Page 54 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Sure, it was exciting for a six-year-old boy, but clearly terrifying for a shoeless woman.
He and Oscar made it back to the RV and found Charlotte leaning against the side of the camper, dusting off her feet. He slowed his pace to a jog as the lantern he’d hung on the RV cast their camp in a dim orange glow. But there was enough light to see that she’d made it back in one piece. Besides being breathless and shoeless, she looked no worse for wear. He scanned the ground, then gathered her shoes and held them up. “Want these back?”
“I have so much adrenaline pumping through my body, I can’t even feel my feet,” she answered on a breathy sigh, but she accepted the footwear.
“Check this out, Charlotte!” Oscar said, handing her the Polaroid. “You can move fast.”
She released a shaky breath. “You captured the moment. I wasn’t expecting the skunk or the owl.”
“Yeah, I can tell! Look at your face,” Oscar added, tapping the corner of the print.
“That’s quite a shot,” she replied through a relieved chuckle, sounding more like herself.
“Take a look, Dad,” the boy beamed.
He leaned in. Charlotte wasn’t wrong. It was one hell of a shot.
The flash gave Charlotte red demon eyes which complemented the look of sheer terror on her contorted face. The blur of the owl with the skunk in its clutches rounded out the hilarious image. And before he knew it, he’d busted out laughing. And sweet Christ, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt like this. But his body remembered. His cheeks warmed as an ear-to-ear grin stretched across his face like an old friend returning after an extended absence. He couldn’t help but admit that the foreign sound of his laughter was a welcomed improvement to the angry grumbles and irritated grunts he’d relied upon for the last handful of years.
“So, you think it’s funny that I was almost sprayed by a skunk, then attacked by a giant owl?” Charlotte teased, the panic in her voice subsiding.
Mitch caught his son’s eye, and the boy joined him in a bout of giggles.
“You were so scared, Charlotte. And your face got twisty. How did you even do that with your mouth?” the boy asked through a rollicking belly laugh as he worked to contort his features to mimic Charlotte’s petrified expression.
Charlotte pressed her hand to her belly, joining the giggle-fest. “I don’t know! But I never want to make that face again,” she answered, then turned her attention from Oscar. “Thanks for coming after me, Mitch. And sorry about all that. I wasn’t planning on having your son witness a skunk kidnapping,” she said in her teasing tone when a look of awe came over her as she studied his face.
He stilled, unable to look away. He liked having her eyes trained on him. It was the first time in ages he enjoyed the attention. He observed her mouth and those damned lips that looked so inviting and so irresistibly kissable. For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them stared at each other. Her presence woke the dormant part of him—the part he’d written off, the part he’d hidden under layer upon layer of defenses. It was almost too much to take when the mechanical hum of the Polaroid jolted him back.
“Gotcha!” Oscar cried, holding up the Polaroid.
He and Charlotte shared one last glance before she lifted her camera to her eye. “Two can play at that! Let’s see what you look like when a wild animal attacks,” she said in a mock-menacing tone.
“Where’s the wild animal?” Oscar asked, scanning the area.
“It’s me!Roar!” she cried, chasing the boy around the tent as she snapped pictures. And the kid was game for it. Hooting and hollering, he darted this way and that as Charlotte followed in hot pursuit.
She was good with Oscar. That he couldn’t deny.
He shook his head and chuckled, watching the mayhem when Charlotte called a timeout and waved Oscar over. She kneeled and whispered something in his ear. The two looked thick as thieves as they whispered back and forth. Oscar nodded, then pointed in the air. “Dad, look out! It’s another great horned owl. And it’s headed straight for you!”
What the hell?
He was no fool. He ducked, flailing his arms as he ran in circles. Theclick,click,clickof Charlotte’s camera peppered the air, and the camera’s flash went off in dizzying bursts of light.
What was she doing? Photographing the owl?
He ignored the sound and shielded his eyes from the bright pulses of light. He was more concerned with the giant bird that may or may not be making a beeline for his head. He waved his arms, batting at the air when Oscar’s laugh cut through the commotion. “Just like that, Dad! Keep going!” the child called as the hum of the Polaroid added to theclick,click,clickity-clackparty of sound.
He stopped hopping around like he had ants in his pants. He’d been duped by his child and the nanny. He put on his best cranky chef expression. “There’s no great horned owl, is there?” he asked in his best growly voice. But it didn’t seem to have the same effect on Charlotte and Oscar. The pair’s laughter intensified.
“Attack, Oscar! Attack the hothead!” she cried.
The boy swung the Polaroid strap over his head, handed Charlotte his camera, then sprinted toward him. Oscar’s knobby knees blurred as the boy emitted a mixture of loud primal calls, punctuated with uncontrollable giggling. Only a few feet away, the kid sprang from the ground and jumped into his arms.
“Easy, now,” he bit out, his voice cracking, as Oscar wrapped his arms around his neck. He held the boy, tightening his grip. Theclick,click,clicks,and pops of flash resumed as Charlotte snapped pictures, capturing the moment. He should tell her to give the photography a rest. But he couldn’t. His throat had thickened with emotion.
And he knew why.
