Page 59 of Nanny for the SEAL

Silence whispers across the room, and I let myself just be there with Xaden. At least, that’s what I try to do. I manage a few minutes before my brain starts churning again.

This is still so new, and it’s very possible that it might not work out. Especially if Xaden is still dealing with what happened to his late wife.

Not to mention that this can still all blow up in my face. If Xaden is done with me, that also means I’ve lost a job.

Money shouldn’t be such a concern, but who am I kidding? Of course, it is. I’m not rolling in the dough, and moving here cost me a pretty penny.

If I lose this job, staying hidden in Red Lodge will be nearly impossible.

You’re jumping to conclusions, Ivy. Just relax. Don’t spoil this bit of happiness youdohave.

As with everything in life, only time will tell, and I just have to hope that Xaden can let go of his guilt. I also need to come clean about my father.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

NINETEEN

Xaden

The past few days with Ivy seem to have flown by. It’s been another week of working and watching Ivy with Daisy.

They’ve become even closer, if that’s possible, and Ivy even convinced me to start my little girl in preschool since she’ll be starting kindergarten next year. It’s only half-days, and Ivy picks her up and brings her home for lunch in the afternoon.

We eat lunch together before I have to go back to work, whether that’s in the home office or out meeting with people.

It’s so blissfully…normal. There aren’t items going missing, Daisy comes home with little projects she’s made, and we eat dinner together.

Like a family.

As I look over at Ivy, stirring the pot of spaghetti noodles, I can’t help but smile. She’s too preoccupied to notice, and truthfully, I don’t mind.

Watching her in her element is a joy, and it’s something I could do for hours.

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Her phone goes off on the island, and as I’m about to grab it for her, Ivy plucks it off the counter with a grin.

It’s a familiar expression now, and I know more than ever that that smile isn’t real. I’ve seen her real smiles. They don’t look like that.

The messages and calls are the only things that still frustrate me. Ivy gets them sporadically but often enough to be noticeable. Worse, I can tell they upset her.

Even now, her mask of composure falters, and I see Ivy try to quickly shake away the sour mood that the text created.

I don’t know who’s sending them, and Ireallywant to ask. But how can I?

I’ve spent years in therapy because of the PTSD associated with my time as a SEAL agent, and while I’m definitely not a candidate for patient of the year, I still know a thing or two.

Namely, that the symptoms of trauma are there. I see them in Ivy. She retreats into herself when the texts come in or the phone rings at odd hours of the night.

She slips away somewhere in her mind but then comes right back to reality after a moment. Sometimes, it takes Ivy longer to recover from them, though.

I really should ask, and it’s been on my mind for a while. I suppose…I just feel like I should work out my own shit before I expect Ivy to talk about hers.

A hiss pulls my attention to the pot of water, and I realize that Ivy is still clutching her phone, her stirring fallen to the wayside.

“Ivy?”

She jumps slightly, quickly flicking through the screens on her phone as she turns the heat down on the stove.

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