16. Riley
I havea hard time falling asleep. My dreams, when I slip into them, are filled with Cole, my imagination running wild to decide what his hands would feel like against the curves of my body.
When I wake up, breathless, I keep hoping that he’ll come into my room the way he did the night I dreamed of him fucking me. I keep hoping that he’ll tell me that he changed his mind—that it’s not as impossible as he thought it was. That it’s worth the risks and challenges.
No such luck, of course. The next morning, I sit in bed for a while, exhausted, watching the sun rise behind the gauzy curtains. I only managed to get a few hours of sleep, and according to the clock next to my bed, I have to be downstairs in twenty minutes to get Archie ready for his day.
With a groan, I pull myself out of bed and force myself to get dressed. As I trudge down the stairs, I can already tell that Cole is in the kitchen. The air smells like coffee and frying bacon.
I walk in, giving him a smile of greeting. He returns the gesture with a polite nod, and my heart sinks. Already, he’s putting on that professional face, creating a safe distance between us.
I can hardly believe I saw him smile yesterday.
“Good morning, Riley,” he says, his voice full of the same careful, neutral courtesy as his expression. “Can I get you something for breakfast?”
“Whatever you’re cooking up smells delicious,” I say.
He points at the stove with his spatula. “Bacon strips, fried eggs, and toast. Thought I’d keep things simple today. Coffee?”
“Sounds good.” I take a seat at the counter as Cole moves to the gleaming, stainless steel coffee machines. His kitchen is better outfitted than most coffee shops.
He messes with one of the many contraptions, grinding coffee beans. When he finishes, he pours the grounds into a French Press and sets the kettle to boil, then returns his attention to the stove.
“About yesterday,” he says, not looking up from the pan.
My heart thuds in my chest. “Yeah?”
“I just wanted to make sure I was clear. I know we didn’t really finish our conversation last night, but I meant what I said.”
There’s a plummeting sensation inside me, pure disappointment. “Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my tone relaxed. “Of course.”
“It was a moment of weakness.” He sets the fully-cooked bacon strips onto a paper towel to absorb the excess grease. Wiping his hands on a cloth, he looks up at me seriously. “I hope you can forgive me for that.”
I laugh weakly. “Sure,” I say. “I mean, I had a moment of weakness too. I pretty much have to forgive you.”
For just a moment, as I grin at him, that smile from yesterday makes a reappearance. There’s a flutter, a lightness, in my stomach—the excited, gleeful nerves that I felt as we flirted across the table at the restaurant.
Then, just as quickly, it’s gone. He shifts, looking away to turn the heat down on the stove. “We can be stronger.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “Plenty stronger.”
There’s a moment of silence in the kitchen as Cole returns to the French press, portioning out two cups of coffee for both of us. He slides mine across the counter. I catch it, blowing cool air over its surface.
He watches me wordlessly, and suddenly, I begin to feel self-conscious. What if I accidentally sounded sarcastic—insincere?
“This job is really important to me,” I blurt out. He raises an eyebrow, and I clear my throat before continuing, “I wasn’t sure if I should take you up on it at first, to be honest, but now… well, the truth is, I just adore Archie. He’s a great kid.”
As I say that, all of the skepticism drops from Cole’s face, to be replaced by a look of open pride.
“I have so much fun with him,” I say. “And I would never want to hurt him, in any way.”
Cole turns back to the stove, doling out slices of bacon onto three plates. “And that’s why you’re perfect for this job,” he tells me. “Archie is attached to you, too. I can tell.”
He hands me a plate, and his eyes lock onto mine. For a second, I’m lost in the cool blue of his irises.
Then he says, “And that’s why we need to make sure we keep these lines clear. For Archie’s sake.”
I swallow, my gaze dropping to the counter, and nod.
“I want to keep you on as his nanny,” Cole says, “and I want to do whatever it takes to make sure we can maintain that professional relationship. So let’s make sure, going forward, that we keep our walls up. Got it?”
