Page 34 of Only Mine
Good. This is my opening. Tell her it’s not working out. Tell her Ivy needs consistency, and she isn’t it. But the words taste like burned coffee.
The cutesy lunch.
The goddamn shark note.
“About last night,” I say. Wrenley flinches, her shoulders coming up to her ears.
What is with that? Any sudden movements and the girl spooks like an abused horse.
“Look, Saint, I get it,” she says quickly, her voice suddenly brittle. “I screwed up with the car. I’m a terrible nanny. I’m probably setting Ivy back years in therapy. My suitcase is packed. I’ll just finish making Ivy’s lunch and then I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll even pay for the bumper.”
She says it all in a rush, a shield of rapid-fire words.
I stare at her.
Wrenley flushes under my scrutiny.
The vulnerable admission, hidden under the sarcasm, throws me off. I hadn’t expected her to be so prepared for dismissal.
Or so hard on herself.
“I’ve had it rehearsed since approximately 2:18 a.m.,” she admits, then takes a bite from a new apple, chewing with a defiant sort of energy.
“You’re not a terrible nanny,” I say, my voice kinder than I intend. I turn back to the coffee machine, focusing on thefamiliar ritual of grinding beans and filling the carafe. It gives my hands something to do, a focal point other than her earnest, anxious face. “You dented a car. It happens.”
Wrenley says nothing. I can feel her watching me, probably waiting for the other shoe to drop, the part where I tell her to get the fuck out, anyway.
This is my opening to do it. More politely, of course. The girl doesn’t deserve a curt dismissal, just as she didn’t deserve my unexpected wrath last night.
“The thing is,” I say, busying myself by grabbing a couple of mugs from the upper cupboard. “Ivy’s attached to you. Temporarily.”
The thought of another tearful goodbye for Ivy, another adjustment, makes my gut clench. “She enjoys a person who understands her artistic level.”
I risk a glance. Wrenley is very still, her apple forgotten in her hand. She’s shifted slightly, putting a little more distance between us, her posture wary.
“My last nanny quit without notice. The one before her lasted three months.” I spin with a full mug of coffee and hand it to her, forcing myself to meet her wide-eyed, beautiful gaze. “Ivy’s still recovering from her mother’s death. She doesn’t need another person walking in and out of her life on a whim.”
“It’s not my intention—” Wrenley stops herself, then glances at her suitcase. “That’s fair.”
The coffee machine gurgles behind me. Wrenley carefully folds the lunchbox closed, her fingers lingering on the clasp.
“Are you asking me to stay? As her nanny?”
“Two weeks.” I say it fast before I can second-guess myself. “Give me two weeks to find someone permanent. Someone qualified.”
The words surprise me as much as they do her, but afterreading an email early this morning from the nanny agency stating that their best employee has just accepted a job, and I’d have to wait a few weeks for an adequate replacement, I’m desperate.
“That’s not in my usual job description.” Wrenley tilts her head, studying me. “My references are mostly TikTok comments.”
She takes a tentative sip of the coffee, her eyes still wary over the rim of the mug. “I like Ivy. A lot. But I don’t have any formal training, Saint. No early childhood education degrees, no CPR certification beyond what I learned for a boating license years ago.”
Jesus, I am regretting this by the second.
“You have a boating license?” I ask.
Wrenley offers a small, self-deprecating smile. “Long story. Point is, I’m not exactly nanny material on paper.”
“This is by no means permanent. Ivy doesn’t care about your résumé. She cares that you taught her a mermaid braid and aren’t afraid to be silly with her. For two weeks, that’s enough.”
