Time slowed, and decisions had to be made.Mature decisions where children were protected so they could trust and grow up feeling safe.“I’m not interested in your dad.Ipromise.”
Jillian brushed her tears away.“You promise?”
Cat gave her a swift hug.“I swear.”
When Cat left Jillian’s room, she moved quietly down the hall, closing the door with the softest click.The child’s tearful face lingered in her mind—the wobble in her voice when she’d askedYou promise?and Cat had sworn it, steady and certain, as though saying it could make it true.
Three promises in one morning.Three promises Cat fully intended to keep.
Cat went downstairs and spotted Olivia on the couch wrapped in a blanket, holding one of her favorite stuffed animals.
Cat went to the kitchen that still smelled like bacon and sausages and the big breakfast Rhys had made when he was trying to do something nice for everyone.
Sighing, Cat filled a glass at the tap, though she wasn’t thirsty.The water was cold, almost metallic.She drank it anyway, staring out the window at the morning that looked as dreary as her mood.
She’d done the right thing.She’d reassured her, soothing Jillian’s fears, promising what any decent woman would promise.I’ll never take your mother’s place.The words had come easily, naturally.They were true.
And yet—
Cat pressed the cool glass against her lips, as if the chill might quiet the thrum beneath her ribs.
Now for a fourth promise.She wouldn’t let herself feel when Rhys smiled across a room, or brushed past her in the narrow kitchen.She wouldn’t let her heart race or her skin prickle when he spoke her name.She wouldn’t go hot and cold when his eyes met hers, saying things he hadn’t yet spoken and now never would.
It was the right thing to do, making these promises.Rhys didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him.What they had was chemistry.Attraction.Proximity.All things that came from living in such close quarters.It was a false intimacy, something that would fade when they were no longer cooped up in this cottage together.
Fathers fall for the nanny all the time.
Cat exhaled, eyes gritty and dry.Not this father.Not this nanny.Not this time.
But beneath the denial there was loss, sudden and unreasonable.As if by making that promise, she’d shut a door she hadn’t realized was open.
The kitchen clock ticked.Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked, and then the house settled again.Cat set down her glass, leaned both hands on the counter, and closed her eyes.She could still feel the shape of Jillian’s small body against her, the fierce hug, the trust.
That had to be enough.Tears burned beneath her lids, tears Cat wouldn’t let fall.
*
Outside, a gustof wind swept along the lane, rattling the leafless ivy branches growing close to the windows.Then came another sound—the heavy oak door dragging across the threshold before the latch gave with its familiar clunk.
Rhys was home.
Cat straightened, pulse kicking up as footsteps crossed the flagstone hall.A moment later, he filled the kitchen doorway, hair tousled from the wind, his scarf hanging loose around his neck.The scent of cold air and rain clung to him, that crisp, green smell of December.
“Smells good in here,” he said, smiling faintly as his gaze swept over the counter, the cutting board, the simmering pot on the stove.
“Dinner,” Cat said, her voice lighter than she felt.Her stomach had been fluttering ever since her talk with Jillian, and she hadn’t managed to shake it.“Mrs.Johnson stopped by with a roast and showed me how to prepare it.I think she worries I’m not feeding you all properly.”
Rhys chuckled, unwinding his scarf.“Mrs.Johnson worries about everyone.If she had her way, the whole village would be at her table every night.”
“That sounds about right,” Cat said, smiling back.“There are enough potatoes in there to prove it.”
She turned to the counter, needing movement.“Would you like some tea?Or a beer?I opened a bottle of wine earlier—I could pour you a glass.”
“Maybe after I say hello to the girls,” he said, pulling his gloves from his coat pocket.“Where are they—upstairs?”
“In their room,” Cat said, carefully turning the roast in its pan.“They’ve been quiet for a while, so I’m taking that as a good sign.”
He nodded, half distracted now, his expression softening the way it always did when he thought of his daughters.“All right.I’ll go up, then.Don’t let Mrs.Johnson’s roast burn on my account.”
