Page 16 of Under One Roof

“Do you want to see the rest of the house?” I ask, and she nods, setting Cat down.

Upstairs, we tour the kitchen and living room. I point out the calendar and the kids’ schedules. Andi asks questions, and I can tell she’s taking mental notes, remembering details. I like that. I like that she’s serious about this job. We move up to the top floor with the kids’ rooms and the bathroom they share, before we end up in my bedroom. I didn’t need to show her, but I hadn’t thought about it.

And now she’s admiring my corners.

I don’t imagine tossing her on my bed to mess up the meticulous sheets. She pivots to me, stating the obvious. “This is your room.”

“Yeah. It’s…where I sleep.”

Brilliant, you fucking idiot.

She smiles, like she knows what I’m thinking. Like she can read my mind. And maybe she can, because she takes a step closer, her eyes never leaving mine.

“It’s a nice room,” she says, all soft and pillowy. “A nice house.”

“Thank you.” My voice grates like a goddamn rusty nail.

We stand there, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking. The air thick with something unspoken, something unnamed. Yet I can’t act on it. I can’t cross that line.

It’s time to stop acting like a jackass and get my head on right. So, I take a giant step back. “Should we talk logistics?”

“My favorite,” she jokes and follows me downstairs, where we make plans for her to move in and start her job as the nanny. Both of us living under one roof.

Fucking brilliant.

Chapter6

Andi

Iset my duffel bag, purse, and guitar down on the floor in Griffin’s mid-size Colonial as he carries in the rest of my belongings. From the outside, it looks like the rest of the houses in the small development, with a two-car garage, stone walkway from the sidewalk to the front door, and rows of shrubs on either side. It’s cute.

The inside? Not so much.

The entryway is stark white and meticulously clean. I take a deep breath, the scent of lemon cleaner and something distinctly Griffin filling my lungs. I’m not sure what I expected, but this place is so…sterile. In the brief time I spent here two days ago, I didn’t notice any family photos or school art projects like I’d assume there would be in a house of two ten-year-olds. No sneakers out of place or bikes in the yard.

Behind me, the door closes, and I turn to find Griffin with his arms full, bags hanging from his shoulders and elbows, two boxes stacked in his hands. I tried to carry some, but he insisted he had it. And he does. Not a hair out of place.

His biceps look mighty fine straining like that.

The veins running along his forearms and the ink…

I force myself to stop staring. “Thank you.”

He ignores my appreciation, as per usual, and steps around me to set my boxes and bags down before sticking his index and middle fingers in his mouth to whistle. It is both a shock to my eardrums and my nervous system at how hot it is. Before I have time to wonder about what a weird new kink I have for whistling, two sets of feet patter down the staircase.

I’m not sure what I expected since the idea of being a nanny to a set of ten-year-old twins was sort of nebulous. In my mind, I pictured them as faceless paper dolls, but now that they’re in front of me, I’m both surprised at how big they are and a little disappointed that they’re so old. When I thought of activities we could do, they were crafts and sing-alongs and Chutes and Ladders…things these prepubescents would obviously not be interested in.

Griffin moves next to the staircase and gestures to his kids standing side by side on the step. “This is my son, Logan, and my daughter, Grace.” Then he motions to me. “This is Miss Andrea, your new nanny.”

They both stare at me, unsmiling. Logan has the same brown eyes as his father, while Grace’s are a warm hazel behind her glasses. Her dirty-blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, while Logan’s dark hair is cut short, a mini-me of his dad, even down to his straight-back posture.

I smile brightly. “Hi. It’s so nice to meet y’all. You can just call me Andi.”

When neither of them responds, Griffin clears his throat, and the two march down the remaining steps, stopping in front of me.

“Nice to meet you,” Logan mumbles, holding out his hand.

I shake it, taken aback by the firmness of his grip. “Nice shake you got there.”

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