20. Alexa
ALEXA
Sunlight streams through my bedroom window, but I’ve been awake for at least an hour, staring at the ceiling and replaying last night’s conversation.
Everything about Jordan makes sense now.
The careful distance he maintains, the way he sometimes seems to shut down when things get too comfortable, the guardedness that I mistook for coldness.
He’s been protecting himself. Just like I have.
But last night, I saw beneath all of that armor.
I saw the tenderness he tries so hard to hide, the vulnerability he’s spent years learning to mask.
When he told me about Amy, about growing up in foster care, about feeling like he has to carry everything alone, I saw the real Jordan.
Not the polished doctor or the competent temporary guardian, but the man who’s been fighting to belong somewhere his entire life.
And the way he looked at me when we almost kissed… There was something there. Something real and deep and worth exploring.
I’ve spent the last nine years building walls around my heart, telling myself that Ash and I are better off on our own. But maybe it’s time to take them down. Maybe it’s time to see where this connection with Jordan could lead.
The thought terrifies me and thrills me in equal measure.
I can hear Ash in the living room, the familiar sounds of his video game providing background noise to my morning revelation.
Henry will be waking up soon, and Jordan will need me to watch him while he visits Amy.
Now that I know where he goes, now that I understand what he’s dealing with, everything feels different.
I take extra care getting ready this morning, choosing a soft blue sweater that brings out my eyes and making sure my hair falls just right. Not obvious, but presentable. Like someone who’s ready to have an important conversation.
And like someone who’s ready to finally trust again.
“I’m going over to Jordan’s,” I call to Ash as I grab my keys. “You okay here for a bit? I’ll bring Henry back. “
“Yep!” he calls back without taking his eyes off the screen. “I’m about to beat this level.”
The walk across our yards feels longer than usual, and I realize my hands are slightly shaky as I knock on Jordan’s front door. This is it. We’re going to talk about what happened last night, about what it means, about where we go from here.
Jordan opens the door, and immediately I can tell something’s wrong. His expression is polite but distant, professional in a way that makes my stomach drop.
“Good morning,” he says, stepping aside to let me in. “Thanks for coming over. Henry’s just finishing his bottle.”
“Jordan, about last night—”
“Actually, I need to apologize for that.” He cuts me off, his voice carefully neutral. “I shouldn’t have shared so much personal information. And I definitely shouldn’t have put you in such an uncomfortable position.”
Uncomfortable position. Is that what he thinks almost kissing me was?
“You didn’t put me in any—”
“I did.” He’s not looking at me, instead focusing on gathering Henry’s things, checking the bag twice, three times. “You work for me, Alexa. That creates a power dynamic that makes any kind of personal relationship inappropriate. I should have been more mindful of that.”
The words hit me like a slap. Power dynamic. Inappropriate. Professional boundaries. All the clinical language people use when they want to put distance between themselves and something messy.
“I see,” I manage, hoping my voice sounds steadier than it feels.
“I value what we have here. You’re incredible with Henry, and Ash has become important to me. I don’t want to jeopardize that by crossing lines we shouldn’t.”
Right. Because heaven forbid he might actually feel something for the woman who’s been helping him hold his life together for the past three weeks.
Instead of saying that, though, I bite my tongue. I have pride, after all.
“Of course,” I say, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face. “You’re absolutely right. It’s better to keep things professional.”
“I’m glad you understand.” The relief in his voice is unmistakable, and it makes me feel even more foolish. How could I really have thought something would happen between us? “I should head out soon. Will you be okay with Henry for a few hours?”
“Absolutely. Take all the time you need.”
He hands me Henry, who’s content and sleepy after his bottle. For just a moment, our hands brush as we transfer the baby, and I feel that same electric current from yesterday at the museum. But Jordan pulls away quickly, like he’s been burned.
Like he can’t stand to touch me.
“I’ll see you later,” he says, already reaching for his jacket.
“See you later.”
I watch through the window as he drives away, then stand in his kitchen holding Henry and feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. How could I have misread the situation so completely? How could I have thought that someone like Jordan would be interested in someone like me?
“Come on, sweetheart,” I whisper to Henry as I hold back tears. “Let’s go.”
Back at my house, Ash is exactly where I left him, controller in hand and completely absorbed in his game. Henry starts fussing the moment we walk through the door, probably picking up on my agitated mood.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I murmur, bouncing him gently as I pace around the living room. But nothing I do seems to help. His cries get louder, more insistent, and suddenly I feel completely overwhelmed.
This is too familiar. Standing alone in my living room with a crying baby, feeling like I’m failing at something that should come naturally.
It reminds me of those first terrifying months after Ash’s father left, when I had no idea what I was doing and every night was sleepless and every day stressful.
It reminds me of the day my grandmother died six years ago, when I realized that the one person who always made everything better was gone forever.
It reminds me that, at the end of the day, it’s just me. It’s always just been me.
Henry’s cries intensify, and I sink into a kitchen chair, holding him close while my own eyes start to burn with unshed tears. I hate that I let myself hope for something more. I hate that I thought Jordan might see me as more than just the help.
Most of all, I hate how alone I feel right now.
“Mom?” Ash’s voice cuts through Henry’s cries. “Is everything okay?”
I look up to find him standing in the kitchen doorway, controller forgotten, concern written all over his young face. My nine-year-old son is worried about me, and that’s the last thing he should have to deal with.
“Everything’s fine, honey.” I force another smile, this one for Ash’s benefit. “Henry’s just having a fussy morning.”
“Want me to try? Sometimes babies like different people. Remember, you told me that?”
The offer is so sweet, so generous, that it makes my chest ache. “That’s okay. He’ll settle down in a minute.”
Ash goes back to his game, but I can tell he’s keeping one ear on us. I need to pull myself together. I need to remember what I’ve always known: I’m fine on my own. Ash and I have been doing just fine for nine years. We don’t need anyone else.
I have Ash, who’s growing into an amazing young man despite having an absent father. I have Esme, who’s been my rock since high school. I have a couple of other close friends who would drop everything if I needed them.
That’s enough. That has to be enough.
Henry finally starts to calm down, his cries fading to soft hiccups as he settles against my shoulder. The quiet feels fragile, like it might shatter if I move wrong.
“We’re okay,” I whisper to both Henry and myself. “We don’t need anyone else. We’re perfectly fine just the way we are.”
But even as I say the words, I can’t quite make myself believe them.
Even as I remind myself that Jordan was right to maintain professional boundaries, that getting involved would have been a mistake, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me last night.
Even as I tell myself I’m better off without the complication of romantic feelings, I can’t forget how it felt to almost be kissed by someone who actually sees me.
But none of that matters now. Jordan has made his position clear, and I need to respect that. I need to go back to being just the nanny, just the neighbor who helps out with Henry.
I need to stop wanting things I can’t have.