Page 13 of Ink Me Three Times
I kneel down, hands sticky, patience thinner than the toast she licked clean and fed to the dog. "Sweetheart, they’re the same banana."
She narrows her eyes. "No. They’re ugly now."
Okay. Sure. Let’s call the fruit aesthetic police.
Then a knock hits the door.
Penny freezes mid rant. "Is that the babysitter?"
I stand, wiping my hands on a towel and praying it’s not my neighbor Karen returning my tools and giving me her opinions.
Instead, when I swing the door open, the biggest, sharpest curveball of my week is standing there in ripped jeans, a faded black hoodie, and the kind of bedhead that looks like it’s seen some shit and decided to keep going anyway.
Ivy Fletcher.
And fuck me, she’s even hotter in daylight.
I mean, yeah, I’ve seen the occasional photo. Her and Jesse on some rooftop in New York, Ivy making faces, hair dyed red back then, a little more wild… but this version? Real life Ivy? She’s storm weather pretty. You know it’s gonna hurt a little, but you want to stand in the rain anyway.
I lean one arm on the doorframe, casual as hell even though my pulse just did a weird little skip.
"Hey," she says, voice a little scratchy like maybe she hasn’t had her coffee… or sleep, judging by the shadows under her eyes.
"Morning," I say, stepping aside to let her in. "Welcome to the chaos."
She hesitates a beat, just long enough that I notice, then steps inside.
Penny’s peeking from behind the kitchen island, applesauce war still fresh on her cheeks. "Are you the babysitter?"
Ivy crouches down, not all the way, just enough to make eye contact. "Depends. You planning on biting?"
Penny blinks. "Not today."
"Well then," Ivy says, lips twitching. "I guess I can stay."
Okay, so that’s hot. And funny. And I’m absolutely not ready for the way my kid instantly beams at her like she’s just met a Disney princess with edge.
"You want coffee?" I ask, already heading to the kitchen to do something with my hands before I do something stupid with my mouth.
"Ugh, yes."
She follows me in, scanning the living room like she’s mentally cataloguing every Cheerio stuffed crevice and juice box crime scene. She’s not judging, not exactly… more like taking stock. Strategic. Calculated. Smart.
"You ever nannied before?" I ask, sliding her a mug.
"Not professionally," she says, wrapping her hands around the cup like she’s stealing its heat. "But I used to be the unofficial babysitter for my building. And my ex had a kid."
Her voice goes tight on the last part. Quick shift. Almost too quick.
I nod like I didn’t hear the tension there. We all have ghosts.
"Plus, as I’m sure my brother told you, I do have the qualifications."
Penny tugs at Ivy’s hoodie. "I can show you my room if you want."
"I’d love that," Ivy says, smoothing a hand over Penny’s curls. "But maybe after your dad asks me weirdly specific questions about my criminal history."
"I was gonna ease into that," I say, flashing a grin. "Start with something simple. Like your stance on bribing toddlers with fruit snacks."
