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A long sigh deflates my chest. “Okay. I admit he’s a good-looking kid, but I’m way too old for him and it’s inappropriate to objectify him. I don’t need a harassment suit on my hands. Besides, he’s here for Isabel and that is our first priority.”
Jay rears back with their hand on their sternum. “Oww, your nose just stabbed me in the chest. You can fool yourself, but you’ll never fool me. I’ve been your soulmate since we were ten. I’ve seen it all.” With a smirk, their eyes flitter about me. “The fact that you used the word “our” tells me you’ve been thinking about the hot manny more than you want to admit.”
My lip curls. They are too damn perceptive for my own good.
Jay flings their arms out in dramatics, showing off their impressive bell sleeves. “That’s okay. Your indiscretion is safe with me. I am the Alcatraz of secrets.”
I snort. “Yeah, until someone bribes you with Firecakes Donuts. Don’t forget I know all about you too, Jayden.”
“Gasp. You know the love and care they put into those donuts is special and rare. I can hardly be blamed for it.” They sniff. “Anyway, it’s nice seeing that someone other than moi can get under that steel armor you wear. He might kill you with his sword, but what a way to go.”
I bark a laugh, then sober. I haven’t been this rattled since the day I found out my baby daddy was an absolute piece of shit. Then, I had my rage to keep me straight.
The new nanny gets under my skin by his mere presence. It’s annoying but mostly frustrating, with no real reason underneath. Just my woefully inappropriate attraction. He hasn’t done anything wrong, except having a face that belongs on the cover of a man-scout magazine and an amiable personality.
I think I might be in some trouble.
Chapter 3
Belgian Waffles and Warm Maple Syrup
Mae
My eyes blink open, sun rays beaming in through the blinds piercing them, so I slam my lids shut again.
Sunlight? The sun’s up?
Shit. Isabel. I check the baby monitor screen, but it’s quiet, and the lump next to Mr. Snuffles tells me she’s still sleeping.
Odd. She usually wakes up before the sun. Something’s wrong.
Flinging the covers off, I jump out of bed and scurry down the hall to her room. There’s a smokey smell, which amps my alarm.
Is the house on fire? Where is the fire alarm?
I don’t see red locks peeking out from under the lump of blankets. “Isabel!” Did she climb out of her crib? I’d be proud of her if I wasn’t so terrified.
The house is burning and my daughter is gone, which makes me think she got into something. Cue the guilt and self-flogging. It’s my fault this is happening right now. I’m negligent and scatter-brained because there are just too many tabs open in my mind.
With my heart pounding through my rib cage, I run down the stairs, anticipating smoke filling up the foyer and family room. However, all is clear.
The smell is stronger down here, but it’s smokey and savory, making my mouth water.
What has she gotten into? Is she okay? Did she stick something into the electrical socket? Oh God, is she being electrocuted?
My pace quickens, and like a blood hound, I follow my nose. Which leads me to the kitchen and stops me in my tracks.
Isabel is sitting in her highchair, happily eating a mashed banana.
She’s okay. Tension releases its grip on my lungs.
When I turn the other side of the room, my salivating mouth dries. The sight before me is better than any dream I’ve ever conjured. Someone is cooking breakfast on the stove.
No, not just someone.
Him. The hot manny.
Get it together, woman.
