Page 19 of Under One Roof

With how they’re sneering at me, I might as well be the mean girl inAddams Family Valuesat Camp Chippewa before Wednesday lights the whole place on fire.

“Or we could hang out and watch TV while we make the grocery list.”

“Dad makes the grocery list,” Grace says, pointing to the magnetic pad hanging on the refrigerator. Everything is itemized already in Griffin’s neat block handwriting.

“We don’t hang out with the nannies.” Logan spits out the word “nannies” with the same ire I might say I don’t hang out with spiders.

“Okay, well?—”

“No, thank you,” Grace interrupts, and the two pivot on a dime, stalking out of the kitchen. Headed for anywhere I am not, I would estimate.

Great. Really great.

Chapter7

Griffin

If I thought a shift at work would get my mind in the right place, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I knew the way I left things with Andi was shitty, and I felt bad about it. So bad that it followed me around. Made me sloppy.

Exactly why I needed to avoid feelings.

Because that’s how people got hurt or worse.

Pulling into the garage, I kill the engine of my truck and stuff down the gurgle of satisfaction that rumbles in my gut at the sight of her Jeep parked next to mine as I head toward the back door.

Dylan Matthews sent me the bill after he completed the work. I paid 80% of it, then told him to make up an excuse about why it only cost her $120. I don’t want to hurt her pride and certainly don’t want to make her feel indebted to me, so I hoped she didn’t know much about auto work and let it slide. Which she did.

Thoughts of taking care of her are still on my mind when I walk into the house to find her bent over the dishwasher, emptying it. To avoid staring at her ass in those tiny shorts, I turn to take off my shoes and accidentally knock my arm into the wall. I grit my teeth to hold in my curse while my bag slides off my shoulder and hits the floor.

She startles and spins around, removing her AirPods. “I didn’t hear the door open. I was— Are you okay?”

I nod, but she sets down the plates in her hand and immediately crosses the kitchen to me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Got a little bump today, is all.”

She scans me from top to bottom. “Where?”

“My arm. It’s fine. Andi, stop. It’s fine.” She doesn’t listen, too busy yanking up the long sleeve of my T-shirt to reveal bruises and cuts all up my forearm. Some bigger than others, and I swipe my palm over them.

“Oh my god, Griffin!”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“How did this happen?” She gazes up at me with a frown, an angry little divot between her eyebrows. “Aren’t you supposed to wear gear to keep you safe?”

I feel the corner of my mouth curve in amusement. I can’t help it. It only makes her more annoyed.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we wear protective gear.” I hate that I love how she’s fussing so much. “This is no big deal.”

“You’re bleeding!” She snatches a towel from the counter to wrap around my forearm, using the ends to tug me to the hall. It’s cute, all this worry. If this weren’t her fault, I might enjoy all the attention.

But the reason I’m scraped up is because my head isn’t in the right place. It’s on Andrea Halton, the nanny, instead of where it should be. Focused and aware of the goddamn broken glass from the window I had to crawl through.

“Come on,” she says, guiding me into the bathroom, where she digs out the small first aid kit from under the sink. “Let me look at this.”

When I don’t move to help her or twist my arm to show her, she huffs likeI’mthe one making a big deal out of this. We stare at each other in a standoff, and that attitude reminds me of another Shakespeare line, one fromTaming of the Shrew. “If I be waspish, best beware my sting.”

This little thing does come with quite a sting.

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