Chapter 4
Noah
Being back home in Saltford Bay is bittersweet.
It's been six months since I moved back into Gramps' house. Well, it’s my house now, I suppose, though it still feels strange to think of it that way.
When he passed four years ago, he left me everything: the creaky Victorian with its wraparound porch, the garage full of fishing gear, the backyard where he taught me to catch fireflies.
I don't like being idle, and after six months, I'm just about ready to crawl out of my own skin. Seriously, I'm having a hard time since the Jarvises moved to Singapore.
At least I have a part-time job at the Mindful Pixie yoga studio.
It's few hours, and the pay is dismal at best, but it keeps me sane.
I'm still waiting to hear back from Drakesmere Academy.
I had three interviews with them so far, but they still have to make a decision.
Sharnia may have put in a good word for me, but I'm not holding my breath.
Truth is, I still don't know if I even want to find another nanny position or if I should finally take the jump and commit fully to that teaching career I always dreamed of.
I'm kind of in limbo. Not a good place to be.
It's still early, about thirty minutes before the Mindful Tween class and everything feels under control. The mats are stacked. The lights are soft. My phone is hooked up to the speaker with binaural beat music already playing.
And I have my own special touch all ready for the class.
I smile as I set a chocolate chip cookie tray on the back table between the pink salt lamp and the smudging abalone shell.
They're all homemade, baked by yours truly, and still warm enough that the smell should basically be illegal.
The kids lose their minds over these. It's stupidly satisfying.
The front door chimes.
Belinda Everdeen's familiar scent of lavender and sage hits me. It's pretty distinctive, even to my human sense of smell. The older pixie who is the proprietor of the yoga studio always seems to be drenched in essential oils and clouded in incense.
She's a character, for sure. But she's an amazing boss when she's not trying to smother me under a yoga mat or make me bend like a pretzel.
I raise my brows as I see her ushering in two pixie kids who look like they'd rather be anywhere else. I recognize her grandkids immediately.
"Sorry for being late. I had to drive to school to pick up these two." Belinda's voice is bright and cheerful, as usual. I don't think I've ever heard her sound anything but chipper and buzzing with happiness. "But I see I shouldn't have worried. The place is perfect, as usual. Thank you!"
The little boy, Matthew, lights up when he sees me. His pale-green wings do a happy flutter, and before I can brace myself, he launches across the studio floor like a tiny missile.
"Noah!" he exclaims.
I catch him mid-flight, laughing as he wraps his arms around my waist with the kind of enthusiasm only seven-year-olds possess.
"Whoa there, buddy!" I swing him up, and he giggles. "Good to see you, too."
"Did you bring cookies today?" His purple eyes are wide and hopeful. "Chocolate chips?"
"Matthew," Belinda chides gently, but she's smiling.
I set him down and ruffle his green hair. "I did. But they're for after class, and only if you ask nicely."
"Please?" He clasps his hands like he's praying. "Please, please, please?"
God, this kid is adorable.
"We'll see." I wink at him, then turn my attention to the girl hovering near the door.
Zoe, Matthew's sister.
She's wearing a grown-up, detached expression that screams she's thirteen-going-on-thirty, her sapphire hair catching the light from the windows, blue wings folded tight against her back.
I don't think I've seen her smile more than twice since I started working for Belinda.
But she's a good kid and always helpful at the studio whenever Belinda brings her over.
"Hey, Zoe." I keep my voice casual. "Good to see you again."
She shrugs. "Hi."
One word. All business.
I don't push. Teenagers are like feral cats. If you move too fast, they hiss at you and they're gone.
"Matthew," I say instead, giving him a job because jobs are magic with kids, "want to help me set up? I need someone to check that all the mats are lined up."
"Yes!" He bounces on his toes. "I can do that!"
He bolts toward the already aligned mats with the kind of purpose adults pay therapists to rediscover. Zoe lingers near the door, arms crossed, gaze sliding past me to the back table.
The cookies. Of course.
"Don't even think about it," I say, not looking directly at her as I adjust a cushion. "Those are for after class."
She takes one step toward the tray anyway. I lift my brows.
"I wasn't." Zoe rolls her eyes dramatically and stops like the floor suddenly became lava. "Whatever."
