Chapter Seven
Seven
LAILA
“Come on, boys, let’s go inside,” I say to Tor and Bjorn, holding my hands out for them. Usually Tor would cry at the thought of leaving his snowman-in-progress, and Bjorn would probably kick me in the shin or something in protest, but I can tell they’re getting cold and tired. The snow has been coming down steadily all day, and though it was a lot of fun playing in it at first, building igloos and snow castles and having a snowball fight, it hasn’t let up at all. If anything, I think it’s doubled down in the last hour, and my eyelashes have ice crystals on them.
The boys come over to me, Tor taking my hand while Bjorn burns past me through the snow like the Tasmanian Devil toward the front steps to the house, just as Ella is stepping out.
“I’ve made hot chocolate,” she calls out to us, rubbing her hands over her arms for warmth. “My god, it won’t stop,” she says staring up at the white sky as the flakes fall down.
Bjorn tears up the steps in his snowsuit, running past his mother and into the house. Tor lets go of my hand when he sees Ella and tries to make a run for her as well, a big smile on his chubby cheeks, but immediately face-plants. I scoop him up and bring him over to her, plunking him in her arms as her sweater gets covered in snow.
“Goodness, Tor, I can’t tell if you built the snowman or if the snowman built you,” she says, brushing the snow off his hat.
He giggles in response, and once inside, Ella puts him back down and closes the door. “You’re going to need some help,” she says, because I always appreciate a little help when it comes to taking off the kids’ snowsuits.
She goes hastily down the hall to wrangle Bjorn and then brings him back over to me like a lost puppy dragged by his collar, and we quickly get the boys out of the suits, their clothes dry underneath, thankfully.
“Hot chocolate!” Bjorn yells, escaping his mother’s grip and running down the hall to the kitchen, Tor toddling after him.
“Hmmm,” she says, blowing a strand of hair off her forehead. “I should have left it a surprise. I thought I would need to bribe them to come in.”
“Whatever works,” I tell her, unwrapping my scarf and taking off my own coat.
“I hope Magnus doesn’t run into any troubles,” she says, a faint line between her brows.
“With what?” I ask, hanging up my stuff.
“Well, he went to Oslo with James, Ottar, and Einar. He had lunch with his father, but he should have been back by now.”
“Have you tried texting him?”
“I texted, I called,” she says, then gives me an apologetic shrug. “Knowing him, though, his phone is probably dead because he forgot to charge it last night and he hasn’t even noticed. Out of sight, out of mind. Anyway, what can I say, I’m a worrywart.”
We walk off to the kitchen to make sure the boys aren’t burning it down while I briefly wonder if I should text James. Then I remember I deleted his number in a fit of rage. He probably has a different number now anyway.
It’s been a few days since he graced Skaugum Estate with his smarmy presence, and while I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding him since he does spend a lot of time with Magnus (even though he’s not technically his bodyguard, Magnus likes making friends), there are times when he’s unavoidable. It’s common for everyone to gather in the library after dinner to have a nightcap or two before bed, and while I got away with ducking out the first night, it’s going to start looking really weird if I never show up, especially since I was there like clockwork before. A nice highball of Scotch has been a lifesaver at the end of the day. Besides, Lady Jane was already getting suspicious of me missing that first night.
So I’ve had to sit there by the roaring fire, sipping Scotch and pretending that I’m listening to the conversation, when really all I can think about is James sitting near me. I don’t even have to look at him, I just feel him. That sexual energy he carried with him before is just as strong as ever, and it seriously messes up my train of thought. And by messes up, I mean totally derails it into a fiery explosion.
And besides the nights by the fire (thanking the lord that so far we haven’t been left alone, because his energy plus cozy fireplace vibes definitely screams sex ), I’ve had to see him at dinner twice, and I’m always bumping into him in the halls. Not to mention the fact that every single night I can hear him going to bed. I have my noise-canceling headphones on with a brown-noise app blasting out my eardrums, and I swear I still hear every little sigh. Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to just carry on and work, I’m really not.
I step into the kitchen to see Sigrid handing the boys hot chocolate. I’m not sure sugar is a good idea, especially when they’re so hyped up (so much for the snow and cold tuckering them out), and when they’re done, Ella knows she’s made a mistake.
