Page 64 of The Nanny and the Nerd
“Your teacher wanted you to order pizza?” he asked, requiring some clarification.
His niece huffed again. “No, my homework project is the surprise, Uncle Row. The pizza is to celebrate my big achievement. That’s what Mrs. Bergen called it—a big achievement! And by the way, where have you been?” she questioned, turning on a dime to interrogate him like a seasoned detective—a detective dressed like a disheveled hot dog fairy. But a detective, nonetheless!
“I’ve been working at Gale Gaming.”
She pushed back her flower crown and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You can work at home, too.”
“Yes, sometimes.”
She scrunched up her face. “You work a lot.”
“Says who?” he threw back, reverting to six-year-old speak. But the kid was right.
“Nana! Nana Cece says you work way too much!” Phoebe replied with a gotcha lilt to her words.
Yep, that sounded like Cecelia Gale.
The elevator doors opened, and Phoebe skipped or attempted to fly out of the elevator’s cab. He couldn’t tell what she was trying to accomplish with the strange movements. Those wings would never foster flight for a child of her height and weight.
“He’s here! He’s here!” Phoebe cried, her voice trailing out from the kitchen.
He released a tight breath as he placed his bag in his office. If his mom was here, that meant her home health aide, Darla, was with her. Mrs. Sullivan’s car was still parked in the garage, so she’d be here, too. And then, of course, the nanny. He needed a minute to prepare. He was no master at navigating social situations. When a burst of booming laughter echoed through the house, coupled with the competing scents, the sensory combo sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.
Slowly, he descended upon the kitchen but paused before he entered. From the sound of it, Darla and Mrs. Sullivan were chatting about casseroles while his mother asked Phoebe to bring her a wooden spoon.
Okay, along with the pizza party, they were baking.
And as he got closer, the heady scent of chocolate hung in the air. He stood there, stock-still, listening as Penelope instructed Phoebe to wash her hands. Such a mundane exchange, but it intrigued him. And not because it added another layer to his sensory onslaught. But because, like an injection of tranquility, it diluted his overreaction. His pulse, hammering in his throat, settled.
He inspected the crown of paper flowers in his hand, evening out a drop of glue with his thumb. He couldn’t hide out in the hallway. If he took too long, his mother would send a search party. That was the thing about his mom. Cecelia Gale always cut to the chase—a quality he admired and, some days, found gratingly tedious.
After he’d come to live with the Gales, she seemed to have a sixth sense about when to push him and when to give him space. As a kid, he would have stayed in his room, tinkering with electronics or reading comic books. And while she’d given him that downtime, she’d also enrolled him and his brother in computer camps and engineering clubs. That’s when he’d found his calling. He never made many friends, but he had learned to coexist with others when completing a shared task. But the awkward kid who could spiral out of control still lived inside of him.
He continued down the hall and focused on the sound of Penelope’s voice as he headed toward the kitchen. Employing one of his strategies, he began cataloging the different scents. Orange blossoms, pizza, and chocolate. Maybe it was a chocolate cake?
“Well, look what the cat dragged in! Hello, sweetheart!” his mother said, wearing a paper flower crown that appeared considerably less glue-laden than his. She set a bowl on the table, then maneuvered her wheelchair to greet him.
That was another reason he’d purchased the one-story modern mansion. Between the large, easily accessible areas and the elevator, it supplied the accommodations his mother required. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Hi, Mom! I wasn’t expecting all this.”
“Sometimes life throws the unexpected your way,” she answered with a wry grin.
He looked past her, confirming the attendance of Darla and Mrs. Sullivan, both wearing flower crowns. The women stood at the large kitchen island with Phoebe as he scanned the room for the nanny and, sweet Christ! The place looked like a tornado had hit.
“Don’t panic, Rowen,” his mother said, reading him correctly. But her words couldn’t quell his reaction.
“I found it!” Penelope called, catching his eye as she emerged from the pantry with a plastic container he didn’t even know he owned.
“What’s that for?” he asked, focusing on the one item in his kitchen that wasn’t covered in white powder.
She did that nervous lip bite thing, and now his pulse hammered for an entirely different reason as his blood supply diverted south.
No, no, no! He could not sport a nanny boner in front of these women.
Penelope glanced down at the container. “It’s for the extra chocolate chip cookies.”
“We’re giving Mrs. Sullivan a bunch for Mr. Sullivan,” Phoebe answered.
That must have been the chocolate he smelled. As much as he detested empty calories, he had to focus on something, and chocolate was a hell of a lot better than allowing his mind to drift to sexy Nannyland.
