the table and grabs her hoodie, sliding it on. “It was great hanging out with you, Presley.” She makes a fist and extends her arm toward my daughter.
To my surprise, Presley mirrors her movements and gives her a fist bump. Then Rowan heads toward Jemmy and tousles his hair.
“No more ketchup disasters, okay?”
“K.”
She gives me one last smile, then walks out of the kitchen, the sound of her footfalls growing softer with each retreating step.
I look back at my kids, both of whom are staring at me. I don’t even have to ask to know what they’re thinking.
Because I’m thinking the same thing.
That I’d be an absolute idiot if I don’t give Rowan a chance.
“Keep an eye on your brother,” I instruct Presley. “And keep the ketchup away from him.”
Presley nods, her lips quirking up into another slight smile.
I head out of the kitchen, spotting Rowan as she’s sliding her sneakers back on.
“Rowan?”
She straightens, meeting my eyes.
“Maybe we can…give it a try.”
“Give what a try?”
“The nanny job. On a trial basis. If you’re still interested after what you walked in on tonight. There may be more nights like this and you’ll need to be able to handle it yourself. I love my kids, but they can be…a lot.”
“If you’re trying to scare me off, you’ll have to try harder. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.”
“Those two can definitely be a challenge. Did Dylan tell you any of the details?”
“Not really, other than that you have two kids.”
“I work at the medical practice here in town.”
“Dylan did mention you were a doctor.”
“There are some nights and weekends I’ll be on phone duty, meaning if someone calls our non-emergency line, I’ll need to field those.
I can’t do that while wrangling the kids.
Which is why I’d really like a live-in nanny this time around.
You won’t be on the clock twenty-four seven.
And there’s an in-law apartment, so it’s not like we’ll be sharing a living space.
I need someone here and available to step in. Is any of that a problem?”
“It’ll be nice to live somewhere that’s not on wheels.”
I furrow my brows. “Not on wheels?”
“I’ve been living out of my van,” she says proudly, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Your…van?” I ask, questioning whether this is the right decision yet again.
I need someone dependable. Maybe I’m being quick to judge, but someone who’s living out of her damn car doesn’t exactly sound dependable.
“It’s a converted van with a bed and a little kitchen,” she explains. “That way my home is with me wherever I go. But it will definitely be nice not having to shower at a truck stop or campground. And to have a real toilet again.”
“So you’re living out of your van,” I say, still trying to wrap my head around this.
“I am.” She beams. “It’s actually kind of freeing to not be tied down. To go wherever I want, whenever I want. To not be stuck in one place.”
“And how long were you planning on staying here in town?”
She shrugs. “Until I find a reason to leave, I suppose.”
“I see.” I study her, my skepticism about whether this is a good decision increasing the more I learn about her unconventional living situation.
“It probably sounds like I’m a flake, but I’m not.
I’m extremely responsible. I just…” She trails off, briefly looking past me before returning her eyes to mine.
“I went through something about a year ago that made me re-evaluate what’s important in life.
I realized it’s not the high-paying job or the expensive car or the luxurious apartment.
I was done letting life pass me by and saying no to new experiences because of work or bills or other responsibilities.
I wanted to say yes to everything. To experience life.
So I quit my job, moved all my stuff into storage, and bought a van so I could finally live. ”
I run a hand over my face, blowing out a long breath. Rowan is probably the last kind of person I’d normally hire to watch my kids. But this isn’t about me. It’s about them. In less than an hour, she did what my previous nannies couldn’t do in weeks.
“Okay. We’ll give it a try. Can you start tomorrow?”
“Of course. What time?”
“Seven. In the morning,” I clarify.
I half expect her to flinch at the early hour.
She doesn’t.
“Seven it is. See you then.”