Normally, that would be enough to make me step back into my role of nonconfrontational nanny.
Except I couldn’t stop seeing Clara’s glassy eyes in my head. And yes, maybe I was nursing a bit of a grudge about the week of near-silent treatment and passive aggression—even more than normal—from Beau.
“She wanted to see you.” I realized I was still holding the frosting-laden knife. I stared at it, considered the amount left,licked it off, then tossed it into the bowl. “She wanted to see you. On herlast night of being four,” I added. Beau, eyes narrowed.
Beau’s scowl flickered somewhat, giving me a glimpse of the guilt he should’ve been feeling.
“Fuck.” He seemed to mutter the word more to himself than me as he pinched the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumping. The change in his posture and energy was rapid, jarring. I could feel it, the shift in the tension in the room. It was no longer wired for battle, an argument.
He truly felt bad. Whatever my thoughts about him as a person, he was a good father. Trying his best. And his best was pretty damn good, tonight notwithstanding.
“The restaurant got busy.” He sighed. He looked tired. Weary. Like two years of sleepless nights, hospital visits, and unimaginable worry had drained his very life force, and he was only now letting it show.
He still looked good, though. His long-sleeved thermal clung tight to his muscles. The jeans he wore weren’t tight, but they encased his powerful thighs perfectly. His well-maintained beard added to the pissed-off lumberjack look. All he needed to grace the cover of any romance novel was an axe and to take off his shirt. But there were circles under his eyes, a weariness to him that marred his attractive exterior.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I got her a cake.” He nodded to a box on the counter I hadn’t noticed until then. He then motioned to mine. “Not a cake covered in insects, though.”
I folded my arms in defense, heat blooming in my cheeks. “Clara loves insects. We’ve been reading about forests and the creatures that live in them. Both mythical and real.”
There was plenty of snark in my voice. I was still pissed at Beau. Not just about tonight, but about how he was as a person. I’d intended to only let out a drop of anger, but the dam was currently in danger of bursting. If he replied with one moreinsult, one more reprimand, I’d unleash on him. I ached to. Even though it had only been a couple of months of enduring his torture, everything had been heightened due to our close quarters.
But instead of meeting me for battle, Beau’s head slowly swung up and down, his jaw loosening. “I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving mine. “The cake is perfect.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor at the soft note in his voice, unable to process that it was being directed at me. My skin erupted in goose bumps, limbs relaxing. My body wanted to melt.
Pathetic. He was giving me the bare minimum. This man spoke to me softly for one sentence, and I was a puddle at his feet.
“You made it?” He arched a brow, looking from me to the cake.
I nodded slowly, not sure how to go from defense to … whatever this was.
Beau stepped forward, closer. It was the first time he’d voluntarily stepped closer to me. My skin prickled in awareness. The man had an energy about him that my body responded to. Viscerally.
I watched his eyes move over my cake.
“You made a cake. And did all this.” His eyes moved around the room, centering on the presents on the kitchen table. “And bought Clara gifts.”
It was nowhere near a thank you, and it wasn’t even him simply observing the environment. It was an accusation. Like buying his daughter gifts on her birthday were akin to giving her nuclear codes then telling her to go nuts.
I stared into his cloudy gray eyes, not willing to lower my gaze. Not this time. Not when it came to Clara. I’d look downfor myself, take the hits, but not for Clara. “It’s her birthday. A pivotal birthday. It requires gifts. Sugar. Fairy wings.”
“Fairy wings?” Beau parroted, still not meeting the sharp note to my voice, no glower to be seen.
I nodded tightly. “Every little girl needs at least one pair, and a princess dress of some kind. Though you’ve got her covered with a kickass tutu selection.”
It struck me that this was probably the longest conversation we’d had without him being mean. It was the closest we’d stood. While alone. Our three-foot buffer was sleeping soundly in her bedroom.
When my heart started hammering, I fought to remain normal. Whatwasnormal? How did I usually stand? How did I breathe?
“This is…” Beau’s voice had softened further. No more accusation, which I sensed was a mask for some other feeling he was uncomfortable with. Anything that wasn’t brooding anger. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“I wanted to,” I replied firmly. Though I was only the nanny, I had a right to do this for Clara. Our time together had been brief but intense, the powerful feelings I had for that little girl strong and everlasting.
His eyes found mine. “Thank you.”
My heart caught in my throat. Had Beau ever thanked me? Probably not. Definitely not in this soft, soulful tone.
“I didn’t do it for you.” I was somehow able to keep my voice even, not betraying the reaction those two words had on the inside of my body. “I did it for Clara.”
