Page 167 of The Nanny and the Hothead
She studied the swarm of people, absorbing the energy. This was the farthest she’d ever ventured from home. Crisp British accents peppered the air along with snippets of French, German, and a few languages she couldn’t quite place as she fell into step with the crowd. She slipped her phone from her bag as she walked, then connected to the airport’s Wi-Fi. Texts and emails populated, pinging against the sound of the roller bags grumbling across the airport’s shiny tile flooring. Messages from Penny, Libby, and Harper rang out, accompanied by images of the Union Jack flag. She chuckled. Her friends were as excited as she was about this new chapter of her life. She sent them a quick message, letting them know she’d arrived safe and sound, then read the list of new texts, unable to stop herself from hoping Mitch’s name would appear.
But there was nothing. Not a text. Not an email. No missed calls.
And that was okay. Yes, she missed him. But a soothing peacefulness had taken over after she’d declined her father’s request to water his houseplants. Not to mention, she’d had time to reflect on her conversation with Ralph. The man had cautioned her not to count Mitch out quite yet. Perhaps the man was right. But if Mitch couldn’t accept her apology or believe that she’d truly felt remorse, there simply wasn’t a path forward for them.
As of this moment, he’d chosen his hotheaded ways over her.
And that’s where things stood.
But that didn’t mean she’d planned to cut off contact with him entirely.
She had to consider Oscar’s feelings and the child’s wellbeing.
Somewhere over the Atlantic, she’d decided she’d contact Mitch today once she got settled in London. There was a seven-hour time difference between the UK and Denver. Right about now, Mitch was probably driving down to the campsite to pick up Oscar from Outdoor Lab.
What would Oscar do when he noticed she wasn’t there?
She hadn’t wanted to disappear from the child’s life. At the very least, she hoped Mitch would grant her a call or a video chat with the boy. But it wasn’t her decision. As much as she loved Oscar, Mitch was his father. She was simply the nanny—at least for a few more hours. Today was the sixtieth day—the last day of the nanny match trial period. Madelyn would be calling soon to see if this nanny match was the real deal or if the parties wanted to go their separate ways.
Her pulse kicked up at the thought of Madelyn’s name flashing on her cell’s screen.
She had no idea what she would say when the woman reached out. Then again, maybe Mitch had already told her that they weren’t a match. It only took one party to nullify the agreement.
It was surreal. Her life had changed entirely over the past sixty days. She wasn’t the woman who settled for scraps of attention anymore, and she didn’t twist herself into a human pretzel for anyone.
Still, the thought of Mitch asking Madelyn to find another nanny candidate sent a ripple of heart-breaking sorrow through her body. She scrolled through her emails again and breathed a small sigh of relief that there was nothing from Madelyn…yet. She exhaled a slow breath as the baggage claim area came into view, and the clump of travelers fanned out to retrieve their luggage. She spied her carousel, recognizing a few people from her flight milling around the edges of the conveyor belt. But she didn’t head over.
No, she broke away from the crowd and took a seat.
She needed a moment to soak it in.
She focused on the active area, pulsing with energy. Couples embraced. A little girl skipped toward an older couple with a bouquet of daisies in her hand. And signs. So many signs. There was a cadre of drivers in suits and sunglasses, holding slips of paper with names printed in bold lettering. And then she spied the other types of signs that dotted the lively space. The signs brought a smile to her face. She opened her camera bag and lifted her Nikon to her eye, studying the throng of people holding up poster board and pieces of construction paper.
Welcome home, Melanie!
Hello, Nanna and Poppy!
Daddy, can we get a puppy?
She snapped several photos, capturing the vitality of the people who’d come to greet their loved ones. Young and old, dressed to the nines or sporting yoga pants and flip-flops, some laughing and some crying, the distinctly human element of creating a visceral connection played out before her. There were jovial slaps on the back and the passing over of babies to kiss. She observed a beaming woman jump into a man’s arms when she caught a flash of a young boy with chestnut-colored hair dart behind a row of chairs. The breath caught in her throat as she kept him in the viewfinder. But when the child turned around, she didn’t see Oscar’s toothy grin. Of course, he wouldn’t be here. She sighed, blinking back tears. Could it be her heart, her sentimental heart, that hadn’t quite given up on a Mr. Cheesy Forever kind of life?
She placed her camera back in its case, then headed toward her baggage carousel. It didn’t take long before she spied her suitcase. She’d packed light, and she was grateful she had. The next step was figuring out how to get from the airport to her lodging. Back on her cell, she opened her email and found the message with the address of where she’d be staying. Part of the scholarship came with room and board, and they’d put her up in a rental not far from the school. She scanned the signs, searching for where to hail a taxi, when another sign caught her eye.
Charlotte Ames.
A sign with her name on it.
She scrutinized the letters written in bold orange, then glimpsed the person holding the sign and gasped. “Madelyn Malone!”
The nanny matchmaker slipped the sheet of paper into her handbag, then flung her red scarf over her shoulder before a sly grin pulled at the corners of her lips. “I’ve always wanted to do that. I considered purchasing one of those hats that drivers wear. But I couldn’t find anything that matched my handbag. You know how it goes,” the woman finished, brushing a strand of dark hair back into place.
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. She had zero knowledge when it came to matching hats and handbags. But that was the least of her concerns. Her mouth opened and closed like a befuddled trout. “You’re my driver?” she stuttered.
“Not exactly! My driver is your driver,” the woman explained with a nonchalant wave of her hand.
Charlotte’s mind spun like an out-of-control carousel. “You have a driver?” she stammered.
Madelyn looked at her as if she’d sprouted rutabagas from her ears. “Obviously, I have a driver, dear. ThisisLondon.”
