Chapter 6 #2
I applied to every teaching job I could find in nearby states, desperate for a way out.
That’s how I found the opening here in Canyon Creek, buried on some job website.
It was far from home, but I needed to get away.
California had nothing but ghosts and heartache. I had nothing and no one but myself.
When I got the job after a phone interview with Mrs. Abbott, I packed what I could fit, picked up my new old car, and drove here with barely anything in my bank account.
Thankfully, Rose’s daughter had listed the studio online just days before I left.
If she hadn’t, I would’ve slept at a hotel until I found a place to live.
I was so desperate to leave, I would’ve slept in my car if I had to.
My final goodbye to Daniel was leaving the lacy white thong—or the remains of it, on the kitchen counter, right next to my apartment keys and credit cards.
Yes I burned it.
It was very cathartic.
Shaking myself out of the awful memories, I pull myself back into the present.
I lay out the blanket we brought to the pond, and Delilah hurls her backpack onto it, unzipping it and unceremoniously dumping its contents out.
I unpack our lunch as well, spreading out the turkey sandwiches, sliced strawberries and yogurt tubes.
“Where do you live?” Delilah asks as she starts making quick work of her yogurt tube, her curiosity never slowing.
“In town, in an apartment,” I reply before taking a bite of my sandwich.
“Alone?” Her eyes bug out of her head, like the idea of an adult living alone is horrifying.
“Kind of,” I say with a laugh. “But I live right next to my friend Rose. She rents the apartment to me. You’d like her. She’s cool like you.”
I grin around another bite, and she smiles right back.
Wes buys the real deli turkey. Like, when they put the chunk of meat on the slicer and shave it right there in front of you. It's delicious and way better than the uniform, paper thin slices I get from the cooler section. This is a flex he doesn’t even know he has. This shit isn’t cheap.
God, do I think it’s hot he buys premium cold cuts? Get a grip, Ivy.
“Can I meet her soon?” Delilah asks, snapping me out of my deli induced daydreams.
“Sure, if your dad’s okay with it.” I smile at her, watching her as she inhales her food. For some odd reason, it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling seeing her devour her sandwich.
“I thought you were going to live with us, cause Daddy bought that stuff for your new room when you stay with me when he works late,” Delilah says, stuttering over her sentence.
I feel the lines form between my brows. “I don’t think that stuff was for me, babe. It was already in there when you first showed me the room, remember?”
The guest room is nice, if not a little bare.
It’s just meant for me to sleep in, so it really only needs the bed that was already in there.
The ensuite is nice and basic, with a decent sized walk-in shower, sink and toilet.
It’s nothing fancy, but clean and spacious.
The room was practically empty compared to the rest of the house, but that’s fine with me.
The rest of Wes and Delilah’s home has that warm, inviting, cozy feeling.
Dark hardwood floors run throughout, with a deep brown leather sectional that looks lived in and covered with throw pillows and blankets.
Persian style rugs adorn the entryway, living room, and hall.
Plants are everywhere, filling corners and windowsills, and Delilah’s toys are tucked away here and there.
There’s framed family photos, and crayon masterpieces hanging on the walls. It looks lived-in. It looks like love.
I love it.
“No,” Delilah says, shaking her head. “After you left, we bought stuff at the store so you can be more comfy when you sleep here.”
I let out a low hum and nod at her, not wanting to show my shock or my currently short-circuiting brain.
Shock might be an understatement. I haven’t stepped foot in the guest bedroom since Wes and Delilah gave me a tour, but I’m suddenly fighting the urge to grab Delilah and run as fast as I can back to the house to see what “comfy stuff” he allegedly bought for me.
The Wes I’ve interacted with all week doesn’t seem like the guy to go out of his way and decorate the guest room just for me. I can’t help but wonder if Delilah is mistaken.
After lunch, we dig around the pond in search of worms. Delilah finds seven, I find four. We name them all, naturally, then safely return them to the ground and bury them back under the dirt.
Once everything is packed up, we start our trek back to the house. I let my eyes take in the land, the trees gently swaying around us, and can't help but marvel at the view. A small lump catches in the back of my throat as the thought hits me like a ton of bricks.
My parents would’ve loved it here.
Are you guys seeing this? I think to myself, closing my eyes and breathing in a lungful of the pine and earth scented breeze.
A small gust of wind picks up, blowing mine and Delilah’s hair around in what I just know is a response. I squeeze Delilah’s hand in mine, and with the wind at our backs, we walk home. And I feel like maybe, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
————
I glance over at the clock and see that it’s just after five, so Wes should be home any minute. My new sidekick and I are at the kitchen table, elbows deep in Play-Doh. I’m basically only here to make the snakes Delilah requests and open the colors she wants.
The front door creaks open, and I turn my head just in time to spot Wes toeing off his boots at the door.
He’s turned away from me, his broad shoulders and back giving me a fantastic view.
I can actually see his back muscles shifting through the fabric of his shirt.
His black canvas-like pants cling to his very high, very tight ass.
