Page 45 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“We’re ready to go,” Mitch interrupted, red-faced, as he strode into the kitchen with two suitcases under his arms.
Amy checked her watch. “I’m late! I didn’t realize the time. I have to get to the airport. My crew is working a flight to Dubai.” She stood and surveyed the kitchen. “Can you lock up here, Mitch?”
“Yeah, I can. Thanks for everything,” he answered, exhaustion coating the words.
Amy patted his arm. “Take care of yourself, Mitch. I know that Holly would be grateful for what you’re doing.”
Mitch grunted something as he studied the floor.
“I’m going to say goodbye to Oscar. It was nice to meet you, Charlotte. I hope we meet again soon,” Amy added, then left the kitchen, her heels clicking against the rustic wooden floor.
As soon as they were alone, Mitch released a weary sigh, then set the suitcases down.
What now?
Charlotte searched for the right words, but nothing came to her. Needing to do something with herself, she rose to her feet. “Is there anything else to pack up?”
“I don’t know,” the man answered, looking as if he’d been mauled by a pack of wild dogs.
This was certainly off to a rocky start!
“How about I bring these along?” she offered, gathering the stack of Oscar’s Polaroids.
Mitch stared at the top image—a shot of a grilled cheese sandwich—and the man’s expression darkened. “Do whatever you want,” he griped as Amy returned.
“I’m off, and Oscar asked for you, Charlotte,” the woman added.
“Me?” Charlotte questioned as a jolt of anxiety prickled through her body. The boy didn’t even know who she was.
“Yes, he was adamant that he needed to speak to you.”
“Okay, I’ll go say hello,” she answered, resurrecting that brave awkward situation expression.
“Oscar’s room is down the hall. It’s the second door on the left. You can’t miss it. He’s got a keep-out sign taped to it,” Mitch said, then turned to Amy. “I’ll walk you out.”
The pair disappeared, and then it was just her, alone in an unfamiliar kitchen, smack-dab in the middle of a family tragedy. She’d felt woefully out of place. Her entry into the field of childcare had been the very definition of baptism by fire. And it seemed she was about to encounter her first obstacle: the meet and greet.
She picked up her tote, placed the stack of Oscar’s Polaroids inside, then tiptoed down the hall like a cat burglar.
“He’s a boy who requires a little kindness,” she whispered, giving herself her first nanny pep talk.
She stopped in front of the door, took a steadying breath, then knocked twice.
“Who is it?” Oscar called, his growly tone matching Mitch’s surly manner.
“It’s Charlotte. Your aunt said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yeah, I did! Why are you here? Why did my dad bring you to my house?” the boy barked.
Yep, he was Mitch’s son.
“I’m your nanny,” she answered.
A series of squeaks and creaks emanated from the room. “I don’t need a nanny. I can tie my shoes in double knots, and my mom taught me how to make a grilled cheese sandwich on the stove. I want to live here by myself. You can leave,” the boy shot back.
Charlotte sat down and stared at the door. “I don’t blame you, Oscar. This seems like a great place to live.”
The squeaking stopped with a hard thud. The boy must have been jumping on the bed. It wasn’t long before the pat of cautious footsteps grew louder, and she heard him move closer.
