Page 3 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologized. “You see, first, an airplane flew over, then you mentioned a boyfriend, and now my phone pinged. It’s got to mean something! I went on a date six days ago, and I think it went well. I texted him to tell him that I had a great time. And—”
“You texted him first?” the man pressed as a frown tipped the corners of his mouth.
She amplified herhopefully-not-a-serial-killersmile. “Yes, I texted him.”
“And he hasn’t responded?”
She wasn’t expecting to have a whole Dr. Phil session with a random old man on the street—but whatever—she’d go with it.
“Not yet. But people get busy. You blink, and it’s been a week,” she answered with a touch too much enthusiasm. She had to tamp down the rah-rah factor.
The man shook his head. “Listen, honey, I’m eighty years old. I’m not sure what airplanes have to do with it, but even I know that it’s a bad sign if the guy waits that long to text you back.”
She lifted her chin.Project determination!“I could be the exception.”
Her heart sank, but she had to keep the faith.
“As long as you’re okay and not in need of medical help, I’ll be on my way,” he said with a friendly nod. But his comment about Cliff percolated in her mind.
How could an octogenarian know more about modern love than she did?
“For your information, sir,” she called after him. “While I appreciate your concern, I’m great, I’m superb, and I’m not in need of medical attention.” She slipped her camera bag over her shoulder. “In fact, I have an appointment at the gallery across the street. I’m a photographer.”
Girl power! Be bold!
It wasn’t a lie—exactly. She held a bachelor’s degree in fine arts with a concentration in photography. She just wasn’t practicing her craft in a traditional sense…yet.
Yes, that’s it! Her career situation was temporarily non-traditional.
Her best friend Penny Fennimore, a gifted writer, would surely approve of that description. Did it border on fiction? Possibly! But it was true, more or less.
“You take care, young lady. Good luck with your fella,” he replied over his shoulder as he continued down the sidewalk.
Her fella.
That’s more like it!
Electricity zinged through her body.
The text!
She stared at her phone and grimaced at the bank statement before closing the window and tapping the text icon.
Here goes everything! She had a new text from…
Not Cliff!
It was from Madelyn Malone—again.
The second text in two days.
MADELYN MALONE: This is Madelyn Malone again. I sent you a message yesterday regarding an opportunity. The position needs to be filled immediately, and I believe you’d be the perfect fit.
Charlotte pursed her lips, index finger hovering over the keypad. She hammered out a reply.
CHARLOTTE AMES: I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.
She stared at the message, then deleted the response as an odd sensation washed over her—a strange, topsy-turvy reaction like when you’ve woken up from a wild dream, and you’re caught between two worlds.
