Page 47 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Do you mind if I do something with my camera real quick?” she asked, her pulse racing.
The boy handed it over. With trembling fingers, she pulled up the menu, then transferred the image to her phone. It was as if she wasn’t quite acting on her own volition—like a force within had taken over. She removed her phone from her bag and opened the digital application for the London intensive workshop. She stared at the button withattach imagewritten in bold type. Not giving herself a moment to second-guess, she attached the photo of Mitch and hit send. Thewhooshof the sent email sound washed over her.
She’d done it!
“What did you do with the picture?” Oscar asked.
“Just something for a photography class,” she answered, trying to keep her tone even as she willed her heart not to beat out of her chest.
“What about a photography class?” came a gruff voice.
She whipped her head toward the source of the sound and found Mitch, arms crossed, as he filled the small hallway with his large, brooding body.
“Oscar and I were comparing cameras,” she replied, not answering his question. And especially not disclosing that she’d submitted a picture of him as part of the application for the workshop. A tiny knot formed in her belly, but she ignored it. What were the chances they’d accept her? It was a pipe dream. The longest of long shots. Still, she had to do it. She owed it to herself to try.
Mitch blew out a heavy breath, then checked his watch. “It’s time. We need to leave now if we want to make it to the campsite by dusk.”
She nodded, then felt a tug on her shirt. She looked over to find Oscar frowning.
“Do I have to go, Charlotte?” the boy asked.
“Yes, Oscar, it’s not a choice,” Mitch barked, answering for her.
The boy crossed his arms and pouted, looking like the mini version of his father.
She glanced between the glowering pair. “Oscar and I will meet you at the camper in a minute,” she said to the fuming chef.
“One minute,” he said, holding her gaze, and that’s when she saw it—the agony and the confusion. He was trying to keep up a stone-faced front. But his hothead chef facade didn’t fool her. Not anymore. This man was terrified.
“We’ll be right there, Mitch.”
Oscar’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve never been to Denver. I don’t know what my dad’s house looks like. He always came here.”
The child’s words went right to her heart. She patted his leg. “I don’t know what it looks like either. We’re both getting a new home.”
The child perked up. “You’re going to live with us?”
“Yes.”
“I have to go to a new school, too,” Oscar added, twisting his shoelace. “Aunt Amy said it was called Whitmore.”
Whitmore!
“Oscar, I know that school,” she exclaimed. “My friend’s soon-to-be step-niece goes there. Her name is Phoebe. She’s in the first grade.”
“I’m in the first grade!” the boy chimed.
“Look at that! You’ll already know someone.”
Oscar nodded, but his initial enthusiasm faded. “I don’t think my dad wants me to live with him.”
This poor boy had lost his mother, and now, he had to live with a father he barely knew. She understood what it felt like to feel alone in this world. She understood what she had to do. Come hell or high water, she’d do everything in her power to show him that he wasn’t alone—that someone believed in him.
“I think your dad isn’t sure what to do. But I know that he’s trying. And I know that he loves you,” she said, working to keep the emotion from her voice.
“That’s what my mom used to say,” the boy replied, twisting a loose thread on the strap of his backpack.
“Your mom sounds like she was a smart lady.”
