CHAPTER 9
Jason
“I hear this is where we line up to talk to you.” I mumble the words again to the closed wooden door. At least the moth flapping over the light finds humor in my line.
I should’ve expected her to slam the door in my face. Further loosening my tie, I contemplate my next move. The neighborhood is lively with music from one of the homes and cyclists weaving alongside the chalked-up sidewalk.
The evening chill creeps beneath my shirt, and I’m tempted to retreat. After the boys’ soccer game, I rushed over here. Pressing the doorbell again, I exhale pure frustration. I loathe this, but I need her answer. If only she’ll say no, then I can report back to my mom and let her continue the search.
The door swings open. Good. It’s not Valentina. I need to figure out what to say to her.
The woman’s eyes glow with a welcome that feels like home. Short and stout, she’s older, perhaps Valentina’s mother or aunt since her features otherwise mirror Valentina’s in subtle ways. She reaches out, her grip firm and her smile broad, inviting. Is this warmth her usual greeting, or does she somehow recognize me? “I’m Paloma.” Her accent reminds me of Valentina’s heritage. “Tina’s mami.”
Tina? Oh, right. The boys said they could call her Tina or Val.
“Jason Sterling.” I squeeze her hand, calluses indicating her hard work and resilience. “My mother hired your daughter two days ago, but there’s been a misunderstanding.” Maybe Valentina will overhear and spare me from explaining again.
“I see.” Paloma swings the door wide open. “We’re having dinner. You should join us.”
My growling stomach betrays me as exotic scents waft from the house. I ditched dinner with Phil, Mom, and the kids for this. “I need to get back to my kids.”
“We have plenty to eat.” Paloma embodies the no-nonsense New Yorker vibe. Turning, she leaves the door open and no room to refuse. The dim hallway envelops us as I shut the door and seal us in. “If you want to talk to Tina, you’ll need to join us at the table.”
The living space is cozy, and the worn brown sofa reminds me of my childhood home in Queens. A TV rests on a wooden cabinet matching the coffee table. Family photos bring tan walls to life, though I barely have time to look as I follow Paloma.
Her voice carries from the connected room. “Jason here has just hired Tina through the agency.”
As I approach, tension prickles me. My gaze meets the sets of eyes pivoting my way—all except Valentina’s. She’s focused on her full plate, flicking her fork through her food with disinterest to avoid looking at me.
I wave at a woman who resembles Valentina and a man with a boxer’s build.
“I’m Anna, one of Tina’s older sisters.” The woman tilts her head toward Valentina, who continues to dissect her plate with indifferent clinks.
“You’re the one who cost my sister the job?” says the boxer. He must be a sports fanatic, given he’s dressed in a Nets jersey. He stands, protective and confrontational, then smirks as if savoring a personal victory. “Two jobs, actually.”
“Enough, Carlos,” Paloma intervenes.
Though I’m caught in the crossfire of accusations and familial loyalty, I can’t help but envy Valentina, who has siblings to stand up for her. As an only child, I’ve often imagined such support. Standing here beneath their stares and her indifferent presence, I stiffen as regret pushes me toward the resolution I need.
“Val, why don’t you get our guest a plate and something to drink?”
At her mother’s question, Valentina draws a deep breath and lifts her chin to meet my gaze. Her eyes narrow, her emotions unreadable. If she’s annoyed, I can’t tell. She sets her fork down with a deliberate clatter against her plate. “What do you want to drink?”
“Can we talk?” I’m hoping for a moment alone.
“Just get him Jarritos.” Carlos pulls out the empty chair on his left side, directly across from Valentina. Despite his earlier edge, he seems more relaxed now as he gestures for me to sit. “My sister is pretty awesome. No wonder you’re back, crawling.”
“Shut it, Carlos!” Valentina seethes from in front of the refrigerator. She emerges from the kitchen and hands me a bottle of unfamiliar red soda.
I’d have preferred water, but I better not push my luck.
“Thanks,” I murmur as she leans close to pop the lid with a bottle opener. Her proximity allows me to escape into the freshness of her fragrance. Aromatic, fresh like rain and flowers.
She leaves and returns with a plate for me, her tight jeans and red T-shirt highlighting her slender figure. As they pass bowls my way, I sample a spoonful from each, curious about the unfamiliar dishes.