“Oh dear,” she says, as Bjorn starts doing laps around the kitchen table. “Sorry about that,” she adds to me, wincing.
“Would you believe me if I said I was used to it?” I tell her.
Ella laughs. “You’re so good with them,” she says warmly. She nods at the window, which is now covered in a layer of icy snow. “I was watching you earlier. You really play with them in a way that I can’t seem to. Sometimes I think I’m just too boring and rigid to really access that part of my brain, but with you it seems to come so easily.”
As I listen to her, it’s hard to stop myself from getting defensive. Ella means this as a compliment, and I remind myself to take it that way. Everything she says is something I’ve heard before, though not from an employer. People I grew up with, friends in my early twenties, a handful of relationships where I let myself be the real me, and they all ended with people telling me I was strange or childish. They’d point out that I was silly for having plush toys, for talking to animals like they were human, for becoming obsessed about random things. They all ended with me feeling absolutely crushed, furthering this belief that deep down there is something fundamentally wrong with me and that there is no real safe place for me to exist.
“They bring out my inner child,” I tell her.
“Well, they bring out my inner adult,” she jokes as Bjorn starts hammering his fists against her jeans and making a yodeling sound.
Anyway, I know what to do with them now that Ella is here to help. The first step is to let Bjorn run wild through the house and do what he wants, while sequestering Tor in the playroom with a bunch of coloring books. After a while, when Bjorn gets tired, he’ll feel left out and come and join Tor, and everyone can get peace and quiet for a little bit.
“I’m going to do some coloring with Tor,” I tell Bjorn, taking Tor’s hand. “Do you want to come?”
“No!” Bjorn scream-laughs like a banshee and runs off.
Ella rolls her eyes. “I’ve got him.”
“Good luck,” I call after her as she stalks off after him.
“Hey, Tor,” I say, peering down at his white-blond head. “You want to color?”
“Yeah,” Tor says, nodding profusely.
I take him across the way to the playroom, which is any kid’s dream and honestly my favorite spot in the whole house. There’re plenty of toys, a baby grand piano, stuffed animals galore, and a long bookshelf. There’s a big purple plush chair and a large window looking out to the expansive front yard, now piled high with snow.
I had a small room to play in as a child, but the problem was that I was always left alone. My mother never, ever played with me, even when I begged, and my father pretty much pretended I didn’t exist. I grew out of the dolls and such when they died, having to suddenly grow up and be thrust into adult mode, so to see the boys having room to play and people to play with…just makes me feel like I’m in alignment, something I need to remember on days when the job feels hard.
“Let’s go into the castle,” I tell Tor, grabbing the colored pencils and books off their mini desks and bringing them into a tall, round tent in the corner that resembles a turret. I crawl into the corner, then make room for Tor, spreading the pencils and books out in front of us.
Then, for the next thirty minutes, both of us color to our hearts’ content. I’ve colored in an octopus in shades of green and purple, with magenta highlights, and Tor, well, he’s made a mess, but it’s an artistic mess that I tell him is worthy of being framed.
Ella comes by with Bjorn, dropping him off and saying she’s going to get some work done, but now Bjorn doesn’t want to color with pencils; he wants to make snowmen out of clay, so I go about getting the room set up for that. It makes a mess, but I truly believe children should be allowed to be as messy as they want. They won’t get away with it when they’re older.
Not long after we’ve settled down for some clay sculptures, I hear the front door open and the stomping of boots and Magnus’s booming voice swearing away, calling the snowstorm a drittsekk or “shitbag.”
“Uh-oh! Bad words,” Bjorn says with a grin, then abandons his art and runs out of the room to see his father, with Tor following behind.
I go after them in time to see Ella coming downstairs and Magnus and James brushing mounds of snow off their jackets.
“What happened?” Ella asks. “I tried to reach you all day.”
“Phone died and roads were total shit on the way over, and the car is stuck down at the bottom of the hill,” Magnus says, shaking his shaggy hair so snow flies everywhere. “Ottar and Einar grabbed shovels to dig it out. I’m telling you, I’ve never seen it come down so hard.”
“I better get a shovel too,” James says, turning for the door, but Magnus reaches out and stops him.
“Relax,” Magnus says. “Stay put. They’ve got this. I’m not going to have both PPOs breaking their back.”
