Page 27 of She's the Star

I want to wipe the dismay off her face. She’s more fragile than I expected. And the fact that she’s trusting me with her worries feels meaningful. “Do you need Maddy and I to come find you at the end of rehearsal? If we interrupt, it’ll be a subtle reminder that it’s time to stop, and then you won’t have to worry that you’re exhausting anyone.”

It’s a small thing, and it doesn’t solve the larger problem, but maybe it’ll help.

Her brows draw together. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. Why not?” It isn’t as if walking through the house, and opening the door to the gym for the next week will be difficult. If she’s stressed out, I’m happy to do whatever I can so she stays on schedule. Even though I do kind of like staying late.

Also, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of rehearsals.

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches until I can’t stop myself from filling it. “You can think about it and let me know tomorrow.”

I shift so I can stand up and head out, but before I get to my feet, her hand shoots out and grabs my forearm. “It’s taco night. You want to…uh…join us?”

I attempt to ignore the joy that bubbles in my chest. “For dinner?”

She releases me and nods. “Mina and I usually eat on the patio. There’s plenty of food. Brian joins us when he’s here, but he’s had meetings all day and I don’t think he’s coming over tonight.” She pauses. “I probably should have asked you already. I mean…you’re always welcome to stay…but I’ve never said it explicitly.” She gestures in the direction of the backyard. “The more the merrier.”

And the bubble of joy deflates. She isn’t asking me to stay because she wants to keep chatting. She’s being kind, the same way she is to her other employees. It would probably be smart for me to leave. I’m already more invested than I should be. I want to keep doling out advice and trying to figure out what else I can do to help her.

Spending my spare time here is not going to help me remember that I’m the nanny, not her friend, and definitely not her boyfriend. Instead of declining like I should, I say, “I could eat.”

“Yeah?” Her face lights up and my joy is back.

“Sure. I like tacos,” I reply like an absolute dumbass.

“Great.” We sit there grinning at each other until Maddy releases a yell like she wants to remind us she’s still in the room and that it’s dinner time.

We both jerk at the noise, and the surprisingly intimate moment is broken.

Amber rises to her feet, and I trail behind her toward the outdoor patio. Maddy and I don’t really spend time in this part of the yard. It’s kind of secluded, tucked against the house with direct access to the kitchen and a path that leads to the pool. It has a permanent roof, two massive grills, a long table that could easily fit a dozen people, an outdoor fridge, and a fireplace. It’s fancy and kind of a lot, but it’s comfortable and almost homey, too.

When we get there, Mina is already unloading a bag of food. She smirks when she looks up and sees me. “I’ve been wondering when you’d join us for dinner.”

“Can’t pass up tacos,” I respond, trying to make it seem like staying for dinner is just a regular occurrence, not an indication of me choosing to spend more time here than necessary.

“Taco night is every Friday, so you passed it up last week,” she adds casually.

“I didn’t know there were tacos last week.” It was my first night and it didn’t occur to me that I might stay for dinner.

“Now you know.” She pulls more containers out of the bag.

When she starts opening them, I walk around the table to help. Chicken. Steak. Sautéed vegetables. Tortillas. Rice. Salsa. Guacamole. Cheese sauce. Beans. Chips. It’s enough food to feed us twice. Or even three times. Now I know why the fridge is always packed with leftovers. Having a personal chef is pretty sweet.

Once the containers are open, Mina and Amber start crafting their tacos while I spoon some beans into a bowl for Maddy. I set it on the table near her and start to prepare a plate for myself.

“Maddy likes beans?” Amber asks.

I freeze, afraid that I stepped over an invisible line, taking charge when I should have backed off. Amber just got through explaining to me how she worries that I’m spending more time with her daughter than her, and now I’m preparing to feed Maddy, instead of myself.

“She does,” I respond hesitantly.

“She makes a huge mess though,” Mina adds.

I’m not sure what I expect, but it isn’t for Amber to smile, tussle Maddy’s hair, and say, “Mess is part of the fun.” She goes back to preparing her tacos, and I almost sigh in relief that I haven’t overstepped.

Once we’re seated, our plates piled with tacos, Mina says, “The label wants you to go to dinner with Eden Carmichael next week. They’ll handle the details. You just have to show up and appear smitten. A couple of dates over the next few weeks will increase his exposure.”

I tense. Fake publicity makes me uncomfortable. When I was younger, I never knew what was real in my father’s life and what wasn’t. I still don’t. Even his most recent marriage might have been nothing but a fabrication to sell movie tickets.

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