Page 145 of Nanny and the Beast

“This is silly,” I say.

“It’s never too late to try something new for the first time,” she says. “And even if you end up sucking at it, who cares?”

“I don’t like doing things I’m not good at,” I say.

“I used to be that way, too,” she says. “I never tried anything new. I never did anything for the first time. But there’s some sort of magic that finds you when you step outside your comfort zone.”

There’s a dreamlike look in her eyes. It makes me wonder what’s going through her head.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” I say softly.

She blinks and looks up at me. She looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Some of the light fades from her eyes. I get a vague feeling that she’s keeping something from me.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see a group of kids skating in our direction. Before they can barrel into Emma, I tug her closer toward me.

The sweet, buttery scent of her skin fills my lungs. It feels like coming back to a childhood home. It feels like a scent you’ve long forgotten, but now that you smell it, all that exists in your head are fond memories.

She clears her throat and steps away from me.

The glow of the twinkling string lights falls on her face, making her look like an angel. The Chicago skyline wraps around us like a living postcard.

“You look so radiant this evening,” I say.

“Lies,” she says. “I know I look like a hot mess.”

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

For a moment, the two of us remain frozen in time. Emma blinks and glances down at my legs.

“Keep a slight bend at your knees,” she says. “It’ll help with your balance.”

I do as she instructs, letting her lead me deeper inside the rink. She seems to levitate over the ice. Unfortunately, I’m doing the opposite of levitating.

“Push off with your other foot and glide,” she says, demonstrating the movement.

“Easy for you to say. You’re a natural.” I stomp on the ice. My feet lack the elegance that she seems to have.

“It’s like riding a bike,” she says. “You just need to get the hang of it.”

“Uncle Klaus, look at me,” Rosalie zips by us, skating backward. James is a lot slower and clumsier than his sister, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” I say. “You too, James.”

The kids wave goodbye. Emma tugs on my hand.

“Now, it’s your turn,” she says.

I’m not talented by any means, but Emma is a good teacher. And more importantly, she keeps her promise and doesn’t let me fall.

“Not bad for your first time, Mr. Sinclair,” she says.

I give her a warning look.

“What?” she asks.

“You know what it does to me when you call me that,” I say.

“What does it do?” she asks.

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