“I’d hardly call snow-shoveling backbreaking work,” James says dryly. “We do have snow in Scotland, you know.”
“In that suit?” Magnus says, looking him up and down. Then he looks at me and notices the sticky and dried clay all over my hands. “You stay. Help Laila entertain the boys.”
Oh no. Please no.
“She doesn’t look like she needs any help,” James says.
“Because I’m fine,” I tell him. Tor motions for Magnus to pick him up, so he does, giving him a hearty squeeze and tickle that makes Tor laugh, while Bjorn scoops up the melting snow from the coats and starts flinging it at James so it lands on his suit in splatters.
“Bjornsy!” Magnus booms, to which Bjorn giggles and runs away. “I swear to god, that child is someone I wronged in a past life.”
“Anyway,” I say, gesturing to James, who is brushing the snow off his tie, “I don’t think his suit could handle my job either.”
That brings out an annoyed frown from James, and I smirk back at him.
Ella lets out a laugh before she heads up the stairs. “Okay, well, Magnus, James”—she nods at the kitchen—“Sigrid just made some hot chocolate for the boys, so if you’re nice to her, she may make you some more.”
Magnus places Tor back on the floor. I take his son’s hand and laugh quietly as Magnus and James beeline it toward the kitchen, not so different from when Bjorn and Tor went for hot chocolate earlier.
“Okay, Bjorn,” I say to him. “Tor and I will be making a clay zoo if you want to join in. Competition for scariest animal.”
“No scary!” Tor yells out, looking close to tears.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Cutest animal.”
“ I’m the scariest animal,” Bjorn yells, baring his teeth, and runs into the playroom. Well, at least he’s game.
We settle down again and get lost in the world of creation. Bjorn has quite the aptitude for sculpting, getting hyperfocused when he’s working on the details of the creatures (and yes, creature , because whatever godforsaken thing he’s creating is not a zoo animal). It’s nice to see him finally calm down and get lost in something. Makes me feel calmer too.
“Will this do?” a Scottish brogue says.
I look over my shoulder to see James at the door dressed in a white T-shirt and dark jeans, and I almost do a double take. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him out of a suit; it’s either that or…naked. In fact, he might as well be naked, considering the way the jeans sit on his hips, how the thin fabric of the T-shirt clings to him, showing off his biceps and muscular forearms. God, I am such a sucker for those arms.
I hope I’m not drooling.
“You have other clothes?” I exclaim. “I had no idea.”
He gives me a dry look. “Very funny. Turns out, yes. And rumor has it you’re having a scariest-slash-cutest animal competition and I would like to enter.”
Hmmm. Why is he doing this?
“Yes, come play,” Tor says, waving his clay blob around, speaking in Norwegian.
“What did he say?” James asks me.
“I should lie and say it’s that you should turn around and leave, but alas, he wants you to come play.” Meanwhile Bjorn is so wrapped up in his winged monster that he hasn’t even looked up to acknowledge James.
James seems to hesitate in the doorway, as if he’s debating whether he should turn and go. I swear I see a flash of fear or worry in his gaze, like he’s actually concerned that he might piss me off.
Then that look twists into the grin I know all too well, like he’s won something, and he saunters into the room.
I sigh and move over on the floor to make room. “Are you trying to prove a point? Like you can get down and dirty if you want to?”
I realize what I’ve said too late.
His grin widens and he winks at me. “Oh, you know I can, love.”
My eyes narrow. “Don’t call me that,” I whisper harshly.
He raises a palm in surrender, then looks to the boys. “Aye, so what are we doing here? Bloody hell, Bjorn, that’s one creepy-looking mogwai.”
Bjorn finally looks up, his tongue out the side of his mouth in concentration, and nods, then goes back to sculpting what I can now see are the mogwai’s ears, not wings.
“How were you able to tell that was a mogwai?” I say to James quietly.
“I stream shows, you know,” he says wryly. “It’s called having downtime. Gremlins: Secrets of the Mogwai is a lot of fun.”
“Cartoons?”
He shrugs and dips his hand in a bowl of water, sprinkling it on a lump of clay. “Sure, why not?”
The funny thing is, I love cartoons too. Well, mostly anime, but there’s something so soothing about watching something meant for kids. I’m just surprised that he does too, let alone admits to it.
