Page 53 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
We–mostlyI, with an assist from my sous-chef Maddie and her sous-chef Flora–put together a totally passable dinner. Pasta puttanesca, which Maddie was determined to like after I name-dropped a white-tablecloth Italian restaurant I knew her mother liked and mentioned that they had it on their menu. Salad. Bread.
“Wine?” I asked Flora, bending down to snag a bottle of malbec–pizza wine–from the below-counter wine fridge.
“Um,” she said, glancing between me and Maddie.
“Don’t worry,” I said, seeing her hesitation. “You’re off-hours.” It wasn’t strictly the truth. I knew she–and I–had to be on our best behavior this evening. But I didn’t want her to feel like the nanny, not tonight.
Or was itmewho didn’t want to feel like she was the nanny?
Sitting at the kitchen table over steaming bowls of pasta, laughing with my daughter, it was easy, too easy, to imagine that Flora was more than my daughter’s nanny.Mydirty little secret, I thought. The phrase left a sour taste in my mouth, and I took a swallow of the fruity wine. She’d never been that, not really.If we’d met under different circumstances, if she was ten years older, or even five…
I’d thought, for the past ten years, that my heart was spoken for: I had Maddie. I had my friends, and my job, and Tally. I didn’t need romance.
But Flora…
The more time we spent together, the less the way we met seemed to matter. Ifwewere five years older, or even ten, well, at twenty- and thirty-six the difference loomed large, but at forty-six? Sixty-six? Eighty-six? Flora’s hair wouldn’t be that pretty copper color any longer, and her blue eyes might be foggy, but the twinkle would remain, I’d grown sure of it. The laughter in her voice would still be there when she teased me.
I threw back the last of my glass of wine. Was it bedtime yet? I didn’t bother checking my watch, I knew we had hours left. I should never have agreed to push lights out to ten.
“I told you he was good,” Maddie said, taking a sip of her juice, staring over the edge of the glass at Flora in a way that looked remarkably like her mother. She was growing up and I was growing maudlin. “He can make all kinds of pasta. Can you cook a chicken?” she asked Flora, who had just taken a bite of spaghetti.
“Mm,” she said. Was that a yes or a no? I wasn’t sure.
“My dad can, with lemon.” Flora was still chewing, so Maddie carried on. “And he has a friend who owns some restaurants, too, if you get tired of eating the things he knows how to make. Have you heard of Mignon? It’s famous.” She pronounced it with an adorable French accent, and I took a large bite of pasta myself to hide my smile.Famouswas a stretch, but Barrett would bethrilledto hear it wastrès coolin the ten-and-under crowd, I was sure. “And it’s a good place for a date,” she said, then, “Maybe Flora would like to go there sometime, Dad.”
I coughed, choking on a bite of bread.
“Maddie!” Flora whispered, eyes wide.
“What?” Maddie said, shrugging. “Mom is dating someone,” she said. “She’s even gettingmarried. You’ll never get remarried if you never go on a date, Dad.” Check and mate, in the inimitable way of a ten-year-old.
“I don’t think your dad is, ah, interested in getting remarried, Maddie,” Flora said hesitantly. Her eyes flickered between Maddie and her plate, never meeting mine.
Maybe it was the wine I’d drunk. Maybe it was the fact that the summer was almost over, had seemed to slip through my fingers like thin silk. Or maybe it was the rain that came down outside the window, cocooning the warm kitchen in a white-noise blanket of seclusion.
Whatever it was, it made me open my mouth, like the fool I was, and say, “I don’t know about that. I could be.”
Flora’s breath caught. I knew because I saw it; I saw it because I was staring at her, at the singular way her blush rose on her cheeks and her eyes widened. I was staring at her because that was all I seemed able to do recently, in her presence.
“Oh,” she stammered, her face pink.
I’d never seen her struck quite so speechless before.
* * *
We spent the rest of the evening half-heartedly playing a board game. Maddie was getting too sleepy to concentrate; I was distracted, looking forward to the time after Maddie went to sleep. Flora was…
I couldn’t tell.
Quiet. Had I made her uncomfortable at dinner? She had to know I wasn’t talking about anyone besides her. She’d been right, of course, I hadn’t been interested in remarrying. My life had been all about Maddie and me, and if I was honest with myself, more Maddie than me. What kind of example was I setting, remaining stalwartly alone for the rest of my life? Tally had asked that, and I’d brushed her off. Of course, there was still the issue of the engagement party, and my non-existent date, but maybe someday, when it wasn’t my name on her paycheck, Flora and I could–
“Ryan,” Flora murmured, and I blinked. Was it my turn? She nodded her head to the couch, where Maddie’s drooping eyes had finally closed, her mouth parted as she slept.
“Too much excitement,” I said softly. Flora sat on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table from me, her knees tucked up against her chest and her arms wrapped around herself.
“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement, her eyes not leaving Maddie’s sleeping form. She smiled gently and my heart swelled painfully, near to bursting. “Do you want me to–”
“No,” I said. “I will. You just stay here. Help yourself to some more wine if you want.”
