Page 17 of Soft Tissue Damage
“Oh, it’s no problem,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as flustered as I feel as I watch his broad back retreating from the kitchen. I wonder if his skin would feel velvety soft beneath my fingers as I traced all those tattoos.
I shake myself and get back to work. Those kinds of thoughts are dangerous to linger on.
After Rosie finishes her bottle and oatmeal, I get her dressed, and we play with some of her toys. Rosie has the most adorable dollhouse with felt animal figurines in tiny little clothes. I would have done anything to play with this when I was her age, and I enthusiastically give it my all now.
The nanny arrives, and it’s time for me to go. I have a diner shift starting soon.
When I come into the living room carrying Rosie, Mr. Grant is there, and he’s wearing black pants and a black V-neck sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I can see a hint of the tattoos on his chest, and plenty on his forearms. The namesRosieandLeonare inked among thesnakes, flowers, and scrolling patterns. I’ve never seen him in black, and he’s never exposed his tattoos before today. He’s always been his safe, capable security guy persona in pale colors. I wonder if this is the real Mr. Grant.
Mr. Grant is flicking through something on his phone and smiling to himself. He sees me, and puts his phone in his pocket.
“What are you smiling at?” I ask without thinking. Like I have a right to know anything about him. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping he’s not about to tell me to mind my own business. Maybe he has a girlfriend and he’s looking at photos of her.
Mr. Grant doesn’t seem annoyed as he takes Rosie from me and bounces her in his arms. “Photos of Rosie I took last night. How was your first night with her?”
“Great, thank you. I enjoyed every moment. She’s such a lovely girl.”
“Would you like to babysit her again?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wonderful. I’ll call you. As a single father, it’s a comfort to know she’s in safe and loving hands while I’m away. Would you like Elena to come back, Rosie?” he asks his daughter.
“Lay-na,” Rosie says happily.
“I think she wants you to come back as much as I do, Elena.”
I’m already looking forward to returning to this big, beautiful, loving home, where children are adored and Mr. Grant smiles at me and talks in that lovely deep voice. Iwonder what happened to his wife. I can’t imagine being married to a man like Mr. Grant and wanting to give him up.
“It’s unusual, isn’t it? The father getting custody.” Crap. There I go again, asking prying questions without thinking. I shake my head. “Sorry, I need to be more mindful about boundaries. Just because I’m dating your son, doesn’t mean I’m entitled to know anything.”
“It’s all right, Elena. Rosie was a surprise, and I talked my ex-wife into having the baby. We decided to divorce while she was still pregnant. She was always adamant that more children didn’t fit in with her lifestyle. So I asked for sole custody, and Rebecca agreed. She takes Rosie for a few days a month.”
“I see. I’m sorry about the divorce.”
“I’m not. Everything worked out for the best.” His lips twitch in amusement. “My ex thought I was boring, and maybe I am. But I have my moments.”
“Oh? And what are those?” I ask with interest. He doesn’t seem boring to me. He seems strong and steady.
He gives me a mysterious smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you about them sometime.”
Apparently his heart isn’t broken over his ex-wife. For some reason, I’m secretly pleased about that. My eyes travel over tall, handsome Mr. Grant. I feel a little weak at the knees at the loving way he’s smiling at her, and the sight of Rosie’s chubby little hand wrapped around one of his big, calloused fingers. He fought for her. He fought so hard to keep her and raise her, and he loves Rosie so much.
God, that’s crazy sexy.
I mean heartwarming. It’s heartwarming what a beautiful home he’s made for his family, and he’ll always love them and keep them safe.
I say goodbye to Mr. Grant. As I head to the diner, I’m already looking forward to going back to babysit Rosie. To experience Mr. Grant’s safe, loving world even for a few hours makes me feel lucky.
Mr. Grant callsme four days later, and I feel my stomach do a little skip when his name flashes on my phone screen.
I answer the call, trying to sound casual but responsible. “Mr. Grant, how are you? How’s Rosie?”
“We’re well, thank you,” he says in that warm, deep voice of his. “How are you?”
I’m on a break, and I’m sitting on the back step of the diner amid stacks of empty catering-size jars of mayonnaise and cans of vegetable oil. It’s hardly a relaxing spot, but it’s the easiest place for me to breathe some fresh air.
“I’m great, thanks,” I say, forcing a breezy tone, crossing my fingers that Mr. Grant is going to ask me to come back and babysit. I only spent one night with Rosie, but I miss her already.
