Page 65 of The Nanny and the Nerd
Focus on Penelope’s cookie! No! Not the nanny’s cookie! Focus on the non-boner-generating baked goods!
Baked goods, baked goods, baked goods!
“What was that, dear?” his mother asked.
“Baked goods. Cookies are baked goods,” he supplied robotically.
He’d made chocolate chip cookies with the Gales growing up, but he couldn’t remember the kitchen ever looking like a coke den during the process. White powder covered almost every flat surface. One would really have to try to attain this level of disarray. He took a step forward and crunched granules beneath his feet.
“It looks like someone used a sack of flour as a punching bag in here,” he said, assessing the chaos, which meant he wasn’t checking out the nanny or thinking about her cookie.
Jesus, stop!
He cleared his throat, then gave Penelope the once-over. She’d changed clothes. When she’d come to the office, she’d worn jeans. Along with a paper crown that looked damned good on her, she now had on a jean skirt and no shoes. His brow creased as he observed the floor and the dainty shock of hot pink. He’d never seen her feet before. They were…perfect.
“Rowen, why are you staring at Penny’s feet?” Mrs. Sullivan asked, sharing a look with Darla.
He blinked. “I’ve never seen them before. She’s got pink toenails.”
And…crickets.
The side conversations stopped, and every woman stared at him with their head cocked to the side.
Not even Phoebe knew what to do with the creepy foot comment.
“What I mean,” he stammered, “is that there’s salt or sugar on the floor. There’s some by Penelope’s foot. You should be careful about where you step,” he finished, glancing around the room. He was a terrible liar, and his little explanation hadn’t changed the women’s bewildered expressions.
He changed tack. “What happened in here?” he asked, addressing the nanny as he ran his fingertip across the dusty surface. Usually, he wouldn’t focus on a mess. But with Mrs. Sullivan and his mother eyeballing him, he needed to transition to a topic that had nothing to do with the nanny’s feet. With bubble gum pink painted toenails, her feet were exceedingly slender and honestly quite lovely as far as feet go. Penelope clapped her hands, and a cloud of white powder billowed into the air, snapping him from his nanny foot fantasy.
“Oh, that! We had a little mishap measuring the flour, didn’t we, Miss Spelling Hot Dog Fairy?” she finished, gifting Phoebe with a wide grin.
“It was like snow, Uncle Row! I rubbed it all over the place and tossed it into the air.”
He grimaced. “I can see that.”
“And Phoebe read every word of the cookie recipe and acted as head baker,” Penelope added.
He frowned and dusted the powder from his hand. “Why don’t you take the lead if you ever decide to bake again.”
Penelope’s lip-biting habit returned. “Remember, Mrs. Bergen wanted us to help Phoebe with her comprehension.”
He flicked his eyes away from her mouth. “This helps Phoebe with her reading?”
“Absolutely!” his mother chimed. “Phoebe did the planning and prepping. Then she told us about the beginning, middle, and end of the process.”
He should have figured his retired English teacher of a mother would be all about this activity.
“Again, that’s apparent,” he added as the timer on the oven beeped, and Penelope and Phoebe donned oven mitts.
He didn’t even know he owned oven mitts.
“We saved a few slices of cheese pizza for you,” Penelope said over her shoulder as she removed a tray of cookies. “Your mom says it’s your favorite.”
He stared at the grease-stained box. “Where did you get this?”
Penelope’s face lit up. “This great hole-in-the-wall pizza place. I go there with my friends,” she answered as she and Phoebe tag-teamed the tray.
“A slice won’t kill you, Rowen,” Mrs. Sullivan said as the entire female population of his kitchen nodded in agreement.