“What’s this?” I point my fork to a chunk of something brown.
“That’s plantain.” Softness laces Valentina’s tone.
“Jason, you’re born and raised in Manhattan?” Paloma shifts the conversation.
“Queens, actually.” I then ask how long they’ve lived in Brooklyn.
“Born in Venezuela, raised in Brooklyn.” Carlos salutes with his now empty bottle. His gesture reminds me of my drink, so I take a cautious sip. “In this very neighborhood, Mami started the family business.”
“I started babysitting when they were little.” Paloma gestures to her kids and shares stories of how her nanny agency started and how her children were always part of the business. She doesn’t mention a husband as she shares challenges from her first years as an immigrant. She keeps the conversation flowing.
Then it shifts when Carlos starts in on sports. I catch a basketball or football game here and there, but depending on what my time with the kids allows, I seldom have the luxury of time to watch sports.
His Nets jersey compels me to toss out a casual question about their latest draft pick, and then we’re deep in discussion. From football’s tight-end strategies and hockey’s power-play tactics to debating the merits of a controlled fade in golf and the intricacies of baseball’s bullpen management—Carlos has it all down. He rattles off stats and player histories with the ease of a sports anchor, clearly a die-hard sports fanatic with more than enough knowledge to fill a sports column.
As the family converses, I grasp the depth of their connection to this place, and regret hits me for not understanding Valentina’s world sooner. This time with her family has given me more inside intel into who she is than any internet search could reveal. She comes from humble beginnings, raised by a down-to-earth family. She’s not a vixen or the reason behind my failed marriage.
The clinking of utensils blends with stories about the challenges of entrepreneurship. I’m half listening, captivated by the rich flavors dancing on my tongue and distracted by Valentina.
She maneuvers her fork through her food with a quiet focus, seemingly lost in her world until her gaze rises to mine. Then the space between us seems to spark. Charged with an electric undercurrent, it leaves my palms moist.
“Now that you know how we started our business”—Paloma’s voice pulls me back—“I hope you can give us good reviews.”
“He can’t give us a review when he hasn’t used our agency.” Valentina’s steely look sends a flutter through my stomach.
“I looked you up on the internet.” I might as well discuss why I’m here.
Her eyes narrow, and her fork clatters onto her plate. “And?”
Her advocacy for women’s independence was brilliantly expressed through fans’ detailed reviews, but while she was loved by many, some grumblers, mostly men, left comments saying they felt she’d misguided their spouses. I haven’t watched clips of her show yet, so I’d best speak carefully. I’m still afraid I might further dislike her, yet I’m gravitating toward liking her. “I see how some might misinterpret the message.”
“Does that mean you’re going to hire her for the show?” her brother probes.
“Carlos, Anna.” Paloma claps, silencing the room. “Let’s give Tina and Jason space to talk.”
As they clear their plates, only Valentina’s and mine remain.
I grip my bottle, using it as an anchor, taking a deep breath for what comes next. “The kids—my mom thinks you deserve another chance.”
“Is that so?” One shapely dark brow rises, highlighting the skepticism flashing in those lively eyes.
“Yeah.” My tongue is suddenly heavy. When was the last time I offered a genuine apology? Only to Mom because she doesn’t let me get away with anything without demanding an apology. “What matters is your relationship with the kids. We’ll need to communicate, maybe even share spaces, and not just when the kids are on break. But as long as you and I are—”
“How do you expect me to take care of your kids when you despise me?” She folds her arms, a V creasing the delicate skin above her nose.
I need to do better. My grip tightens on the bottle. “I trust my mom’s judgment, and she speaks highly of you. The children need stability. For their sake, can we set our differences aside?”
“There are plenty of great nannies out there.”
“Rumor is you’re one of the best New York has to offer.” I soften my tone. “Maybe it’s worth seeing if that’s true.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Her lips twitch. Is she amused by my discomfort?
“I told you why I’m here.” Didn’t I convey my sincerity?
She rests her chin on her palm. Her posture suggests a newfound ease. “You can’t trust me to work for your company, but you’re going to trust me with your kids?”
Put that way, it’s ridiculous. She’s not letting me off easily.
