Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ROWAN
Steam filters out of a pan on the stove, the aroma of cumin and chili powder surrounding me as Taylor Swift belts about revenge and grudges from the speaker.
I tried to convince Presley to let me put on something more on-theme for enchilada night, something with Spanish guitar or at least a little salsa flair, but she crossed her arms and signed, Reputation.
A girl after my own heart.
She stands beside me on the step stool, her dark hair pulled back, humming as she spoons the chicken, cheese, and bean mixture onto a tortilla. It’s off-key and barely audible, but it’s there.
I pretend not to notice.
If I look at her too long, if I make it a thing, she might retreat. So I roll the tortilla tight, tuck it seam-side down into the baking dish, and let her hum.
“Something smells delicious.”
At the sound of the deep, husky voice, a jolt of electricity shoots through me. I attempt to school my expression when I see Hayden turn the corner, but it’s a losing battle. Especially when I’m greeted by his devastating smile.
Normally when he comes home from work, he looks burdened. Like the day beat every last ounce of life out of him.
Not today.
Today, he looks lighter.
“Hope you don’t mind,” I say, wiping my hands on a towel. “I was in the mood for Mexican. Presley’s helping me make enchiladas.”
He steps closer, close enough that I catch the clean scent of soap and the office — something sterile layered over something uniquely him.
“Sounds delicious.”
His fingers wrap around my upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushes once, almost absently, before he pulls away.
The contact is brief.
But not brief enough.
Presley definitely notices.
Of course she does.
She notices everything.
And when she returns her attention to me after Hayden presses a soft kiss to her head, she gives me a playful waggle of her brow.
What? I sign.
She replies, Nothing.
She continues spooning the mixture onto the tortillas, which I roll up tight before adding to the tray.
Then she nudges me to get my attention.
It’s okay if you like him.
I glance at Hayden as he picks up Jemmy and peppers him with kisses. And my ovaries combust just watching him.
Presley tugs on my arm, forcing my eyes back to her. It’s really hard to focus when Hayden is in the same room.
It’s not like that, I sign back quickly.
I typically speak my responses to her, but I’d rather keep this conversation between us… For now, anyway.
Presley narrows her eyes. So you don’t do crush business?
I choke back a laugh, recalling Hayden’s niece, Maggie, using the term.
We definitely do crush business, but I’m not about to tell her that.
He’s my boss, I sign in reply.
Presley gives me a look that essentially says, “I’m seven. Not stupid.”
That’s not an answer, she signs.
“Just fill those enchiladas, please.”
She playfully salutes and goes back to work. But there’s a knowing smirk on her face.
As we cook to the soundtrack of Taylor Swift’s revenge era, I can’t help but smile at how much Presley’s changed since I first met her.
I’m going to miss spending time with her when I leave. Cooking dinner together. Dancing to music. Teaching her things I was never taught when I was her age.
A tiny voice sounds in the back of my head, reminding me I don’t have to leave, but I quickly silence it.
This isn’t forever. This isn’t my family. It’s Hayden’s. They’ve already been through enough. Already buried one wife. One mother.
I won’t put them through that again.
“Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?” Hayden asks, cutting through my thoughts.
I look up and meet his eyes. “Of course. Take your time.”
“I won’t be long.” He flashes me the smile that makes my knees weaken every single time, my pulse still fluttering long after he’s disappeared from view.
With a long sigh, I turn back, only to come face-to-face with Presley making exaggerated kissing faces at me.
I don’t have it in me to deny it. I simply shake my head and continue rolling up the enchiladas.
By the time Hayden comes back downstairs, the enchiladas are in the oven, and Presley has taken Jemmy into the living room to play for a bit before dinner, giving me time to fluff the rice.
Which is what I’m doing when I feel him behind me.
Not hear.
Feel.
The subtle shift in the air. The heat of him. The awareness that makes the tiny hairs all over my body stand on end.
“Miss me?”
His voice is low. Sensual.
Dangerous.
“No more than usual,” I reply, trying to play it cool as I turn to face him. “Although I did see a very impressive eggplant at the grocery store earlier. It reminded me of you. Or, more accurately, your dick.”
He throws his head back, his laughter echoing through the house.
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or…”
“Oh, you should be. It’s thick. And long. And it’s curved at just the right angle. I bought it as a souvenir.”
He shakes his head, his laughter continuing to rumble through him. “Of course you did.” Then he erases the space between us, his hand settling on my waist. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too,” I admit around a sigh.
He leans down and brushes his mouth over mine. It’s gentle. Tender. Testing. For a split second, I want to melt into it.
Instead, I press my palm to his chest and create space.
“What’s wrong?” He eyes me in concern. “We’re alone.”
“I know.” I glance toward the living room, confirming the kids are occupied. “But Presley’s already picked up on…whatever this is. She asked if I like you.”
He waggles his brows. “And do you?”
I playfully swat his arm. “I’m trying to be serious.”
“So am I. My ego is extremely fragile.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
I adore this version of him. The playful one. The man who isn’t carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The carefree man he must have been at some point in his life.
“I think it’s probably best if we keep our hands to ourselves when the kids are around. It’s already going to be difficult for them when I leave.”
At the reminder, his expression falls, and I hate that I’m the cause of it. But my plans haven’t changed. I’ll eventually leave, and Hayden will find a new nanny. Maybe someone like me but with more stability.
Someone without a ticking clock.
Although, the mere thought of it makes something hot and sharp bubble inside me.
“I just think it will be a lot less confusing if we tone down the PDA,” I finish.
He pushes out a long breath, running his fingers through his still-damp hair. “You’re right. I’ll keep things professional when they’re around.”
“Thank you.”
I turn back to the stove, fluffing the rice, even though it doesn’t need it.
“But for the record,” he murmurs, stepping close again, “I’m going to PDA all over you the second those kids are asleep.”
Before I can react, his palm lands against my ass with a firm smack.
I whirl around. “Hayden!”
He’s already backing away, looking far too pleased with himself.
And I hate that my first instinct isn’t to berate him or remind him of what we just discussed.
It’s to count down the hours until bedtime.