“And what are your favorite cartoons?” I ask, watching as he begins to squeeze the clay. My god, it’s reminding me of the way he used to squeeze my hips, almost to the point of bruising when he was really having at me.
Wow, inappropriate. Look away, girl.
I look back down at my own clay, only to find I’ve dug my nails into it. Thank god James doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he says, “Really enjoying Baymax! at the moment. You know, the big puffy robot.”
“Baymax!” Tor yells, raising his clay-covered fists in the air excitedly.
“We’re aware of Baymax,” I tell him.
“I bet you’ve seen a lot of kids’ movies and the like, over and over again as a nanny, aye?” He glances at me, and I make the mistake of meeting his gaze. His gaze is striking, enough that it makes me dizzy for a moment. He really shouldn’t be so close to me, with his eyes and his scruffy, manly jaw, and the scent of his woodsy cologne. The correct distance for him would be across the room. No, down at the other end of the house. At the end of the road. Buried in a snowbank.
“Perks of the job,” I admit, my attention going back to my clay. I originally had the intention of making a horse, but now it’s starting to resemble a triceratops. That’s fine, I can pivot.
“Do you think you’ll have kids one day?” he asks, and it takes me by such surprise that I drop the clay, staining my jeans.
I stare at him wide-eyed, fumbling to pick it up. “Me?”
“Yeah,” he says with a frown. “You’re such a natural. Is that an inappropriate question?”
“Maybe…” I mean, it is when he’s asking.
He lifts a shoulder in a shrug and goes back to working at his clay. “I get it. It’s none of my business.”
We fall silent for a few moments until Bjorn suddenly gets up and abandons his mogwai, heading over to the coloring books in the castle tent.
“Are you done?”
“Yeah!” he yells.
“Are you sure?” It only looks half-done, but it isn’t new for Bjorn to abandon things when he finally gets bored of them. “Because I’ll have to enter it in the competition as is.”
He mumbles something and starts coloring erratically.
“Well, then, I give up,” James says, putting down his mound of clay and gesturing to it. “I mean, this is supposed to be a bear and it’s just a blob with eyes.”
“Baymax!” Tor says cheerfully, pointing to the blob.
We work on our clay for a little while longer, Bjorn now in chatter mode as he colors from the castle, telling us a story about a dragon and Baymax and some kind of frog—I don’t know, his story went off the rails for a bit.
“Sorry if I got intrusive,” James says in a low voice, leaning in for a moment so I get another whiff of pine and amber.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. It’s not a heavy topic or anything. I just…” I bite my lip for a moment in thought. “I actually don’t want kids. Is that weird? I have a feeling it’s weird considering I love being around kids and I love being a nanny, but…no. I don’t want them for myself. I never have.”
“That’s not weird,” he assures me. “It’s honest. It means you know yourself.”
I hope he’s right about that. Sometimes it feels like I don’t know myself at all.
I give him a quick smile. “And you? Do you want children?”
He ponders that for a moment, poking his finger into the clay. “You know what? I haven’t thought about it much. Maybe it will change when I meet the right person one day. Maybe it won’t. But I think deep down I know my answer is no.” He gives me a smile that’s borderline vulnerable, making him look boyish. “With the childhood I had, could you blame me?”
“Not at all,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. His skin is so soft and warm, the muscles strong, that it takes me a moment to realize what I’ve done.
I take my hand away, clearing my throat. “Okay, boys, I know I need to get you cleaned up for dinner, so how about we have our competition now? I’ll build a little stage for your art so your parents can see it later.”
I can feel James’s eyes burning on me, but I don’t meet them as I bustle around the room and gather up an even stack of books and a Scrabble board to act as a makeshift stage. Then I take their works and proudly place them on it.
“Who won?” Bjorn asks, coming over and peering at the creations.
“Well, you won scariest creature,” I tell him. “And Tor won cutest creature.”
Bjorn points at James. “And what did he win?”
Since Bjorn is talking in Norwegian again, James looks perplexed.
“James won an A for effort,” I tell them in English.
“Oh, it’s just like secondary school all over again,” James grumbles under his breath.
All four of us make quick work of tidying the playroom, then I take the boys to their room to get them cleaned up. There was a quiet kind of ease just being with James like that, without too much tension getting in the way. But the more I find myself in situations like that with him, the more I’ll actually start liking him again.
And that simply cannot happen.