“Of course.”
“Good.” He says the word with finality, as though that completely settles the matter.
His head lifts at the soft sound of Archie’s slippered feet in the hallway. Archie wanders into the kitchen, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. Cole turns to the boy with that smile that’s reserved just for him.
“There’s the man of the hour. You need some breakfast?”
Archie nods, blinking in the light of the kitchen.
“Come sit over here, Archie,” I say, turning my attention to him so that I don’t have to look at Cole anymore. If I busy myself with caring for Archie, these boundaries should be simple enough.
“I’m headed to the office,” Cole says. He ruffles Archie’s hair as he walks past the table. “Be good.”
I can’t help but wonder who those words are supposed to be directed at. I give him a nod as he leaves, which he returns. It’s polite. Careful.
Too polite, and too careful. I can tell, despite our conversation and both of our restraint, that the tension from last night is still there, lingering. That, no matter what we do, it won’t be dispelled so easily.
That’s fine, I tell myself, going to the fridge to grab a glass of milk for Archie. We can do this. We can keep things professional.
I feel a flicker of uncertainty, accompanied by a flash of shame at my past conduct in this job. What was I thinking, leaning toward him like that? Flirting with him at dinner? Stepping all over every careful line he had drawn in the sand, just because he didn’t stop me? Just because he wanted me to?
I know better than that.
As I set the glass of milk down in front of Archie, who is starting to look more alert, I vow to turn over a new leaf.
* * *
For the next few days,Cole keeps his distance.
He’s not cold to me like he was before, but he’s also never more than cordial. We don’t share the kind of laughs we shared during the outing to the petting zoo, and he never gets as close to me, emotionally or physically, as he was that night.
It bothers me, and I hate that it does. I keep reminding myself that this is what we agreed to, and that it’s for the best.
But still, I hate it. I hate the distance, because the worst part of it all is that I’m starting to like him.
Living with him, and being around him so often, I keep getting little glimpses of the man he is beneath the ever-present stoic mask. He seemed like he was warming up to me, and it felt special to see that side of him, something that I’m sure very few people have seen.
And it was unbelievably attractive. I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to a man in my life. Now that he’s withdrawn back behind his facade, I miss him, the guy I had started to fall for.
It should be a turn off; it should make the feelings fade. But it doesn’t. If anything, it just makes my desires stronger. I want to get close to him. I want him to be comfortable around me.
I know it’s not in the cards, however, so I do my best to focus mainly on Archie, and on my job. I’m almost able to manage it. Almost.
On Friday evening, shortly before Archie’s bedtime, Archie and I are in the front room of the house, each working on our own artistic masterpieces. Mine, upon request, is a watercolor painting of Archie’s favorite animals from the petting zoo, the fluffy little pony and the one-eared sheep. It’s still in the sketch stages, but it’s coming along nicely.
Archie’s, meanwhile, is a fingerpainted self-portrait. It’s sort of abstract, a little avant garde. In order to really appreciate it, you have to let yourself forget what a five-year-old boy looks like, and embrace the artistic value of blobby shapes and too much paint.
I spread newspapers all over the floor to protect the wood underneath, and those are getting their fair share of paint splatters, too.
I’m putting the finishing touches on my sketch, figuring out where to put the light in the pony’s eyes, when I hear the doorbell chime.
Cole strides down the main hallway. My eyes track him as he goes; I can’t help it. My gaze is drawn to him.
I hear his voice as he opens the door: “Please, come in, come in.”
A woman’s voice answers, and the tip of my pencil freezes on the paper. “Thank you,” the stranger says warmly. “How are you tonight? You look good.”
The two of them walk back down the hall, toward the back of the house. As they pass by the open entrance to this room, I catch a glimpse of the woman.
She’s stunning, with a shock of shining, dark curls and long legs. She’s also dressed impeccably, in an expensive burgundy coat and pearl earrings that match her white teeth. She doesn’t glance at me and Archie as she moves past.
