Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Autumn
The air shifted when Gabriel came through the door at night. He seemed to carry with him the grey drizzle of the April weather. The constant frown across his brow and the tense line of his mouth suggested a storm constantly raged inside him.
“Hello,” I called out. Last night and tonight, I’d spent the hours after Bethany had gone to bed unpacking, getting to know the layout of the house, and studying maps of London’s public transportation system.
“Good evening.” His voice was almost a growl, and it sent a sensuous shiver up my spine.
I spun around from where I was standing in the kitchen and came face-to-face with my deliciously handsome employer.
I didn’t know how it was possible but every time I saw him, I wasn’t expecting him to be so tall.
Or his jaw to be quite so sharp. Or his glossy, black curls quite so touchable.
It was as if my memory couldn’t handle someone so attractive, so dialed it down until I was faced with reality again.
Tonight his glare was a little more intense than usual.
“What’s this noise?” he barked, shaking the ever-present London rain from his hair and then toeing off his shoes, which I found to be an adorable habit.
Who couldn’t appreciate a man in a hand-made suit who didn’t like to wear shoes?
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by noise and then I realized he must be referring to my phone.
I grabbed it and turned down the volume.
“A musicals mash-up,” I said, wiggling my cell at him.
“Sometimes I like to deep dive into the entire soundtrack but sometimes you just want to hear the greats. Am I right?”
He tilted his head as if he was looking at an animal he didn’t recognize in a zoo.
“Musicals,” I repeated. “You know, like Showboat. West Side Story. The King and I.” He still looked blank. There was only one thing for it. I had to sing. “‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’.” Surely that was the one musical everyone in the northern hemisphere had heard of?
He winced. “You’re singing.”
“Of course I’m singing. Everyone should sing.
‘I feel pretty. Oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and bright’.
” I stopped partly because he didn’t look amused but mainly because I couldn’t sing a West Side Story song without dancing, and I’d learned from experience that I couldn’t dance in socks on this floor without falling flat on my face.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what it is about that song, but I can’t be anything but happy when I sing it.
Musicals have that effect on people. You should try it. ”
“I don’t think so,” he said, moving toward the fridge. “And honestly, with your voice, I’m not sure you should be singing either.” He peered inside and then pulled out a beer.
“Well, that was rude. Granted, I’m no Idina Menzel, but few of us are.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said and set his beer onto the kitchen table while he shrugged off his jacket.
“Never mind,” I said, determined not to take offense at his terse manner and his less-than-favorable assessment of my singing ability. “Have you eaten? I was going to make myself an omelet. Can I fix you something?”
“I’ve got stuff to do.”
I glanced toward the locked door at the back of the kitchen. What was behind that door? A dungeon? A man-spa? Perhaps he was an amateur taxidermist. But why did he have to lock it? Was it to keep what was in there from getting out, or anyone else from getting in?
“So, Bethany had a wonderful day. We went to a sing-a-long, as it happens. Presumably, it’s okay for your daughter to sing?”
“Well, yes, she’s four. And she has rather a good voice, I think. For her age.” His eyes widened as if he was waiting for me to agree. The only time his manner lightened was when it came to Bethany. Just talking about her seemed to lift him out of his brooding darkness for a few minutes.
“I love her singing voice. It’s delightful. And she has excellent rhythm. She’s been invited for a play date with one of the kids from the class. Would that be okay with you?” I asked.
“You’ll be there with her?”
“Of course. I’d never leave her.”
“Then yes, if you think she would enjoy it.”
“And if we can fit it in. She has quite the schedule. We have swimming tomorrow. Gymnastics on Thursday. Music on Friday. And all this on top of pre-school. But from what I heard from the other nannies today, all the kids are scheduled like they’re the Obamas.”
He chuckled and I stared at him, fascinated. His smiles were rare and certainly, I’d never elicited one before. Perhaps he just needed to get to know me a little better and he’d warm up.
“I guess it’s the same in New York,” I said.
“Or any big city with lots of pushy, successful parents.” A far cry from Oregon, and my parents.
They didn’t even know if I was in school, let alone keeping up with any extracurricular activities that might have been offered.
Which they weren’t. There might have been a chess club active for a semester, but chess wasn’t really my game.
I’m pretty sure that if I’d gotten a job at the trailer park where we lived or in the factory where my sister used to work, they would have been as proud as Idina Menzel’s parents when they watched Wicked for the first time. Or they might not have noticed at all.
Gabriel pulled open one of the cupboard doors and retrieved a bottle opener from where it was hanging on a rack inside the door.
“Spatulas!” I squealed, spotting the elusive flipper. “How did I not spot these here? You’ve got them hanging up like they’re in a tool shed.” Why didn’t he just put them in a drawer or something? “You Brits.”
“I never thought a fish slice could make someone so happy,” he said, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“It’s always the little things that feed hope, Gabriel. Always the little things.”
He scooped up the fish slice from its hook and held it out to me.
“Are you sure I can’t fix you an omelet?” I asked, taking the implement. As my hand wrapped around the handle, our fingers brushed—and it was like a bolt of heat shot up my hand, warming my entire arm. I sucked in a breath.
It was just an accidental scrape of his fingers, but the touch was as intense as if he’d grabbed me and kissed me.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. What was he apologizing for? He hadn’t grabbed my boob or anything. He cleared his throat. “I must get on.”
I glanced at the locked door. Back to stuffing bats or whatever it was he did in there. “If you’re busy, I’m happy to keep Bethany’s monitor.”
“Bethany will have you running around and playing hide-and-seek, riding her bike, and taking her to the park tomorrow. Don’t burn yourself out.”
I flexed a bicep. “I can handle her.” I winced. “I think.”
He pulled out a single key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock. A moment later, he disappeared behind the closed door, shutting the entire world—and me—out.