Page 68 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Mitch nodded. “I thought that would be easy to remember,” the man replied, and her stupid heart was at it again. It was a sweet gesture. But she didn’t dare tell him that.
“Can we explore around the house, too? Please?” Oscar continued.
Mitch peered past the house toward another structure on the property. Constructed in the same rustic style as the house, it looked like a barn or an oversized garage. The man’s already stiff posture tightened.
What could be in there?
Mitch exhaled a slow, weary breath. “Yes, you can look around. The code works on every exterior door on the property. The bedrooms are upstairs. Madelyn’s people were supposed to prepare your rooms. They’ve had access to my house while we’ve been gone. Interior design’s not really my thing,” he finished, looking away, his voice barely a rasp.
Was he nervous? He wasn’t the only one!
She adjusted the straps of her tote. “I’m sure they did a great job,” she replied, wanting desperately to help this man who was so obviously struggling. No, that wasn’t her job. But she would have sworn she’d seen a longing in his eyes—a sadness that cut bone-deep and a wish not to have to constantly go it alone.
“Come on, Charlotte,” Oscar exclaimed, tugging on her hand. Mitch blinked, and the raw honesty disappeared behind a surly glare.
So much for trying to help!
She’d be wise to remember that as much as he needed it, he didn’t want it. No, it was more than that. Besides caring for Oscar, he didn’t want anything from her.
Why did that hurt?
A week ago, she couldn’t have cared less what the man thought. But now…now she could barely discern which way was up.
Oscar dropped her hand and took the steps up to the porch two at a time as she followed close behind. But only a few seconds had passed when she felt a penetrating force at her back. She stopped. It was like being caught in a tingle tractor beam. And there was no second-guessing whose eyes were laser-focused on her. Being the object of Mitch Elliott’s complete and unrelenting attention could not be mistaken. The breath caught in her throat as she glanced over her shoulder. And for a fraction of a second, she would have sworn the man was on the brink of smiling.
“We can wait for you, Mitch.” She gestured with her chin toward a little bench on the property near the porch.
The hint of a curve graced his lips, and her stupid heart took notice. Was he about to gift her with a grin and ask her to stay close by? But before she could even blink, his countenance darkened.
“I’m fine. Stay with Oscar,” he ordered as if he were calling out commands in the Crystal Cricket’s kitchen before striding over to where Ines and Gwen were chatting.
Spitting mad one second, then drinking her in like she made up the entirety of his universe the next!
The guy was all over the place!
She exhaled, her heart hammering when an electronic chirp made her gasp.
Beep, beep, beep, beep!
She pressed her hand to her chest.
Get a grip, girl!
If she were any more tightly strung, she’d explode.
“I entered the door code,” the boy chimed as a click punctuated the evening air, and he opened the door.
“Wow! It’s empty,” Oscar called, flicking on lights as he raced around the spacious, sparsely furnished house.
She walked past a grand staircase made of wrought iron and gleaming wood, then scanned what looked like it should be the great room. The cavernous space was void of furnishings, but the mountain mansion architecture still took her breath away. Exposed beams sailed into the air, creating steep peaks in the ceiling that framed a gleaming giant rock fireplace. She walked over to it and ran her hand over the cool stones that made up the majestic hearth.
“Charlotte! Come see the kitchen and check out this giant stove,” Oscar cried, his voice echoing through the empty home.
She followed the pitter-patter of his footsteps, turned the corner, then stopped dead in her tracks. While the rest of the first floor barely contained a stick of furniture, the kitchen was like something out of a mountain home design magazine. In keeping with the style of the rest of the house, exposed wood timbers raised the ceiling. Large windows dotted the space between gleaming appliances and wooden cabinetry. She opened what she thought was a cabinet and found utensils hanging from a board like they were pieces of art: ladles, graters, and eight spatulas in different shapes and sizes.
Eight!
“Why would anyone need so many spatulas?” she mumbled.
