Page 24 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
The frazzled tone of his voice plucked at my heart. His daughters were completely adorable but so naughty, and the poor guy had no idea how to handle them.
He reallydidneed help.
Thanks to my experience at the preschool, I knew exactly what to do to get the girls to listen. For a moment I was insanely tempted to squeeze through the hedge and go offer some guidance.
But of course I didn’t.
For one thing, it would be bizarre to appear out of nowhere like a garden fairy on a moonlit night. Sullivan wouldknowI’d been spying.
For another, he had just climbed out of the pool himself, and there was no way I could act like a normal, rational person if I were to get any closer tothat.
He was wet and shirtless, his powerful form on full display and literally glistening in the sunlight like a golden statue atop a sports trophy.
He was the most intensely masculine being I’d ever seen in my life. He made me feel nervous and restless and elated. Unfamiliar feelings I didn’t necessarily like.
I could never handle working for him, much less living under the same roof with him.
Turning away, I walked home, willing myself to forget the magnificent sight of Sullivan Reece in a pair of swim trunks—to forget about him and his daughters completely.
There was simply no place for them in my life—or in my rapidly beating heart.
Chapter Seven
Lock In
Angelina
Whether it was the contrast between the dark wood walls and heavy draperies to the bright summer sunshine or my mother’s glowering expression and sharp voice, I felt positively suffocated for the rest of the day.
Lunch and dinner both tasted like sawdust. My room, which I’d always considered to be cozy and familiar, now seemed too small, its décor far too young for me.
My clothes, which had been serviceable and comfortable before, itched and chafed at my skin.
I felt like tearing them off and diving naked into the Atlantic, swimming as far and fast as possible until my skin—and everything contained within it—was chilled and numb.
But I couldn’t seem to sink back into the numbness that had characterized my life up to this point.
I felt unstrung and alive, like the end of a powerline ripped from its anchoring pole during a storm. It was a wonder sparks didn’t jump from my fingertips as I suffered through the interminable pre-dinner prayer that night.
Evidently, Mother noticed a difference in me because she remarked on it. “What’s gotten into you today?”
A guilty drumbeat pounded in my ears, muting my own voice as I responded. “What do you mean?”
“You’re antsy. Yousaidthe exercise outside would do you good, but you seem more restless now than you did before your walk. And you’ve hardly said two words to me since.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just…”
This was it. I had to say something. If I didn’t, I’d combust. Maybe I would anyway—I felt hot all over, and my palms were sweating. I wiped them on the napkin in my lap.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Mother’s expression soured. “About what?”
“Things. Life. The future.”
Though Mother’s expression was forbidding, I forced myself to go on.
“I think I’d like to delay my postulancy… just for a little while. I think it might be good to gain more life experience. Maybe I could take a summer job and begin my discernment in the fall instead. For instance… there’s a local family that needs a nanny for the summer.”
