Page 69 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“You use them for different things,” Oscar answered, swooping in beside her. The child tapped the first row. “These are flippers. These are scrapers. And these are spreaders,” he finished, schooling her in the art of spatulas, then started digging in his backpack.
“What are you doing, Oscar?” she asked, watching him closely.
“I’ve got one in my bag,” he said, whipping out an actual spatula. With a pale, dried wooden handle and a flipper part that looked like it had seen better days a century ago, this spatula might very well be the most well-used cooking utensil in the entire state of Colorado.
“That’s neat,” she remarked—not sure what to think about the kid carrying around an old spatula. Maybe it wasn’t that odd. Some kids had security blankets and teddy bears. Oscar must be a spatula enthusiast. She was about to ask him where he’d gotten it when he slid the old thing back into his pack before darting to the other side of the kitchen.
She returned her attention to the spatula museum of a cabinet, removed her camera from her tote, then took a few shots of the cooking implements.
“Charlotte, look! You could make like fifty grilled cheese sandwiches at one time on this gigantically enormous stove!” the boy exclaimed from the other side of the kitchen.
She raised her camera and framed Oscar in the shot. “Say cheese,” she called.
“I lovecheeeeese,” the child exclaimed. The boy played along, pretending to cook on what truly was a gigantically enormous stove as she clicked away, recording Oscar’s beginning in his new home. She was worried coming to Denver might be hard for the boy, but the kid had energy to boot. She kept him in her sights, capturing shot after shot. And there was plenty of room to move. He buzzed past, not one, but two sinks, and then, not one, but two industrial-sized refrigerators.
This place was a kitchen on steroids—the definition of gigantically enormous.
“There’s a staircase hidden over here. Do you think it goes up to my new bedroom?” Oscar called from the far side of the kitchen.
She got a shot of him looking over his shoulder at her from the fourth step, then lowered the camera and raised an eyebrow. “There’s one way to tell.” She’d keep it light. If he could be upbeat and chipper, so could she.
Oscar bolted up the steps and disappeared from her view.
“I found my room!” he called. Then, five seconds later. “I found your room, Charlotte!” the boy added.
She made it to the second floor and peeked inside the first opened door. This had to be Oscar’s room. Madelyn’s people had given the boy a bunk bed and decked the room in mountain camping décor with a set of bean bag chairs and a real tent in the corner. Pictures of mountain maps and images of National Park postcards lined the walls. And film. A basket with several packets of Polaroid film sat on the nightstand across from a rustic wooden desk.
“You have a big bathtub,” he announced as she exited the boy’s room and found him next door—next door in her room. Her eyes widened. This couldn’t be called a bedroom. No, it was a deluxe suite.
“There are boxes in the closet and a credit card with your name on it sitting right on the desk,” Oscar said, opening the door to a—like everything else in this place—gigantically enormous closet.
Ah, the nanny match credit card! Harper would be pleased.
She studied the space. Madelyn’s crew must have packed up her things. Penny probably let them into her old apartment.
A nervous buzz passed through her. This would be her home for at least the next fifty-eight days. She left the sizable closet and took in the rest of the room. A luxuriously rustic retreat didn’t even begin to describe it. With the most enormous, fluffy bed she’d ever seen, the suite sported a cozy sitting area and a bathroom that could rival most spas.
“I bet you and my dad could fit inside that super-huge tub,” Oscar commented.
She could feel the rush of heat to her cheeks.
Do not picture yourself in that gloriously oversized bathtub with Mitch…and his strong hands and magical mouth.
“Let’s go see what’s outside. I’ll race you to that barn thingy. I saw a door that leads to it from the kitchen,” he called—off again—running toward the stairs, which gave her a second to pull herself together.
“Just take showers,” she whispered to herself, taking another peek at the tub. She rubbed her eyes, then checked her watch. It was nearly eight o’clock in the evening. How was Oscar not exhausted? That wasn’t too hard to answer. For one, he actually slept last night. She, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to stop her mind from playing and replaying what had happened in the tent. Something she had to stop doing.
“I’m coming, Oscar,” she called, mustering up a second wind as she descended the stairs, then exited the house.
A gravel path led to the structure. She listened to the crunch of the rocks beneath her feet. Paired with the glow of the setting sun, she allowed the ethereal light and calming sound to soothe her ragged nerves. She lifted her camera and took a shot of Oscar’s footprints on the ground, then snapped another of the structure with a door left wide open. “Oscar?” she called as she approached the building, then headed inside.
“You get a Lamborghini! It’s like Christmas!” the boy cried, handing her an envelope with her name written on the outside.
She lifted the flap, then removed a key fob for—that’s right—a freaking Lamborghini Urus. She shook her head, eyeing the sleek SUV. It was the same car Penny drove, except this one was candy apple red.
“It’s a lot fancier than my old Honda,” she replied, eyeing her vehicle parked on the other side of the garage next to Mitch’s black beefy truck. But how did her car end up here? Had she given her keys to Mitch? Had Madelyn’s people taken care of this, too? She searched her memories, cursing those potent margaritas. Stumped, she shook her head. At least it wasn’t racking up parking tickets in the Crystal Creek business district.
“What do you think that is?” Oscar asked, pointing to what looked like a delivery truck under a large tarp.
