Chapter 6Blurring Lines – Vic
Chapter 6
Blurring Lines – Vic
I ’m losing my damn mind.
I can’t stop lusting after the most addictively annoying woman I’ve ever met, who also happens to be a potential employee.
This certainly wasn’t a part of my summer plans.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Why am I so drawn to her?
Following my family’s advice, I put on my most pseudo charming act at that insipid event, only to fall head over heels for a captivating townie.
This is the price I pay for trying to have a bit of fun.
But damn.
She’s beautiful.
Quirky.
Slightly goofy but clearly sharp.
But she’s unpredictable.
Yet, I’m drawn to her.
Even when she’s driving me up the wall, she’s impossible to ignore.
And that’s exactly the problem.
I can’t afford a distraction, not when my daughters are involved.
I’ve worked too hard to build a stable, structured life for them.
Mixing business with pleasure is a bad idea, and the last thing I want is to bring a woman into our lives only for my daughters to get attached to then eventually watch her leave our lives forever.
I need to suppress this want.
I need to behave professionally.
Most of all, I need my daughters not to like her.
If they don’t click, I have the perfect excuse to send her packing, sparing myself the daily torment of having her so close yet off-limits.
Problem solved.
If they do like her, though, I’m in real trouble because I don’t think I could handle seeing her in my home every day and being unable to control my thoughts…
and other things too .
I’m at my wit’s end, quietly agonizing over the prospect of Kerry becoming my daughters’ nanny.
It’s a twisted kind of torture, wanting someone you shouldn’t even be thinking about in that way.
She’s like a beautiful storm, stirring up everything in her path or my mind rather.
“Uh, Son? You okay, over there?” My mom’s voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
I shake it off, sitting up straighter.
“Sorry, Mom. And I apologize, Ms. Kind.”
Kerry’s lips twitch like she’s biting back a remark.
I clear my throat.
“Actually, Mom, would you mind if I showed Ms. Kind around? I’d like to introduce her to the girls myself.”
I need to observe how she interacts with them.
We can end this torture right now.
Mom smiles.
“I think that’s a lovely idea, Vic.”
Yet, Kerry calls out my hypocrisy.
“Didn’t you just tell me to leave you alone?”
I ignore her comment and take Kerry’s bag, where, for the briefest second, our hands brush.
Electricity.
I freeze, just for a fraction of a moment, before recovering.
“Thank you, Mr. Grimes,” she says smoothly, her voice low.
There’s an edge to it, a hint of teasing, and I swear she’s doing this on purpose.
How the hell am I supposed to maintain any semblance of professionalism with her standing here, looking like that, speaking like that, stirring up every damn feeling I haven’t felt in years?
I need to get a grip.
When Mom leaves the room to tend to a business matter, I lead Kerry towards the study, each step heavier than the last, burdened by the weight of my internal conflict and the undeniable attraction that I must, for my daughters’ sake, resist.
“So,” I start in a measured tone, trying to keep the tour professional.
“Give it to me straight. Are you a teacher or a nanny? Didn’t know you could be both.”
She comes to a complete stop, commanding my attention.
“I’ll be honest. I don’t know a dang on thing about nannying, but I’m a great teacher. And I promise to love your kids like my own.”
Her passionate assurance is convincingly reassuring.
“I’ll hold you to that, Kerry,” I respond, appreciating her candor.
“Considering your impressive teaching background, I’m confident you understand the value of a well-structured routine. You should have received an email detailing the girls’ weekly schedule, including Ari’s piano and voice lessons and Syd’s physical therapy sessions. Please ensure these are synced to your calendar. My staff will help keep things on track.”
We continue the tour, entering my massive kitchen.
“This is where the girls will have their meals.”
Kerry’s demeanor is cool, almost as if our fiery exchanges never happened.
“Do they have any specific dietary needs or food allergies I should be aware of?” She asks, her voice steady and focused.
“Everything you need to know is listed on the fridge. Breakfast is at 7:30, lunch at noon, pre-supper at 3:30, and dinner at 6 PM sharp.” I reply, gesturing toward the detailed pinned notes.
“But don’t worry about food. I’ll prepare and cook everything according to their preferences, and yours too.”
She pauses, turning from the list on the fridge to face me with a challenging smirk.
