Page 6 of Sunshine
Dylan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need a nanny.”
I smack the schedule onto the table and point at all the activities. “Maybe you don’t, but Izzy does.”
“There’s nobody better for the job,” Daisy presses. “Poppy has nannied for three families over the last ten years, so it’s not like she isn’t qualified.”
“I’ve got my first aid certificate and everything,” I add.
“And it’ll only be till the end of the school year,” Daisy says. “She’s got a summer job already lined up.”
Dylan looks at me with sharp eyes. “Really?”
I swallow under his examination. “Yeah. The last family I worked for recommended me to friends of theirs who are traveling through Europe starting in June. They need someone for their ten-year-old twins while they’re there, and if that goes well, I’ll stay on with them in Maine.”
I can’t tell anything from Dylan’s expression. Is he relieved to know I’ve got no big plans to build a life in Aster Springs? Is he disappointed? No, that’s stupid. Why would he care?
Daisy puts on a tragic frown. “But she needs cash in the meantime, and Poppy makes next to nothing working nights at The Slippery Tipple. The tips are terrible, the hours are worse, and just the other day, we were talking about how she might have to start dancing in her nipple tassels just to make ends meet.”
A muscle fires in Dylan’s jaw and his forearms ripple as he clenches his fists where they’re tucked underneath his biceps. My stomach tumbles at how gorgeous he is, and the temptation to tease him becomes too much to resist.
“It’s either that or I start selling feet pics,” I deadpan.
Dylan’s eyes drift closed, his nostrils flare as he pulls in a deep, calming breath, and I suddenly regret making light of something that’s so important to him. Tormenting him is too easy, but there’s a time and place, and this isn’t it.
“But seriously, Dylan,” I say. “I like kids, and I love Izzy. It’d be no trouble to help you manage her schedule. I can take her to and from school and activities and stay on top of dates and events, so you’ve got more time to focus on the restaurant. It’ll relieve you of some of that mental load.”
Dylan’s shoulders soften, and he opens his eyes, uncrossing his arms to run a strong, graceful hand through his overgrown hair. “I don’t know. I mean,maybeI could use an extra pair of hands, but Izzy—”
“Adores Poppy,” Daisy finishes. “Us girls have hung out together lots of times, so there’ll be no awkward getting-to-know-you period for either of them.”
“That’s true,” Dylan concedes.
When he finally looks up, his expression is a little less defensive, a little softer, and I rely on years of practice that makes it possible to maintain a carefree expression when inside, I’m melting into a puddle on the floor.
“But I’m still not convinced I need the help,” he adds.
“How are you going to manage all this on your own?” Daisy demands.
Dylan huffs out a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Then it’s settled.” With a melodramatic grunt that makes Dylan roll his eyes, Daisy reaches across the table, scoops up thepapers, and with no care at all, piles them into a messy stack that she shoves to my side of the table. “Here, Miss Golightly. You’ll need these, and there’ll probably be a quiz later.”
Dylan covers his face with a hand. “Jesus,” he says, the words muffled by his palm. “I’m already regretting this.”
“But why?” Daisy gives his arm a playful shove. “What’s not to love about this plan? You’ll never find anyone better for the job—not even me. Come on, bro. Poppy isfamily.”
I drag the paperwork across the table toward me and try not to flinch at Dylan’s short shake of his head. I know what it means, and I know it shouldn’t bother me, but his rejection sums up the story of my life.
I’ve never had a real family.
I’ve been a daughter. I’ve been a friend. I’ve been a nanny. I’ve been related by blood, but I’ve only ever beenfamilywith conditions attached. It’s alwayspractically,as good as,almost,nearly,not quite… The closest I’ve ever felt to having something real was all those hours I spent here as a kid at Silver Leaf Ranch, surrounded by chaos and love and laughter, embraced by Daisy’s parents like I was one of their own. And now, nearly three decades later, even Dylan—the man I’ve loved all my life—can’t think of me as family.
It’s okay, I remind myself as I neaten the stack of papers in my hands. Little bits of love are better than no love at all, and I’ve learned that it’s easier to appreciate crumbs when I don’t waste energy hoping they’ll add up to more.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dylan asks.
“I’m sure,” I say with growing confidence. “I was about to start looking for another job anyway, and this will get me out from underneath Mona’s feet. Her apartment really is too small for the both of us, so the more time I spend elsewhere, the better.”
“How is your mom?” Dylan asks. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