I exhale. “I judged too quickly. Your show—” I can’t admit why she rubbed me the wrong way without delving into details. “I should’ve watched more, gotten the full picture. You could’ve been a great host for our show.” That’s gotta be apology enough. “You were the most qualified. But we’ve already hired someone else, so hopefully, it doesn’t come back to bite me.”
Her posture softens, maybe in understanding or concession. “I could’ve acted better too.” Is that an apology? I don’t need one. “I got defensive and reacted the way any human might. I’m sorry.”
Caught off guard by her sincerity, I flex my grip on the bottle. She’s being gracious, and now, my reaction at the interview seems harsh. I sip my drink, nodding.
“I’m glad you watched the snippets I added to the application. I worked hard to get the best clips.”
“I haven’t watched those yet.” I spare her why her presence left me restless, prompting a deep dive into anything the internet had to offer about her. “I did my own research.”
“So, you were stalking me ,” she teases with the accusation I leveled at her at my mother’s house. Her eyebrows arch, highlighting her long eyelashes. She’s so effortlessly beautiful.
“I’m considering you as my kids’ nanny. It’s only fair I learn more about you.” I try to keep the mood light. At least, she’s relaxed while I’m anything but. “We started off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry.”
Now that wasn’t nearly as hard as I expected.
Her eyes soften further. “Your apology is accepted.”
I’d better clarify my intentions now. “I’d appreciate it if you would give us another chance. The boys are taken with you and hopeful you’re coming back.”
She shrugs. I’ll take it as a cautious openness. “If I come back, we need to discuss some conditions.”
“Okay, name them.” I set my soda aside. I don’t deserve the time she’s offering me right now.
“I’ll call you Grumps until you prove yourself a happier person.”
The teasing glint in her eyes warms me. My lips curl, and a laugh escapes, freeing the tension from my muscles. “What’s next? Don’t tell me it involves having to laugh at your jokes?”
“You have to let me do my job without jumping in to criticize my every move.”
“I can do that.” I nod. “As long as you’re not tying my kids up to a tree or something.”
Her lips curl upward.
My stomach flutters again as the tension between us shifts into something lighter, more playful—more daunting. “Also, I don’t know if my mom mentioned it, but the kids have spring break in three weeks—actually less than three weeks.” I hope it works out for her schedule. “You’ll need to stay in Meadowbrook that week.”
“Yes, she told me.” Valentina falls silent, perhaps weighing her decision.
“Great.” I jump in before she decides to turn me down. “Are you free tomorrow? We could give you a tour of the kids’ favorite spots in town, places you might want to take them during spring break.”
“What time works for you?”
“Would one o’clock be too late, too early?” That should allow enough time in the morning to assist the widow with the tasks Ethan mentioned, followed by breakfast and a catch-up session with friends.
“Works fine.” She gestures to my half-eaten plate. “You should finish your dinner.”
I hate to waste food, but even without checking my watch, I know I’m pressed for time. “I need to go and get my kids.”
Her expression softens. “How did their game go?”
Warmth floods my cheeks. She remembered? “Their team lost, but they had fun.” I then thank her for signing up for snacks so I could contribute. “They emailed me a few times, but I kept forgetting to sign up.”
She picks up her fork, seemingly embarrassed.
“And thanks for dinner.” I reach for my bottle and take another sip. The mysterious drink isn’t bad. It’s been a while since I drank soda.
“Good to see you changed your mind about Tina.” Everyone reemerges from the hallway and wherever they’ve been hiding. Paloma beams, her chest swelling. “We’re all set, then?”
I nod and thank her for the delicious dinner. Then I stand with my half-empty plate and soda bottle.
“We’ll put that away.” Anna takes the plate and bottle.
Carlos shakes my hand. “I’m glad you and Tina worked things out.”
“Me too.”
When I say goodbye, Paloma insists I take some food for the kids and my mom. Then she saunters off to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. “I made some empanadas earlier. They just need to be microwaved.”
“They’ll be okay.” I try to decline politely.
“They haven’t tried any of my food,” she counters.
Valentina stands up and waves me off. “Save yourself the time arguing. She’s not going to let you leave without food.”
I give in. Minutes later, I follow her to the door, a bag of exotic food in my hand. I have no clue what empanadas are, but I’m looking forward to trying them. Mostly, I’m looking forward to deepening my connection with this family—especially Valentina.