“You don’t know what I like, Mr. Grimes.”
Her warmth invites me in, daring me to step closer.
“I have a knack for knowing what people want,” I say, watching her carefully.
“And I take pleasure in fulfilling their needs.”
She inhales sharply.
“Oh, really?”
There’s a challenge in her voice, but something else, too.
Curiosity .
She tilts her head, eyes locked on mine.
“Alright, then. Humor me. What kind of flavors make me moan in delight?”
Damn, she knows exactly how to push my buttons.
I hold her gaze, moving in just enough to let my chest brush against her breasts, sending a ripple of pressure between us.
I know she feels it .
She can definitely see it as I subtly tuck in my thick bulge after watching her eyes widen.
“Mr. Grimes,” Kerry whispers, almost a caution.
“Spice,” I murmur.
“Nothing too overwhelming. Just enough to add a little excitement.”
My thumb grazes her bottom lip, and I feel the sharp inhale she tries to suppress.
“You like comfort foods,” I continue, my voice dropping lower.
“But with a little unexpected heat. Like honey butter cornbread—sweet, warm, but with just enough cayenne to make your lips tingle. ”
Her lips part slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I love cornbread. And I’ve never had it with Cayenne, but I think I love that, too.”
I want to kiss her.
But, unfortunately, our connection is abruptly interrupted by Ms.
Tina’s cheerful intrusion.
“Mr. Grimes!” The voice slices through the moment.
Both Kerry and I jump back, painfully peeling away from one another.
Ms.
Tina, my head housekeeper, stands in the doorway, grinning.
“Giving our new guest a tour, I see,” She says, clearly amused.
I take a deep breath and step back, feeling the need to reestablish boundaries after our unexpected flirtation.
“I’m sorry, that was…unprofessional.” I admit, offering Kerry a brief, apologetic smile.
We shake hands to seal our mutual commitment to professionalism, though our interlocked fingers suggest otherwise.
With renewed focus, I lead her through my sprawling estate, pointing out the playroom adorned with colorful murals and puzzles scattered across the floor and the classroom filled with two desks, boards, and educational supplies.
Finally, we venture to the heart of my home, the family library.
Her eyes widen with admiration as she peruses the shelves.
Her hands brush against the spines of novels by iconic Black authors she seemingly adores—Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Phyllis Wheatley, and W.
E.
B.
Du Bois.
Each name she whispers adds another layer to her that I’d love to peel back.
“You love to read, I take it?” I ask, though the answer is written all over her face.
Kerry nods.
“Now, this is my type of playroom.” She responds, her voice tinged with awe.
“I don’t read much of the classics,” I confess as we roam the library, “But I’m big on ethnobotany, food science, and herbology. It’s all part of my culinary explorations and natural remedies for the girls.”
Kerry nods appreciatively.
“That’s fascinating. You’ll have to read and interpret some of your favorite books one day.” She says, genuinely intrigued.
“Would you mind if I spend time in here? When I have breaks, of course. I’d love to sit and read while watching the sun rise and set. It’s the most beautiful feeling in the world, being surrounded by warmth and books. ”
After studying her for a second, I reply, “Of course. You have full access to everything in my home.”
I desperately want to say everyone, too , but I control myself, barely.
While continuing the tour, I feel a knot of apprehension grow in my stomach.
I’ve never introduced a teacher to my daughters quite like this, never with a personal interest involved.
But before we enter, Kerry’s phone rings.
Her expression shifts instantly, the light dimming in her eyes.
She stares at her screen, frozen for a moment, and I catch a glimpse of the caller ID: Unknown .
“I’m sorry, it’s my ex.” She says.
“He’s been calling non-stop since Saturday night. I promise to keep my phone on silent.”
A sharp pang of jealousy shoots through me.
Is he trying to rekindle their old flame?
Are they still involved?
Or is he just another possessive asshole who can’t let go?
The distressed look on her face stirs a deep unease in me, awakening a protective instinct.
I don’t like seeing her like this.
I don’t like that his shadow still lingers over her, that it still affects her though they’re no longer together.
Pushing aside my swirling thoughts, I reach for the door handle to my daughter Ariel’s room with a hesitant hand.
I’m hit by a wave of nerves—not just for me, but for what this introduction could mean for my girls, especially Ari, who’s already dealing with so much, a budding pre-teen on the verge of entering middle school in just a few years.
