Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“Isn’t that just…taco night?”
“Ah, but is it? You can build the whole thing from scratch—from the rice to the beans to the chicken to the guacamole. Sort of like when you build Lego,” I say, feeling a little proud of myself for the comparison.
“Okay, but we already do that,” he says, thoroughly unimpressed.
But after years of performing skating routines that rise and crest, I know a thing or two about how to make a point. “Right. Of course you assemble your own tacos. But if your dad says yes, maybe if you build something cool out of the taco—like a car, or a house, or a shooting star—you might be able to convince your dad to give you something sweet.”
“I want to build my own taco,” Parker says to his dad, and yes! Parker’s enthusiasm is small, but it feels like one thing going right with him. Score one for the nanny.
“When you finish your homework. And after I cook the beans and meat,” Tyler says, then sends Parker to tackle his books.
Parker runs off as Tyler strides into the kitchen, a quirk in his brow. “Build-a-taco night?”
“I figured a name like that might make it seem more fun,” I say, but I don’t tell him why I want more fun for Parker. I don’t want to worry him about his son not liking me.
Tyler’s astute, though, because he says, “Let me guess. He was standoffish?”
And he knows his son well. Giving in, I hold up my thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space. “Yes, but it was the first day. It’s all good. However, I have a very important question—can Parker have gummy bears?” My stomach spins with nerves, chased by the raw awareness that I was too caught up in word play with Tyler earlier to nail down the details of what to buy and not buy. Not sure I want to admit that? But then I can hear Elena’s voice in my head. It’s okay to admit you need a little help. “I wasn’t sure actually after our conversation earlier if you were good with that or not. Or how you feel about candy and such. I mean, I know you think chocolate chip cookies are scandalous,” I tease, reminding him of our wedding night conversation—the one that took place before my 1001 Confessions.
“I’m not a big candy person. Sweets aren’t my guilty pleasure,” he says, and instantly I want to know what his pleasures are—guilty or otherwise. “But I try not to be a hard-ass either. So every now and then can’t hurt.”
“I agree,” I say, relieved that I made the choice to buy them. “And now you have dessert for them tonight.”
“They’ll love you for sure then,” he says, and I hope so. Truly, I do. But I know, too, it’ll take time.
I glance around the neat, clean kitchen before looking toward the stairs. Luna seems happily ensconced in her room. It was only one afternoon. Only a few hours. But here we are, and everyone is safe and sound. I should play it cool, but I’ve never been the cool one. “We made it,” I add, letting out an exaggerated, “whew.”
Tyler’s businesslike demeanor slips away, and a smile takes over. “So I guess you’re not quitting?”
My jaw drops. “What? No! Were you worried?”
He shrugs. “No. Yes. Maybe. You never know.”
“You’re stuck with me,” I say, since I will dig my heels into this job like a dog refusing to let go of a one hundred and eighty-seven-day-old bagel it’s found on the corner.
“Good,” he says, and his shoulders seem to loosen a notch, a sense of ease relaxing his smile as he gathers supplies around the kitchen.
That’s my cue to go. I gesture toward the stairs leading to my apartment. “I should leave you to it.”
Give him space to be the dad and all.
“Right,” he says, but he sounds a little wistful. Almost like he wants me to stay? But no, that can’t be it. This is family time, not get-to-know-the-new-nanny time.
Besides, that soft look in his eyes right now? He’s probably just tired after the team meeting. Which makes me wonder…
“Are you sure you don’t want me to cook?”
“No,” he says quickly. “I’ll handle it.”
And yeah, I should go. “Just let me know about tomorrow’s schedule. Text me, maybe. If you can’t find me, that is,” I tease, since I can’t seem to stop running my mouth.
“I will.”
“You’re leaving soon for an away game, right?” The Sea Dogs season opener is in Las Vegas against one of their main rivals.
“Yes, in three days,” he says, and that’s when I’ll be really busy with the kids—it’ll be all me on Thursday and Friday. “Tomorrow you’ve got some skating lessons in the morning, right?”
“I do. I’ll have to rise and shine since it’s really early,” I say, grateful I can work my skating schedule around the job.