A huff of amusement leaves me, and I head for my bedroom after telling her, “You’re welcome.”
“At least now you know that if you ever get bored in retirement, you have the skills to become a hairdresser to people whose hair gets chewed off by their pets in their sleep.”
Chuckles sound from both of us.
Note to self: Lock my bedroom door at night when Cheese is around.
My butt hurts from training. It makes sitting on the bench at the children’s play park painful—a quieter one since it can be a little busy near the city centre—and I pull my cap further down on my head, the bill shielding my face so no one recognises me. I stand, stretching my legs.
It’s one of my two days off from training camp, and Flo needed to pick up some more materials for the clothes she’s been working on, so she caught a ride with Leo and me.
She stands at the bottom of the slide, arms open wide, the cheesiest grin spreading her lips as she gazes up at my son, who stands at the top, eyebrows furrowed with anxiety.
Her shopping bags sit by my feet as I watch them from the side, recording on my phone just like Leo instructedme to. However, now that he’s at the top of the slide and has seen what it looks like from his current height, he’s unsure.
“I can’t,” he calls down.
“You can! Just close your eyes and imagine yourself at the bottom in my arms,” Flo encourages him.
“You got it, bud! I’m still recording for you. We can show Cheese when we get home!” I wave at him, but my son hovers, chubby little fingers twirling together as he thinks this through. I shuffle closer to Flo. “Did I forget to tell you he’s afraid of heights?”
She deadpans me. “Yeah, I gathered that. You could’ve told me that before I got my heart set on seeing him zipline.”
Releasing a soft chuckle, I shoot Leo a thumbs-up, which he uses to fuel his desire to do this, but just as he’s about to sit and push himself down, a young girl about three or four years older barges him out of the way and takes his spot, shooting him a frustrated look.
“Get out of the way. Babies don’t belong on the slide,” the young girl says as she laughs, and my eyes flicker with dislike. If there’s one thing my son hates, it’s being called a baby.
But before the young girl can push herself down, Flo is climbing up the slide, sneakers squeaking against the steaming hot metal. I’m still recording, unsure whether I should stop or not, but I kind of want to keep this memory, because watching my nanny scale the kids' slide to standat the top and glare at the bossy girl in front of her is far too entertaining.
“Hey! No big fat adults on the slide! They’re not allowed!” the girl complains, and Flo takes my son’s hand and sits down at the top, nudging the girl out of the way. She pats her lap, encouraging Leo to sit on her.
And when she turns to the young girl and says, “Know-it-all brats aren’t allowed, either,” I can’t stop the loud laugh that escapes my mouth.
Leo releases a noise of glee as they both zoom down the slide, and when he reaches the bottom, he jumps up and pumps his fist. “I did it! Again, again!”
“You think you can do it by yourself this time, bud?” I ask, stopping the recording, and Leo nods enthusiastically, giving me a high-five and sprinting off to ascend the small climbing frame that leads to the slide.
Flo looks at me, a breath of a smile on her face, but her eyes are still on Leo, twinkling and full of pride. “I knew he could do it.”
Watching them together feels too normal. Too right—like Flo was always supposed to be Leo’s nanny. Like she was always supposed to be here, being a part of our tea parties and remote control car races.
But it won’t last forever. She’ll be going back to her own life soon. Her own plans. She has a six-month trip planned. Flo McKenna is too much of a wildcard to be held down by a nanny job in a small city such as Missarali.
But then it hits me that I don’t know a whole lot about this woman. I’ve learned the basics, like the fact she loves matcha, sews in her spare time, and can’t dance for shit, but nothing about her childhood—the life she lived before I hired her.
I keep my eyes on my son, asking Flo, “What do your parents do for work?
“Dad works in finance, Mom in marketing. Both pretty dull jobs, but it pays the bills.”
“Do you get on with them?”
“I do. I wish I could visit my Dad more often, but he lives a few hours away.”
“What was your childhood like?”
Flo narrows her eyes, laughing. “Are you trying to catch me out, West?”
I shake my head. “Why? Is there something I could catch you out on?”
