Chapter 11
ELEVEN
austin
Two weeks later, I had to admit Veronica was a better nanny than I thought she’d be.
The kids were on time for camp every day.
Chores were checked off the charts. Library books were returned on time, plants did not die, and no one suffered any life-threatening injuries.
She was, as advertised, not a good cook, but nobody starved—although the hockey pucks she called hamburgers and the soggy, salty casserole did have me momentarily considering a hunger strike.
But the kids didn’t seem to care one bit.
When I came in to grab dinner before heading out to the workshop each evening, they were full of stories about the fun things they’d done that day—yoga at the beach, dance routines in the backyard, chalk art on the driveway, karaoke contests on the front porch.
I’d gotten two calls from parents in the neighborhood wanting to know where I’d found the awesome new babysitter their kids had raved about.
“Through my sister,” was all I said. The entire town was buzzing about the bride who’d jilted a Vanderhoof at the altar and taken off running, and as much as I liked the story, I wasn’t sure I wanted it going around that I’d hired her.
The Fourth of July came around, and I took the day off work so we could all go out on Xander’s boat.
The weather was gorgeous, and we had a fantastic time, water-skiing and tubing and cruising around on the lake.
I did my best to keep my eyes off her body in the little black bikini she wore, but I’m positive she caught me staring more than once—and adjusting myself in my swim trunks afterward.
On her second Saturday with us, it rained, and even though it was technically her day off, she took the kids to a movie.
Later that afternoon, the twins came running from the house into the garage, shouting, “Look at our tattoos, Dad!” I glanced up from the table I was working on to see both of my kids with full sleeves.
“They’re temporary! They’re temporary!” Veronica yelled, running in behind them.
She was barefoot, wearing that flowery skirt and top again, the one that tied behind her neck and back and showed some of her stomach if she moved in just the right way.
Her hair was up, but damp pieces fell in soft curls around her face.
“I hope so,” I said, setting my saw aside to examine Owen’s skinny right arm. “You’ve got more ink than Uncle Xander.”
“Look, this one is like yours, Daddy.” Adelaide shoved her elbow in my face and pointed at her deltoid. “It’s a bear.”
“I see that,” I said, although the smiling animal on her arm looked more like Winnie the Pooh than the grizzly on my shoulder.
“Do I look like a rock star?” Owen asked, playing air guitar along to the music on my speakers.
“Totally.” I looked up at Veronica, who seemed relieved I wasn’t mad. “Got any tattoos?”
Her cheeks turned a little pink. “Uh, none that are visible.”
Great, now I could add that to the list of things about her body I fantasized about. I’d managed to respect the physical boundaries we’d set without any problem so far, but my mind? That was another matter entirely.
If I had to add up all the minutes I’d spent thinking about her over the past fourteen days, the sum total would be embarrassing.
But I couldn’t help it. There was something about her that got to me.
It was her looks, sure, but it was also the easy rapport she had with the kids and my dad, the kindness she showed to everyone around her, the way she remembered everyone’s names and something about them, how quick she was to offer a hand with anything.
She’d signed herself and the kids up to walk a 5K benefiting a nearby animal rescue, and said yes to a request that she teach a free dance class for senior citizens at the weekly 65-plus mixer at the library.
With every passing day, I was more impressed by her generosity, her work ethic, and her ability to find silver linings.
Sometimes I’d overhear the kids ask about her childhood or life in New York City or what it was like to perform on stage every night, and she answered all their questions with patience and excitement, like she was glad to be asked.
One night I overheard her telling them how an occasional shoe would fly off into the audience during routines with lots of kicks—the sound of the kids’ laughter made me smile.
There were things I wanted to know about her too, but I tried hard to maintain a professional distance between us.
Especially after dark.
After saying goodnight to the kids, I’d usually go back out to the garage and work on something. I would see her walk from the back door of the house to the stairs leading up to her apartment, and she always lifted a hand and called goodnight, but she never stopped to talk.
I’d hear her feet moving around above me, and I’d turn off my music so it wouldn’t keep her awake.