Progress. Zoe walks over and makes a show of checking Matthew's work, pointing at a corner and telling him something in a low voice.
Belinda comes over and grabs her sage smudging stick and her abalone bowl.
"Where is their nanny? You know, the military-style orc lady who was with them last time?" I ask.
Belinda's smile falters, and she pinches her lips.
"The nanny quit," she says, and it comes out blunt, like ripping off a bandage. "I'm helping Rika out until she finds a replacement."
I blink. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Another prank gone wrong. She used super glue on the nanny's hair." Belinda tips her chin toward Zoe. "This puts Rika under a lot of stress. I'm not sure how she'll find a replacement. These two are getting quite the reputation, and Saltford Bay is a small town."
For sure. Word travels fast and far in the nanny world. No one wants to care for a "trouble family." Belinda's daughter won't have an easy time finding a replacement with this last prank hanging over her head.
"Want me to talk to her?" I point my chin toward Zoe.
"Be my guest." Belinda's smile returns and she jerks her chin toward the girl. "She could use a good talking-to."
From the corner of my eye, I see Zoe's wings stiffen against her back as she stills completely.
She doesn't turn to her grandmother, but the tension in the teenage girl is obvious.
She turns away from her brother and heads for the supply closet, yanking it open like she's going to wrestle the yoga props into submission.
Ah. Okay. Zoe heard that.
I've heard a bit about Rika's misadventures with the nannies through Belinda over the last few months. Not cool. Not cool.
Zoe starts hauling a pack of cylindrical support pillows from the closet, wrangling them like they're about to bite her. I slowly walk over to her, keeping my movements unhurried.
"Hey." I keep my voice gentle. "What happened to your nanny?"
"Nothing. Margaret made a big deal of it, that's all." She doesn't look at me. "The lady can't take a joke."
"People don't quit their jobs over nothing," I point out, but keep my voice low and even.
She sighs like I've personally ruined her life, then shoves a pillow back inside the closet. So much for the lumbar support, I guess.
"I didn't mean to hurt her," she mutters. "She was just so strict all the time."
I wait. Her shoulders rise and fall once.
"The prank went too far," she says, still staring at the closet and its now-messy contents. "I didn't think she'd actually get hurt."
My stomach twists.
"But she did."
Zoe's eyes flash. They’re either wet with anger or shame, I can't be sure. Could be both. Her breath shudders out of her like she's been holding it for days.
"I just…" She swallows. "I thought if there wasn't a nanny, Mom would have to come home. Like actually be home with us."
The words land heavy and I have to suppress a shake of my head. She's just a kid. She doesn't understand that the world doesn't work like that.
"And now she's more stressed," Zoe adds, voice cracking. "And it's my fault. And I know that's selfish. I know it's stupid. I know I'm stupid. I'm a selfish, bad kid."
Zoe's voice cracks on the last part and she pinches her lips which doesn't totally prevent them from trembling. My heart breaks a little more for her. It's not easy, what they're going through.
From what I've heard from Belinda, the husband left the family about six months ago after a months-long affair with Rika's best friend.
He moved to Boston, a good four hours' drive from Saltford Bay, and has barely been taking the kids on his time ever since, constantly giving excuses why he can't come pick them up on his weekends.
So yeah. Those kids are hurting.
"It's not stupid," I say quietly. "And you're not stupid or selfish. You just wish things were different than they are, that's all."
Zoe wipes at her face like she's furious her eyes betrayed her.
"It doesn't matter. Mom's mad at me, even if she tries not to show it."
"Maybe," I say. "But she's allowed her feelings, right? I may not know your mom, but from everything I've heard through your grandma, she loves you very much and she's proud of you, too."
I wait a beat, then two. "If you miss her, tell her that. I'm sure she misses you, too."
Zoe stares at the blankets in her arms like they're suddenly the most interesting thing on Earth. Then she gives a tiny nod. Barely there.
"Thanks, Noah," she mutters.
She slips past me and heads back into the main studio, shoulders still tense but not quite as rigid as before. I stand there for a second, staring at the contents of the closet. I'll have to reorganize everything now, but it doesn't matter.
I just wish I could help those kids.
Then I turn back to the room and see Belinda watching me, arms folded, expression unreadable in that pixie way. Cute face, but eyes sharp like a laser.
