Page 104 of The Nanny and the Hothead
But Mitch didn’t bat an eyelash. At the Crystal Cricket, asking the man to modify a dish would send him into a tailspin. But not today. No, the man had even retrieved a set of cookie cutters from a bin tucked way up among the paper goods. She didn’t know what he was going to do with them until he handed a little girl a sandwich in the shape of a cat. The child had beamed at the man. Then a toddler whooped with delight when Mitch served him a grilled cheese—no crusts—in the shape of a train. Sandwich after sandwich, his entire demeanor changed as the weight she knew he carried seemed to lighten before her eyes.
And while the lunch rush had blown by in a torrent of activity, one emotion permeated the day.
Joy.
The joy of sharing a meal.
The joy of watching people come together.
The joy of creating.
Artists with clay beneath their nails and smudges of paint on their cheeks, along with people showing up in cars that cost more than most houses, mingled with men and women staying at the shelter.
And that’s when it clicked—literally clicked—and she began asking permission to photograph the patrons.
This was the magic of a food truck. An insta-community of individuals enjoying the fruits of Mitch’s labors.
She’d become one with the energy. Shot after shot, she disappeared into the scene. And Mitch let her work. Hardly a word had passed between them. But it wasn’t like before when the man had gone mute. No, this was different. It was as if he trusted her to capture the spirit of Say Cheese, Louise. And more than that, he gave her free rein and set no limits.
There was nomake sure to get my best sideordon’t you dare take a picture of that sandwich that’s burnt on the edges.
When Sergio had waited too long to flip a row of sandwiches, Mitch didn’t blow his top. Instead, the man explained the importance of timing and why it was imperative to coat the sourdough slices evenly with butter. The hothead had morphed into a mentor and a teacher. That didn’t mean he’d turned into a pussycat. He was still stern in his direction and exact in his orders, but the words didn’t cut. His tone wasn’t demeaning.
Throughout the day, she’d lowered her camera and had caught his eye. And heaven help her! If there was anything sexier than watching this man cook, she hadn’t seen it.
Their eyes would meet for the briefest of seconds, and a spark in the pit of her belly would explode into a cacophony of tingles. All things considered, it was really quite a feat that she hadn’t dropped her camera or melted into a pool of swooning goo. Despite her raging libido, there was nothing strained or awkward about working in each other’s orbits. Somewhere between the first customer ordering a Signature Louise and now, an aura of mutual respect blossomed.
Sure, they’d had rock-your-world sex inside Say Cheese, Louise. She’d never forget that. Not even a pitcher of potent margaritas could erase the delicious memory of his hand in her hair and his thick cock sliding between her thighs. But the conflict she’d seen in his eyes—the second-guessing she knew he was doing because she was doing it, too, didn’t hamper the flow and the ease of the day. Regret hadn’t reared its ugly head once as he cooked, and she captured the action with her camera.
And of course, she couldn’t forget what had happened—or almost happened—when they’d arrived at Helping Hands. Again, she’d been powerless to resist him. Watching the man hug his son and tell him he loved him had given her the kind of feels reserved for bawling her eyes out to a Hallmark movie. A different emotion—a feeling she’d rarely experienced returned when Oscar hugged her.
With Penny, Rowen, and Mitch by her side, she was part of something.
Growing up, she’d left for school on her own and returned to an empty house. She was the after-thought daughter. She performed in school concerts for other kids’ moms and dads. She never had anyone to find in the crowd or wave to from the bleachers. Her mom always had excuses—usually a big date she couldn’t miss or a new fabulous boyfriend demanding her time.
And her father?
Just like now, the man rarely returned her calls. Making it to a school recital wasn’t even a blip on his radar. But this morning, in front of Whitmore snapping picture after picture, she’d experienced a happiness she’d never known. A connection that touched her deeply.
What was she going to do with this rush of emotions? Mitch was still the boss—far less of a hothead. But still her employer.
But she couldn’t fool herself or disregard the obvious. Something was there.
That was undeniable.
Whatever it was between them, it couldn’t be measured in time. With them, it was moments. She’d lost count of how often he’d glance at her, and the breath would catch in her throat. And every exchange built upon itself. She might have only been his son’s nanny for a handful of days, but the torrent of micro-swoon sessions were building up. One after the other, urgent and expectant, inevitable, like storm clouds forming in the distance. Nature taking its course.
Was there any way to stop it? Did she want it to stop?
“Hey, Charlotte? Could we get your help?” Erick called, craning his neck out Say Cheese, Louise’s order window.
She nodded, then scanned the square. The line for the food truck had dwindled, and the masses who’d stayed to chat and eat in the shade of the community center’s trio of leafy maple trees had dispersed. She took one last picture of Mitch, carefully framing the shot to get the news channel’s cameraman in the frame, then jogged over to the truck.
“What’s up, guys?”
“We’ve got class,” Erick said, removing his apron.
“Our GED course,” Sergio chimed, slinging his apron over his shoulder. “We lost track of time. It starts in fifteen minutes.”
