Page 51 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
Every patient correction and hug and “I’m proud of you, buddy.”
It melts me.
Warms places in me I thought were frozen shut.
And—okay—I just kind of wish he loved me, too.
Nope! Shut it down, Tamare. We are not going there!
I slap the mental brakes and pace a slow circle around the kitchen island, nursing a cup of chamomile tea while the house falls quiet around me.
Alex is finally asleep.
It took three stories, a shadow puppet show, and five lullaby renditions of “Zero to Hero” but he’s out.
And I know Dane’s still in his office.
I also know I’ve got to talk to him.
This isn’t about me.
This isn’t about what his mouth did to my body or how my soul seems to hum whenever he’s near.
This is about Alex.
Because something might be wrong.
The constant hunger? The intensity of it? It’s not just a kid with a fast metabolism.
I’ve worked with kids for years. I know the difference between a growth spurt and something more.
Maybe it’s a thyroid issue. Or blood sugar. Or something else entirely.
So yeah. I’m doing this.
I’m going to march into that man’s office and calmly, rationally express my concerns.
As soon as I get my nerve.
Any second now.
Yup.
“Oh my God, why am I sweating?” I murmur and sniff my armpit.
Okay. It’s fine. Yay for deodorant.
And just for the record?
The number of nights I’ve laid in bed, certain I could hear him prowling the hallway like some kind of hot, broody jungle cat?
Too embarrassing to count.
And every single time I peeked out? Nobody.
Just silence and shadows and my overactive imagination.
Okay. Enough.