Matthew is at the water station, tongue poking out in concentration as he fills cups like it's a sacred duty.
I walk over to Belinda and keep my voice low. "How long are they here?"
Belinda exhales. "Until Rika gets out of work. Which won't be until well after dinner."
"That's a long time."
Belinda's gaze flicks over me. "How'd your interview with Glinda Newton go, by the way?"
I had an interview just a few days ago with Glinda Newton, the principal of Saltford Bay’s middle school.
I blink. "You know about that?"
"It's a small town." She chuckles. "Also, I know Glinda. We went to school together."
Small town, indeed. I forgot how easily news of any kind travels in a small town like Saltford Bay, like it just floats through the air.
In my eight years as a nanny, I always lived in big cities, where people seldom even know their neighbor's name.
I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse to have everyone in your business like that.
"Right." I swallow. "I think it went well. I might actually get it."
Saying it out loud makes something in my chest flutter with a mixture of half excitement, half pure fear.
Teaching English Lit has always been the plan. The real goal. The one I let go all those years ago. The one I should have held on to, but kind of released, little by little.
"But even if I get the job, Mrs. Harriman doesn’t retire before the end of the school year, so I need work until then. You’re not going to get rid of me so easily."
Belinda's entire body stills and her gleaming pixie eyes become predatory sharp. Her mouth curves like she's a shark smelling blood in the water. Not that I think sharks smile. But if they did, they would look like Belinda Everdeen right now.
"Are you actively looking?" she asks. "For more work, I mean?"
"Yes," I say warily. Belinda is seriously creeping me out right now. "I love working here, but the hours aren't enough. I'm comfortable financially since the house is paid off and I have a severance package from my last nanny position, but it's not like I can afford to coast until next September."
Neither of us say anything more for a moment, then Belinda nods, and her smile turns so feral I almost shiver. I swear pixies evolved from foxes or something equally small and dangerous.
"Hmm." Belinda tilts her head. "Would you be open to another nanny job?"
My spine goes stiff. I follow her gaze to the corner where Zoe and Matthew are arguing quietly, yet intensely over who gets to sit in the purple bean chair. The purple one is apparently essential. The pink unicorn one is a crime against humanity.
I should say no.
I should say I'm moving on. I should say I'm not doing this anymore. I should say I'm going to be a teacher and build a life that is my own and stop slipping back into the role that always makes me feel useful and safe and… temporary.
But I look at those kids.
And I think about Zoe calling herself a stupid, selfish kid. I think about Matthew and his eager, open face and his big, open heart. His big heart that was broken into pieces that still need picking up.
Belinda reads my hesitation like it's printed on my forehead.
"Your daughter doesn't know me," I say.
"But I do." Belinda's tone is certain. "And Rika needs help, Noah. Real help."
Here's a fact I don't like to admit, even to myself. The truth is, those are the magic words for me. Need. I need to be needed.
Belinda steps closer like a predator going in for the kill.
"Come for an interview tonight. After class. I'll drop the kids off at Rika's, and you can just join me. Just a conversation. No commitment."
I hesitate. "Showing up unannounced for an interview without being invited is—"
Belinda waves a hand like I'm being dramatic. "Rika asked me if I knew anyone who would be interested in the position. She will be delighted to see you, believe me."
That line should make me nervous. I should be wary of the way Belinda blinks repeatedly as she speaks or the way her left wing twitches at her back.
But that offer is as tempting as a plate of warm brownies after a thousand-mile hike.
"Okay, then," I hear myself say. "I'll go with you for an interview. But only if your daughter agrees to it first."
Belinda's grin is instant. Triumphant. "Good. I'll text Rika right now."
The front door chimes again.
The first tween arrives with an armful of attitude and a backpack that looks heavier than their body. They pause in the doorway and scan the room like they're deciding whether yoga is worth the social risk.
I straighten automatically, sliding into that calm, welcoming version of myself that knows how to handle groups of kids.
"Hey," I say with an easy smile. "You're in the right place. Go ahead and sign in."
The kid relaxes a fraction and heads for the table.
Behind me, Belinda's phone buzzes as she types.
And somewhere deep in my chest, beneath all the sensible plans and reasonable red flags that should make me take this conversation back, something shifts. Something familiar, warm, and dangerous.
It would feel good to be needed again.