My stomach clenches. Who is she?
They continue to the sitting room behind the kitchen, and while their exact words fade, I can still hear the low murmur of their conversation. At one point, Cole says something, and she laughs. Her laugh carries through the house, high-pitched and flirty.
I glance down at Archie, who is preoccupied with his finger painting. There’s a knot in my chest, but I try to follow his example, staring back at my own easel.
It’s difficult to focus. In fact, I think I’m starting to feel a little sick.
I look back at Archie’s painting, searching for a distraction. “You almost done, bud? We’re going to have to get you cleaned up before bed.”
“I still have to add the sky,” Archie tells me, pointing to the strip of untouched white at the top of the page.
“Of course you do,” I agree. “But it’s getting late, so it might have to be something we finish on Monday.”
“Monday?” He pouts.
I gesture at my own unfinished work. “I still have a lot of work to do on my own painting,” I say. “And I don’t want to work on it without my art buddy. Don’t worry—we’ll have plenty of time to finish this after pre-K on Monday.”
Archie perks up visibly, then gets to his feet. “Okay.”
“Great. Run on up to the bathroom. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll run you a bath.”
He nods, then takes off into the hallway, racing up the stairs. I start to put lids on all of the jars of paint, gathering them together neatly and picking up the scraps of newspaper. All the while, I can hear Cole and this strange woman talking, laughing.
I can’t help thinking that Cole must have invited this woman over for sex.
And of course, that’s his right. In fact, he even told me, once, that this would happen from time to time. He said that he would have women over, and he told me not to worry about it.
This is none of my business.
I try to be okay with it, to stay in my professional mindset, but no matter how hard I try not to care, I can’t stop my stomach from churning.
I get Archie in the bathtub and scrub the paint from his tiny fingers. Once he’s clean and paint-free, he puts on his pajamas and I tell him a bedtime story. This time, he’s wide awake for the whole thing, and I wonder if he’s a little on edge, too, with a stranger in his house.
I turn out the lights and go straight to my room. Despite all of my efforts, I’m hurt, and, if I’m being honest, pissed off.
Lying back on my bed, I plug my ears with headphones. I crank up my music to drown out any noises I might hear, staring at the ceiling. I don’t want to imagine him fucking that woman. But, of course, it’s the only thing I can think about.
It takes me a while to fall asleep, but eventually, I manage it.
The next morning, I wake up with a pit of cold steel in my stomach, more determined than ever to put distance between Cole and myself.
When he first said it, the suggestion seemed soft, almost unreal. But now that I know how it’s going to be—now that I know he’s going to have women over all the time—I don’t want to be attached to him.
Which means I need to actually break my attraction to him.
It’s Saturday, which means it’s my day off. I never have a day off from seeing Cole, though, since we live in the same house.
He’s downstairs, sipping coffee and reading his email on a tablet. He looks up as I walk into the kitchen. “Good morning.”
I don’t respond, just nod at him coolly. I don’t want to seem curt, but I don’t think I can muster up the same energy I usually have in the mornings.
There’s no sign of that woman from last night. She must have left already.
“Got any plans for today?” he asks.
“I’m going out,” I reply.
“Out?” There’s curiosity burning in his gaze. “Out where?”
I shrug, feeling a bit nettled by his prying questions. “I don’t know, just—out.”
I’m not on the clock today, and frankly, it’s none of his business where I go and what I do. Isn’t that what we agreed? Nothing either of us do is the other’s business.
This is a two-way street. If he wants to be a stranger, then he doesn’t get to be over-familiar with me.
Instead of hanging around for breakfast, like I’ve done on my days off in the past, I grab a bagel and pour a travel mug of coffee. I’ll head upstairs and eat while I’m getting ready to go.
I glance over my shoulder at him as I leave the room, surprised to see his stare fixed directly on me.