18. Alexa
ALEXA
Rain drums against Jordan’s kitchen windows with the kind of steady persistence that suggests it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. It’s Saturday morning, and both Ash and Henry seem to have absorbed the gloomy weather into their moods.
“I’m bored,” Ash announces from his spot on the couch, where he’s been flipping through the same comic book for the past twenty minutes. “There’s nothing to do.”
Henry, strapped into his high chair, Cheerios scattered around him like confetti, expresses his own displeasure by throwing a handful of cereal onto the floor. He’s been fussy all morning, refusing his bottle and rejecting every toy I’ve offered him.
“Maybe the rain will stop soon,” I say hopefully, though the weather forecast suggests otherwise.
“It’s supposed to rain all day,” Jordan replies, pacing the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He looks as restless as the kids feel, which somehow makes me feel better about my own fidgety energy.
Three weeks. It’s been almost three weeks since I started working for Jordan, and we’ve fallen into such a comfortable routine that days like this feel like an interruption to our normal flow.
Saturdays are usually park days or backyard soccer days, times when Ash can burn off energy and Henry can enjoy the fresh air from his stroller or a blanket on the grass.
“What about the science museum?” Jordan suggests suddenly, stopping mid-pace. “The Boston Children’s Museum has that hands-on science exhibit. Ash might like it.”
Ash’s head pops up from his comic book. “A science museum?”
“Interactive exhibits, experiments you can actually do, that kind of thing.” Jordan looks between Ash and me. “What do you think?”
“Can we see explosions?” Ash asks with the kind of hope only a nine-year-old can muster.
“Probably not explosions, but definitely some cool chemistry demonstrations.”
“I’m in.” Ash jumps up from the couch, his boredom evaporating instantly. “Can Henry come too?”
“That’s the idea. Family outing.” Jordan pauses, and I catch something shift in his expression, like he’s just heard what he said. “I mean, group outing. All of us.”
The slip makes my chest flutter in a way I try very hard to ignore. We’re not a family, no matter how much it sometimes feels like we are. I work for Jordan. We’re neighbors. Maybe even friends at this point.
Nothing more.
An hour later, we’re walking through the museum entrance, and I’m reminded why I love seeing the world through Ash’s eyes. His enthusiasm is infectious as he reads every sign, points out every exhibit, and asks a hundred questions about everything we pass.
“Look at this!” Ash calls from a display about simple machines. “Jordan, come see this pulley system!”
Jordan follows him eagerly, and I’m struck by how naturally he’s taken to being around children. Three weeks ago, he could barely change a diaper without panicking. Now, he’s explaining the physics of levers to a nine-year-old while bouncing Henry in his arms like he’s been doing it for years.
It is, quite honestly, the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Unfortunately for me.
“The mechanical advantage increases based on the ratio of the input force to the output force,” Jordan explains, demonstrating with one of the interactive pulleys.
“So, if I pull this rope, it makes lifting that weight easier?” Ash tests the mechanism, his face lighting up when it works exactly as Jordan described.
“Exactly. You’re using physics to multiply your strength.”
“Mom, look!” Ash waves me over to another exhibit. “This one shows how electricity works!”
The next two hours pass in a blur of exhibits and excited discoveries.
Henry, recovered from his morning grumpiness, seems fascinated by all the lights and sounds around him.
Jordan proves to be surprisingly good at explaining complex concepts in ways that make sense to a curious kid, and Ash soaks up every bit of information like a sponge.
“This is the coolest thing ever,” Ash declares as we approach a chamber labeled Tornado Simulator.
The exhibit creates a miniature tornado using fog and carefully controlled air currents. We stand around it in a semi-circle, mesmerized by the swirling column of vapor spinning inside the clear chamber.
“How does it work?” Ash asks, leaning closer to get a better look.
Jordan shifts Henry to one arm and points to the diagram beside the exhibit. “See those vents at the bottom? They create updrafts that meet the downdrafts from the top, and when they rotate…”
His hand moves to indicate the air flow pattern, and somehow in the process, his fingers brush against mine, where I’m resting my hand on the edge of the display case.
It’s nothing. An accident. A casual touch that lasted maybe half a second.
So why does my skin feel like it’s on fire where he touched it?
I pull my hand back quickly, probably too quickly, and focus intently on the tornado as if it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. But I’m hyperaware of Jordan standing next to me, of the warmth radiating from his body, of the way he smells like pine and sage.
Pull it together, Alexa. He’s your employer. This is a job, not a date.
But my body didn’t get the memo. My heart is beating faster, and I have to resist the urge to look at Jordan to see if he felt it too, that little spark of electricity that had nothing to do with the science exhibit.
“Can we build a tornado at home?” Ash asks, oblivious to my internal crisis.
“That might be a little advanced for our backyard experiments,” Jordan replies with a laugh, and thank God his voice sounds normal because mine would probably crack if I tried to speak right now.
We continue through the museum, and I do my best to focus on Ash’s excitement and Henry’s babbling instead of the way Jordan’s laugh makes my stomach flip. By the time we reach the gift shop, I think I’ve gotten my reactions under control.
“Can I get something?” Ash asks, pressing his nose against the window display of science kits and educational toys.
“Pick something out,” Jordan says, following him into the shop. “Something we can work on together later.”
I start to protest that he doesn’t need to buy Ash anything, but Jordan waves off my objection before I can voice it.
“He’s been such a good sport about entertaining Henry, and he asked really great questions today. Consider it a reward for being an excellent science student.”
I already know he would get Ash something even if my kid hadn’t spoken a word today. The whole “excellent science student” part is just Jordan trying to put me at ease. He likes doing things for Ash; I can tell.
Because he’s giving. Sweet. Basically, the perfect man.
Ash takes his time examining every option before settling on a complex-looking building set.
“I think that might be a little advanced,” I warn him. “It says ages fourteen and up on the box.”
“I’ll help him with it after dinner,” Jordan promises. “Maybe set up a project station in the living room.”
Ash beams, and I smile at Jordan. Our gazes lock for a little too long, though, and I quickly turn away and pretend to be interested in the key chain display.
As we drive home through the still-drizzling rain, I listen to Ash chatter about everything we saw today, and I try not to think about how natural this all feels. How right it feels to be spending a Saturday together, making spontaneous plans and buying building sets and explaining tornadoes.
How much it feels like we’re a real family instead of just a woman and her son spending time with the man who employs her.
Because that’s all this is. A generous employer taking his nanny and her child on an educational outing.
The fact that he makes my pulse race and my skin tingle is irrelevant.
The fact that he looks at Ash like he’s proud of him, that he buys him presents and wants to spend time with him, that he makes us both feel like we matter…
none of that changes the fundamental reality of our situation.
I work for Jordan. He pays me well to take care of Henry and teach him about baby care. Everything else is just wishful thinking on my part.