She’s so full of life, yet her challenges are a constant reminder of the fragility of happiness in such a cold, cruel world.
She needs positivity, reinforcement, and support.
She needs someone who sees her as the bright, powerful girl she is, not someone defined by her disability.
I take a deep breath and push the door open, and Ariel looks up.
She’s momentarily flustered when she notices Kerry.
“Dad, I’m not ready!” She screams, quickly adjusting her prosthetic leg.
Her cheeks flush with insecurity and embarrassment.
I open my mouth to reassure her, but Kerry beats me to it, easing her embarrassment with a light joke that makes even Sydney, my youngest, chuckle.
“I’m thirty-five, and my dad still barges into my room.”
Ari stares, but my youngest, Syd, however, chuckles, “You’re funny, and you’re wearing pink! I like you already.”
“And you are?” Kerry asks, playing along.
“Sydney, but everyone calls me Syd.” She replies .
Then suddenly, the weekend misunderstanding over the phone call clicks into place for Kerry.
She turns to me with an apologetic glance, and I just wave it off with a nod.
She may have misread the situation before, but she’s reading the room perfectly now.
And then, she does something that completely blindsides me.
She kneels in front of Ari.
“Let’s make sure this fits just right.” She says, her voice gentle yet firm.
She helps Ari adjust her prosthetic leg, not making a big deal of it, just quietly showing up in the way my daughter needs.
I watch as Kerry pulls something out of her bag—a small box filled with colorful gemstones.
“I heard you like to bedazzle things,” She says with a warm smile.
“How about we do some arts and crafts together?”
Ari gasps.
Her whole face lights up.
“Yes! I’ve been wanting to bedazzle my leg for months, but Dad kept buying me the wrong gems.” She eyes the ones Kerry brought, her excitement overflowing.
“These are exactly what I wanted. Dad, she’s awesome!”
I blink, caught completely off guard by how effortlessly Kerry won her over.
“She is,” I exhale, watching Kerry with a mixture of relief and admiration.
“She really is.” I clear my throat, shaking off the unexpected emotion.
“Girls, this is Kerry. She’s going to help you with your schoolwork today. So, please focus, and try not to have too much fun.”
Ari and Syd beam at Kerry, and then Syd teases, “Too much fun? Impossible. Actually, Ms. Kind, maybe you can teach Dad how to have more fun. All he does is work,” She lowers her voice like she’s telling a secret, except not low enough.
“Well, not all the time. He went out the other night for the first time in forever and came back smiling like Tickle Me Elmo. I think he’s got a girlfriend or somethin’.”
Kerry bursts into laughter.
I groan.
“Syd, I swear—”
But the damage is done.
The girls are giggling uncontrollably, and Kerry, to her credit, plays along like a pro.
“Okay, girls,” She says, raising a brow at me before turning back to them.
“Let’s leave your old Dad alone and get to work. We have a lot to do today, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am!” They say in unison .
“Oh, before we begin,” She then pulls out a pink and purple pillow.
“Ari, your grandmother told me you like to prop your leg up when you learn, so last night, I crocheted this support pillow. I hope you like it.”
The gesture nearly brings Ariel to tears.
No one has ever taken such care to understand her needs.
Ari stares at it.
Her lip trembles.
For a split second, I think she might cry.
Instead, she lunges forward and hugs Kerry tight.
“Thank you.” She whispers.
I exhale sharply, something tight settling in my chest.
“And what about me, Ms. Kind?” Sydney chimes in, not wanting to be left out.
“I definitely can’t forget about you,” Kerry responds, pulling out a set of utensils.
“Your grandmother told me you’re as colorful as you are beautiful, so I designed these feather, scented pens just for you.”
Syd’s jaw drops.
She and Ari inhale deeply, their faces lighting up with pure delight as they take in the different scents.
“Ooh!” Ari gasps.
“Ahhh!” Syd echoes.
They thank Kerry and eagerly begin their lessons, diving into the activities she’s prepared.
I step out of the room but observe from afar.
The way Kerry fits into this house, into their lives, feels.
.
.
natural.
Her ability to connect with my daughters, not just as a teacher but as someone who genuinely cares for them, reassures me that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something beautiful, for all of us.