Page 140 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Twenty-Four
Mitch
Mitch hitthe gas as they cruised down the interstate and passed a large green traffic sign.
Ten miles to Telluride.
They were almost there.
And life had never been sweeter.
He inhaled Charlotte’s strawberry sunshine scent, then glanced in the rearview mirror of the Lamborghini Urus and peered at his son in the back. The boy caught his eye in the reflection and smiled.
“We’re almost there, aren’t we, Dad?” Oscar chimed.
“We are,” he answered, hardly able to believe they’d made it to the last week of school. They were on their way to drop Oscar off at the weeklong Outdoor Lab camping excursion with his class. It was quite a way to end the school year. Oscar had been ecstatic and had hardly spoken of anything else over the last two weeks. And even though he’d be sleeping on a bunk bed in one of the campground’s cabins, he’d given up sleeping in his bed at home to sleep in the tent in the corner of his room to get in plenty of camping practice. His dedication to preparing for the week was commendable, almost compulsive, and a lot like his father.
Okay, exactly like his father.
They indeed were two regimented peas in a pod.
As little as three months ago, he would have never guessed how much he and Oscar had in common—how similarly they approached life. Then again, he hadn’t really seen his son before he’d taken full custody of the boy. No, he’d considered the child Holly’s son, and he’d allowed that pain to skew his perception. It had concealed what was right in front of him. He had one amazingly kind and curious little boy.
He did another quick check of his son. The boy unzipped his pack and, lips moving silently, went over its contents for what had to be the fourth or fifth time.
Yep, Oscar was his!
To say that the kid was doing well was an understatement. With good grades and his interests in the food truck and photography blossoming, Oscar Abrams Elliott flourished in his new life.
That’s not quite right. It wasn’t just Oscar. Both father and son thrived.
And there was one person to thank for it.
Mitch glanced to his right and drank in the reason that the sun shined brighter.
His love.
His Charlotte.
She caught his eye and smiled that smile that was only for him—the one that spoke of nights tangled in each other’s arms, blissfully gasping for breath on the cusp of ecstasy. He wanted to reach out and take her hand and thread their fingers together like he did each night when it was the two of them, but he stopped himself. Despite professing their love inside an elevator, they’d agreed to keep their feelings hidden for the time being. It was Charlotte’s suggestion. And as much as he wanted to object, it made sense.
Oscar was doing so well, but they agreed that they didn’t want to bombard the boy with more change. The plan was to let him know where things stood after camp ended. They’d have the summer to navigate this new life as a trio. But Oscar wasn’t Charlotte’s only concern. She wasn’t just Oscar’s nanny. His publisher had a contract with her. He got it. He did. The personal and professional conflicts couldn’t be ignored. But that didn’t mean he liked it. He’d been counting the days until he could shout his love for her from the rooftop. Still, there was plenty to keep his mind occupied. He’d be wise to focus on the deadline fast approaching. He had a week until he had to submit the complete rough draft. They were close to finishing it, save for one not so small element.
The ending.
Yeah, it hadn’t come to him yet.
Night after night, he and Charlotte sifted through her photos, stringing together the book’s narrative. She’d organize the images while he wrote. So far, the words had come, and the ideas had flowed.
But he’d hit a roadblock.
Nothing rang true yet for how to end this book.
Granted, it wasn’t the typical culinary text. Part cookbook and part memoir, it told the story of Say Cheese, Louise. But it wasn’t just about the cooking. He’d revealed himself in the pages—his beginning, the shift from a life of petty crime to working at Helping Hands to the overnight stardom of becoming one of America’s most popular chefs. He’d even included Holly and Seth in the story. It wasn’t easy, but with Charlotte by his side, it didn’t cut quite so close to his heart to revisit the memories of the old days. He’d even inserted his son into the book. That part had come naturally. Thanks to Charlotte’s painstaking work to chronicle the reboot, he had dozens upon dozens of pictures of the boy, and images of him cooking with his son dotted the rough draft.
Where would he be without this woman?
He’d be utterly lost without her humor, her talent, her kindness, and the sultry way she’d drop to her knees, unzip his pants, and take him into her mouth. He shifted in his seat, then flicked his gaze from the interstate to her creamy thighs. Last night, he’d kissed a hot trail across her smooth skin before making her come hard against his lips. The mere thought of making this woman writhe in ecstasy got his heart pumping.