Sometimes I heard the TV, sometimes I’d hear her talking with a friend, and I’d go perfectly still, trying to hear what she was saying about her life here or catch my name, but I couldn’t ever make anything out.
Then the shower would come on, and I’d imagine her taking off her clothes, getting beneath the water, and moving her hands all over her body.
After a few minutes, the water would shut off and I’d picture her stepping out, dripping wet, reaching for her towel.
After rubbing it all over her skin, she’d hang it up and walk into her bedroom naked, where she’d pull that white T-shirt over her head before crawling into bed.
(In my fantasy, she never wore underwear.) Then she’d lie there and think about me in the garage beneath her and hope I’d come up and knock on her door.
I’d be hot and sweaty after a day’s work, covered in sawdust and grime, but she wouldn’t care.
She’d act surprised to see me, maybe she’d even pretend she didn’t want this.
She might say things like we can’t, we shouldn’t, we better not .
. . but all the while she’d be backing up toward the bedroom.
She wanted this. Of course she did.
And I would—
“Austin?”
Jolted out of my daydream, I realized I was standing there in front of her and my kids. Immediately I went and stood behind the table I was working on, since my dick was clearly trying to get her attention. “Sorry, what?”
“Is it okay if we order pizza for dinner?” She sighed. “I think the kitchen and I need a little space in our new relationship.”
I laughed. “It’s fine with me. Xander is supposed to stop by, so get enough for him too.”
“Okay. What about your dad? Should we invite him as well?”
I shook my head, touched that she’d suggest it. “It’s poker night. His crew gets together at Gus’s house every other Saturday and they go a little wild. They split a six-pack and eat high-sodium snacks.”
She giggled. “Good for them. Okay kids, let’s leave your dad alone so he can get his work done.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome.” She smiled at me over one shoulder, and honest to god, my heart nearly jumped from my chest onto the table in front of me.
After a dinner break, during which I struggled to keep my eyes off her, I came back out to the garage to work while Veronica and the kids settled in the living room to watch a movie.
She wanted to show them some old movie musical that had been her favorite as a kid, and they were totally into it.
If I had suggested a movie from my childhood, they’d have pitched a fit, but somehow every idea Veronica had was automatically fun.
Seeing them snuggle up with blankets and pillows and popcorn on the floor in the living room sort of made me want to blow off work and join them.
Xander followed me out to the garage, hurrying through the rain, which had started up again. After helping himself to a beer from my fridge, he jumped up on my tool bench and watched me lay out the boards for a Parsons table I was making from some red and white oak.
“So how’s it going with Veronica?” he asked.
“Fine.” I grabbed my tape measure and extended the metal strip. “Although she wasn’t lying about not being able to cook.”
He laughed. “You are looking a little skinny. Want to arm wrestle?”
“I’d still kick your ass.”
“Okay, big brother.” Xander’s tone let me know he was giving me this one for free. “Now tell me how it’s going between you and the nanny.”
“She’s a good employee.” I scribbled some measurements on a scrap of paper. “Does what I ask her to.”
“Have you asked her for a blow job?”
I gave him the finger without looking in his direction. “If you’re going to be an asshole, you can leave. She works for me. She takes care of my kids.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t think she’d complain. She looks at you.”
I lined up the tape measure on the next board without even looking at the number. “Fuck off.”
“I’m serious. She does it when you’re not paying attention. And when you’re looking at her, she’s focused on the kids. You guys look at each other. Trust me.”
A sweat broke out on my back. “We’re not looking at each other like that.”
“It’s like that,” he said confidently. “Not that I blame you. She’s gorgeous.”
“So you ask her out.” I said it, but at the thought of his actually doing it, a jolt of hot, electric rage shocked my system. I immediately regretted my words.
“Nah,” he said, thank fuck. “She’s not interested in me. Plus, I’m looking for a wife, and I feel like she’s probably not looking to get serious with someone so soon after her bad experience.”
Finally, I turned around and stared at him. “A wife? Are you joking?”