I never thought I’d be attracted to a man’s ass.
Delilah hears him too, and is already flying toward him before I stand from the table.
“Daddy!” she shrieks, jumping into his arms. He catches her effortlessly, and hugs her close.
“Hey, bug. How was your day? I missed you,” he says, holding her with one arm as he brushes her wild mane of dark curls out of her eyes with the other.
My insides melt at the sight.
That’s my cue to leave before I embarrass myself—again.
Delilah’s response is a breathless run-on sentence.
“So good! We played restaurant and Iby was the chef and she was yelling at Burrito because she was the cook and, and, and, she wasn’t making the food fast enough, and then we built blocks and colored them, and we ate lunch at the pond and we found eleben worms, I found the most but Iby found some too, then we came home and I pooped, then we played Play-Doh! ”
Wes blinks, obviously needing a moment to process everything she just shouted at him.
“That sounds like an awesome day, bug,” he eventually replies. “Give me a minute and I’ll start dinner.”
He sets her down and presses a kiss to the top of her head, watching her run back to the table, her little bare feet slapping against the hardwood.
Then, he finally makes eye contact with me and quirks an eyebrow.
“Worms?” The corner of his mouth gives the tiniest, almost imperceptibly small twitch. He’s making conversation?
I have to be hallucinating.
“Yep,” I say, a little worried I might say something inappropriate again. “We had a great day. She really is the best kid, Wes. You’ve done a great job.”
I mean it, too. I know Delilah’s mom passed away when she was just a baby, but Wes has done a wonderful job raising a bright, kind, hilarious little girl.
Wes breaks eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment. He clears his throat. “Uh, thanks.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone all sincere just when I saw the first sign of levity coming from him. However, he hasn’t exactly been a fan of my jokes, so it’s probably for the best.
I offer him a polite smile in return and take the hint. It’s my time to go.
I walk over to the table and crouch down beside Delilah, who is still busy sculpting an abstract blob of Play-Doh.
“Bye, babe. I’ll see you in a couple days. Have the best weekend with your daddy.” We both move in for a hug and I give her a good squeeze. I’m actually going to miss her. It’s only two days for the love of god. What is happening to me?
“Please stay, Iby. You can sleep in your room. It's all comfy for you.” Her bottom lip is actually sticking out, and her eyes are getting glassy. Damn, I got so distracted I never went to see the guest room.
“It’s okay, Lilah,” Wes butts in. “Ivy will be back on Monday. She has stuff she has to do too, alright?”
I really don’t. I mean, I plan on jotting some ideas down and dipping my toe back in the writing water.
Other than that, I’ll probably just rot in bed or ask Sophie if she’s busy.
Maybe we can get a drink. Not having to stress about lesson plans or classroom chaos is glorious.
I don’t have any real concrete plans, and I fucking love it. I feel free.
“Um, yeah. I’ll be back Monday, sweet girl. Just watch, you’re going to have so much fun with your dad, you won’t even know I’m gone,” I say with a wink.
“Okay. Bye, Iby,” she draws out, still fully pouting.
I give her one final hug before standing and turning to gather my things. I slip on my chucks by the front door, which Wes is still loitering by. Maybe he’s trying to make sure I leave as soon as possible. Or maybe he wants to talk. Nope, don’t do that to yourself, Ivy.
“Well, have a good weekend,” I say with an awkward laugh, giving him the infamous weird smile, paired with a half-hearted wave that I instantly regret.
I don’t really know what to say. He hasn’t really spoken to me this week, so I assume he’d like me to just keep to myself.
Which is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I have thoughts. I have opinions. Keeping them bottled up is damn near excruciating.
But I’ll do it, because I really want this job. It’s kind of my ideal situation.
I step out onto the front porch, and just as I’m closing the door behind me, I hear Wes’s voice.
“Hey.”
I stop in my tracks and turn at the sound, a little startled. I step back and he stands in the doorway running one tattooed hand through his hair, like he’s trying to buy time. He looks uncomfortable, and I brace for whatever is about to leave his mouth.
“Thank you,” he says. “For this week. For everything, really. You’ve been great and have helped me out a lot. Lilah loves being with you.”
I don’t move a muscle. I just stare at Wes with what I’m sure are wide, unblinking eyes.
“Oh, yeah. No problem. I love being with her too,” I reply cautiously.
“And I’m sorry if I’ve been an asshole. Or stand-offish,” he adds, glancing away quickly. “It’s just been an adjustment having someone new in my space.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’d like to hire you. If you’re interested.”
I freeze. Still interested? I want to tattoo “NANNY FOR DELILAH” across my forehead in sparkly ink.
“No need for the trial basis,” he continues. “I’ve seen what I needed to see.”
He slips his hands into his pockets, and looks at me with what I swear is hope in his eyes. I can hear angels singing in the distance, maybe even a harp.
“Really?” I ask—probably a little more desperate that I’d prefer, but who fucking cares, he wants to keep me on.
“Yeah,” he replies, rocking back on his heels.
I lunge at him.