Chapter 3 #2
We lock eyes, and I awkwardly half-stand from my chair and wave a hand at him to signal it’s me he's looking for. His eyes widen the tiniest fraction, then he scoots behind the other patrons in line, weaving through the sea of tables of the cafe until he reaches me.
Is there something in the water in this town? Or is it just the Cooper family? Good god, he is magnificent. I stare, unable to stop my blatant perusal. Sophie’s other brothers are handsome, but this, this is something else.
He has a straight, prominent nose and a wonderfully square jaw.
His chestnut-brown hair is untidily pushed back, like he doesn’t brush it, but just simply runs his hands through it.
It’s a little long, the ends of it curling up at the nape of his neck.
And his eyes…they’re so blue they’re almost navy.
His lips are so full I’m actually jealous of them.
I attempt to shake off the spell I was just under and regain some professionalism. I fully stand now and reach out my hand, craning my neck to meet his eyes.
“Hello, I’m Ivy,” I say, offering my brightest smile.
In return, he gives me an unamused, flat smile—if you could even call it that—paired with the slight flaring of his nostrils. Slowly, he lifts his hand up to shake mine.
Tattoos? Check.
His right forearm and hand are a kaleidoscope of black and colored ink. I can’t make out exactly what they’re of, for fear of being caught staring, but I notice his left forearm is tattooed as well, just a bit less than the right.
“Wesley. Or, I mean, Wes,” he replies, his voice deep and gruff.
His fingers graze mine until our palms connect, and my arm instantly goes numb.
I steal a glance down at our joined hands, noting the scratchy feel of his palm, against my hopefully not sweaty one.
We shake hands, but my stare is locked on how his sun-kissed, inked hand is such a stark difference to my light olive skin.
He gives my hand one last firm shake, then pulls back so quickly, it’s as if he’s desperate to break the connection.
Scowl? Check.
I tuck my hand behind my back and try to discreetly wipe my palm on my pant leg in case it was in fact, too sweaty. I feel my cheeks burn, and I glance away, settling back down in my chair.
“Thank you for coming,” he mutters, taking the chair across from mine.
“Of course. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I reply, a bright smile still locked and loaded.
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he scans me like I did him, with that scowl still firmly in place. My smile falters the slightest bit, but I do my best to look unaffected by his cold demeanor and generally unwelcoming attitude.
This is not what I was expecting from the sibling and son of the nicest people I’ve ever met.
“You’re Sophie’s teacher friend?”
He says you’re like he’s not convinced. Like I couldn’t possibly be a teacher. His obvious insinuation makes me sit up a little straighter. Preparing myself for what, I don’t know. I tip my chin up and narrow my eyes a fraction.
“Yes,” I reply confidently. “At least I was, until I was fired…because of budget cuts, not because I did anything weird or like, illegal or anything.”
The rambling is about to start. I can feel it. Yet I can’t seem to stop my mouth from moving.
“So you don’t have to worry about that. I mean, me being a weirdo or a criminal. Me being fired was a financial issue, not a ‘get that weirdo criminal out of here’ issue.”
Stop talking Ivy.
Nope, I have to add one more thing.
“I’d be happy to submit to a background check,” I blurt.
Jesus Christ, am I possessed?
He stares at me blankly, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. The position makes his corded forearms and rounded biceps bulge beneath his black T-shirt. I try to re-focus, again.
He’s clearly trying to process what just came out of my mouth. I start to think I’ve already lost the job before I even got it—until the intimidating man finally speaks.
“Did Sophie give you the details?” he asks, graciously ignoring my insane babbling.
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes, she told me all about Lilah and everything you’ll need from me. I know the weekday routine, and that I’ll be needed on some weekends depending on your schedule.”
“And you can do that?” His eyes search my face, trying to figure out what, exactly? To determine if I’m capable of that? Of course I am. I wrangled over a hundred preteens every day as a teacher. One four year old will be a dream.
“Absolutely. I’m totally free. Just tell me what you need, and I’m there. Sophie’s talked a lot about Lilah, and I’d be lucky to meet her.”
He is still just staring at me. It unnerves me.
He clears his throat, then leans forward, resting his lightly clasped hands on the table.
“I don’t like a lot of screen time. We usually do a little TV after breakfast and sometimes a movie before bed.
With the weather warming up, I want Lilah outside as much as possible, staying active.
She doesn’t nap anymore, so she’ll be a handful.
I’ll need you to feed her lunch and a couple of snacks.
I’ll handle breakfast before I leave and dinner when I get home.
She’s a very energetic four-year-old and needs a lot of attention.
For the occasional late nights on the weekends, I’ll need you to handle dinner, bath, and bedtime. There’s a guest room down the hall you can use on those nights, so you don’t have to drive home in the middle of the night.”
Sophie already told me all of that, so I’m not surprised by his conditions.
“Are you positive you can handle all of that?”
I blink. His tone implies I wouldn’t be able to handle all of that. I tell myself it’s just his due diligence. He’s hiring someone to care for his child, and that’s got to be a lot to consider, and must take a lot of trust. Maybe I’m still a little sensitive after losing my job.
With that thought, my shoulders lose some of their tension. I’m glad he’s being so particular about her care. I give him a genuine smile this time. “Absolutely, I can.”