Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“I’m sorreeeeee.” Mabel laced her fingers and rested her chin on her knuckles. “It was a last-minute offer, and I was lucky to get it. Please don’t be mad—this could help me get into a more prestigious PhD program. It’s a dream for me.”
“I’m not mad,” I muttered. In fact, I was happy she was able to chase her academic dreams all the way to the finish line.
Of the five Buckley siblings, Mabel was the brainy one—she’d worked her ass off in school, earned tons of scholarships, and she deserved every accolade she’d ever gotten. It wasn’t her fault my life had taken a sharp turn after our uncle died, leaving our dad without a business partner, or hit a major fork in the road when I unexpectedly discovered I was going to be a father of two at age twenty-five.
“Because if you’re really mad, I can say no and stick around here this summer,” Mabel went on solemnly. “I promised I’d help you out, and you know how much I love the kids. Plus, if you keep making that face, all those lines in your forehead might stay there.”
I rolled my eyes, although I did try to relax my face a little. “I’d never make you stick around here for my sake. You need to go.”
“Thank you!” She threw her arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides and pressing her cheek against my back. “I’ll totally help you find a replacement nanny before I leave!”
“Mabel, it’s Friday. You said you had to be in Virginia on Sunday.”
“It’s Friday morning. That gives me practically two full days! I’m sure I can fit it in. You know I have a sixth sense about people.”
“And it’s June already. There are Help Wanted signs all over town. Anyone qualified already has a summer job.” I started the dishwasher, wiped the counter where someone had spilled milk pouring their cereal (probably Owen, since Adelaide was a neat freak like me), and checked the chore charts on the fridge to make sure the kids were keeping up with the week’s responsibilities. Adelaide’s X’s fit perfectly inside each box—not a single one missing. Owen’s chart had a couple blanks, and he marked each completed task with different things, sometimes a sticker, sometimes a smiley face, sometimes a funny-looking shape I knew was supposed to be a guitar, which he was saving up for.
“Not necessarily.” Mabel trailed me to the front of the house. “There must be someone still looking for work.”
“Someone with childcare experience?” I checked my watch and yelled up the stairs to the kids that they had precisely five minutes until departure.
“Definitely.”
“Who can cook?”
“For sure.”
“With their own transportation?” I checked their backpacks to make sure they had everything they needed for camp—bathing suits, towels, sunscreen, goggles, flip flops, lunches.
“Of course.”
“That the kids will like?” Owen’s towel from yesterday was still wadded up in his bag, damp and reeking of chlorine, and I yanked it out.
“I mean, not as much as they like me . . .” she joked.
“And no criminal record?”
“Now you’re just being picky.” She met my dirty look with a cheeky grin. “You know, if you’d just be honest with Dad about wanting to quit Two Buckleys and make furniture, you wouldn’t need a full-time nanny. You could work from home.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would break Dad’s heart. His father and grandfather started that business in 1945. He and his brother ran it for forty years. When Uncle Harry died—”
“I know the story,” Mabel cut in. “I know you gave up going to college for him.”
“That wasn’t my point. College wasn’t that big a deal to me anyway. I don’t even know what I’d have studied,” I said. Architecture, I thought. “And I never had grades like you. I probably would have flunked out.”
“Bullshit.” Mabel’s tone was fierce. “I mean, none of you guys had grades like me, but in your case, I think it was because you were always working. School wasn’t your priority.”
“Dad was raising five kids on his own,” I said. “I wanted to help out.”
“You did help out, Austin.” Mabel’s voice softened, and she reached out to squeeze my forearm. “I’m pretty sure my kindergarten friends thought you were my dad because you were always there waiting for me after school.”
I cocked one brow. “I was fifteen.”
“Exactly. That was a long time ago.” Her voice grew stronger as she lectured me. “Dad is sixty-five now, with a heart condition and bad hips. He can’t work forever. When he retires, are you going to keep his business alive just to make him happy instead of doing what you love?”
“Doing what I love wouldn’t support us,” I said, evading the question. “Not for a while, anyway. I’ve got bills to pay, and I want the kids to be able to attend summer camps and play sports. Adelaide is talking about sailing lessons. Owen wants a guitar.”