Page 42 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“I’m terrible with technology, too,” Penelope conceded, then gestured to her planner peeking out of her bag. “I have to write everything down.”
“And your boyfriend?” Mrs. Sullivan continued like a detective hot on the trail of a promising lead.
“I don’t have one. My best friends, Harper, Charlotte, and Libby, are the only guests I can imagine coming by.”
Mrs. Sullivan closed the laptop. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. But there’s one other thing,” she added with a curious twist to her lips.
Penelope’s throat constricted. “Yes,” she eked out.
The house manager opened a drawer. “No, dear, I don’t have any more questions for you. This is for Rowen,” she said as she removed his old Game Boy and a beaten-up wooden box of dominoes from the drawer. He wasn’t expecting to be met with these reminders of his childhood. The breath caught in his throat at the sight of the only objects that connected him to his past.
“Phoebe was in my office again?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone even—not a small feat with those two items in plain view.
Mrs. Sullivan slid the wooden box and the Game Boy toward him. “She must have snuck in when I was making dinner. I found them in her room, tucked under her pillow when I went to check and see if she’d fallen asleep.”
He sighed. “She’s not supposed to touch anything in my office.”
“She’s curious, Rowen—like a certain little boy I used to know,” the woman added, getting in a little dig before she checked her watch again. “I better be off. It was so nice to meet you, Penny. I’ll see you tomorrow, and good night, Rowen. Don’t work too hard,” she added, then patted his cheek on her way toward the elevator.
Emotion welled in his chest. While he cared for Regina Sullivan, some days, having someone in the house who knew him so well was a real pain in the ass. He removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose when the sound of jostling papers caught his attention. He slid his glasses into place, then observed as Penelope nibbled at her lower lip while switching her tote bag back to the original shoulder. He watched her, not because she appeared tense or uncomfortable, but because seeing her in his kitchen felt oddly right. She looked up, and they stared at each other as if neither was sure what was supposed to happen next. The click of the elevator closing cut through the room. And that meant one thing. With Phoebe asleep, they were alone.
Penelope spoke first. “My sisters each had one of those,” she said, gesturing toward his old Game Boy.
“You didn’t have one?” he asked.
That smile was back—the one that made him think of honey and sunshine. “I don’t think you’ll be surprised to learn that I was more of a book nerd than a gaming nerd,” she answered with a blush.
“Case in point,” he replied, then tapped the corner of the notebook peeking out of her tote bag with the suaveness of a gawky teenager.
She inhaled a sharp breath, then looked around the kitchen. “It’s pretty late. Could you take me to bed?”
His mouth fell open. He couldn’t help it, and Penelope caught her gaffe instantly.
She waved her hands as her blush went from pink to scarlet. “Oh my gosh! Sorry! I didn’t mean that. Can you take me to my room—to the physical space where I’ll be sleeping—alone.” She shook her head. “It’s been a long day.”
That was one hell of an understatement.
“Sure, this way,” he replied, trying damned hard to pull himself together. He’d have to figure out a strategy for not getting lost in her sable eyes. It was both maddening and thrilling—neither of which were appropriate reactions to one’s nanny.
He tapped in a code on the kitchen’s alarm console, then gestured for Penelope to walk with him. Mrs. Sullivan was right about the security system. He’d designed it himself. There had been a few break-ins in the area, and he had no intention of becoming one of them. “The house is in night mode,” he said to her as they made their way through the dimly lit living room and vestibule toward the bedrooms on the other side of the house. He pointed to the floor. “There’s track lighting in the halls so you can still see where you’re going.”
“That’s a nice feature,” she replied curtly—probably still embarrassed about requesting he take her to bed. He should disclose that he was just as jittery, but that wasn’t him. He held back when it came to emotional disclosure.
“The lighting came with the house like everything else,” he replied instead as they passed the glass doors that led to his office.
Penelope stopped and stared into the room. “None of this stuff is yours?”
He took in the large desk, the modern seating area, and the eclectic lamps. “It’s mine now. I bought it.”
“You didn’t pick out the art or the furniture?” she pressed.
Why did it even matter?
“No.”
“Huh,” she replied, and he couldn’t make out if it was a good huh or a bad huh.
“It’s a house, Penelope. Its function is shelter,” he said as they continued down the hall.
