He disappears down the hall to her room, and I take the opportunity to clean up—gathering cookie crumbs into my palm, folding the cashmere throw blanket Lilliana kicked off, straightening the accent pillows. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the fact that I'm alone with Henry in this beautiful house while a blizzard rages outside.
When he returns, I'm in the kitchen rinsing the cookie plate at the farmhouse sink. The kitchen is dimly lit now, just the under-cabinet lighting casting a warm glow, and I can see snow swirling past the dark windows.
"You don't have to do that."
I jump, nearly dropping the plate. He moves so quietly for such a big man—must be all those years of trying not to wake a sleeping baby.
"I don't mind," I say, not looking at him. If I look at him right now, standing in this dim kitchen with the storm howling outside and Lilliana safely asleep, I'll do something stupid. I can feel it building in me like the snow piling up outside.
He's quiet for a long moment, and I'm hyperaware of him standing there in the archway, watching me. The air feels charged, electric. Like the moment before lightning strikes.
"Maren."
His voice is rough, and against my better judgment, I turn.
He's looking at me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. His jaw is tight, his hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't trust himself.
For a second, I think he's going to cross the kitchen. I think he's going to back me against this marble counter and kiss me until I can't remember my own name. I think—
"Goodnight, Maren."
And just like that, the moment shatters like ice.
"Goodnight," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
He turns and walks away, his broad shoulders tense, and I'm left standing there with my hands in dishwater and my heart in pieces.
My apartment is in the converted loft above the garage—separate from the main house but connected by a covered walkway that keeps me out of the worst of the weather. It's nicer than anywhere I've ever lived: exposed brick walls original to the barn, a king-sized bed with expensive linens that probably have a thread count higher than my credit score, a bathroom with a rainfall shower and heated floors, a kitchenette I never use because Henry insists I eat with them.
The heat works perfectly, unlike my last three apartments where I wore two sweaters indoors all winter. There's even a gas fireplace I can control with a remote.
It gives me privacy, which was supposed to be a good thing. Right now it just feels lonely.
I get ready for bed on autopilot, my mind replaying every moment of the day. The way Henry kept finding excuses to come to the kitchen. The softness in his eyes when he looked at me during tree decorating. That charged moment just now where I could have sworn he was going to kiss me.
I'm kidding myself.
He's my employer. He's fifteen years older than me; thirty-eight to my twenty-three. And he's a single dad who's been raising his daughter alone. He's spent seven years being careful about who he lets into their lives, protecting Lilliana from being abandoned again.
Getting involved with the nanny? Not a good choice.
We're from different worlds. I need to remember that.
I want him with an intensity that scares me. I want his hands on me, his mouth on mine. I want to know what he tastes like, sounds like, feels like when he lets go of that iron control. I want him to look at me the way he looked at me tonight and actually follow through. I want to wake up in his bed and make breakfast for Lilliana and be part of this family for real.
I crawl into bed and pull the covers up to my chin, listening to the wind howl. We're going to be trapped here together. Snowed in. Just the three of us.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. A text from my mom:How's the weather there? Stay safe, honey. Love you.
I send back a quick response with a heart emoji, then make the mistake of checking my bank account. The transfer I sent last week cleared. My balance: $47.32.
I set my phone aside and close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come. All I can think about is Henry in the main house, probably lying in his bed right now, maybe thinking about me the way I'm thinking about him.
Or maybe not. Maybe I'm reading into things that aren't there. Maybe he really does just see me as the nanny, someone good with his kid, nothing more.
I hope not.
Maybe he really does love me, and even this sad nanny will get her Christmas miracle.
