I look at the time on my watch now and see that it’s almost 10:30. I go through the mental checklist: I have to leave soon to meet the man about the nanny job, then drive to the town fields, where his daughter is playing softball…
I begin typing.
Me: I have to meet someone at the town fields for a potential nanny job. His daughter has a t-ball game. Would you like to meet me, and then we can leave from there?
I’m unsure about letting him know where I live. He seems like a nice guy, but I’m all too aware that things aresometimes not what they appear. Being alone has made me more cautious of my surroundings, and I value my privacy.
Parker: That works. Can we meet you there at 12:30? That gives us time to get back here to meet everyone.
A second text comes back rather quickly.
Parker: Is that enough time for your interview? I can get a ride there, and then can we drive back here together?
I rethink the timeframe and the interview. Would it take more than thirty minutes? What if the job doesn’t work out, and it’s a quick “no” from me? I figure it out finally, deciding that I doubt that the interview would take longer, and if it did, then I’d arrive a little early. That would give him enough time to tell me about the job, what he needs from me for hours, and what the pay is. I can see his little girl play, too, without meeting her yet. That last part brings a smile to my face.
Me: Perfect! See you then.
I walk toward my closet and dress for the boat ride on the lake, but I also need to dress casually for the interview at the ball field. Looking at my choices, I pull out a cropped, ribbed tank that shows minimal skin, and I pair it with a skort along with my pink and white sneakers. I let my long, dark brown hair down and decide to tame some of the frizz with long curls tethered with glossy hair products that smell fantastic and keep the curls together. I spritz a little perfume that smells like roses from a favorite place on the West Coast of California and grab my tote, filled with sunscreen, a change of clothes, a towel, water, and everything I might need for a lake outing today. Looking at my bag for anything I may have missed, I decide I’m ready.
Shortly after, I arrive at the town fields and see many parents standing around watching little kids run around a small diamond. Ifind a place to park, grab my tote, and walk toward the chaos. I hear one parent screaming, “Timmy!” who is running the wrong way. A little boy stops, then starts running toward home plate, bypassing third base. Laughter escapes me as he makes it home, and a little girl crushes him in a hug. They are jumping up and down at the run that he undoubtedly will not get, but I don’t think they are even keeping score.
“Cute,” I mouth as I walk by the bleachers, taking out my phone to text the parent I’m meeting today.
Me: Hi. I’m here.
I look around, waiting to see if anyone looks like the person I’m supposed to meet, but no one glances my way. I am a little early, but only by ten minutes. I’m about to pull out my phone to text the Dad again, but then I see a shadow. Someone is standing near me. Before I can turn to look, I hear a voice ask, “Are you the one interested in the nanny position?”
I pocket my phone and simultaneously turn when I’m met with those familiar blue eyes. Oh, God.No. No. No. No, I think to myself. His voice is rich and deep, and I feel myself gravitating toward it just to hear him better. He looks at me expectantly, and I almost forgot he asked me a question. I mentally chastise myself.Get it together, Nadia. I fail at my attempt at nonchalance.
“Yes, sir. That’s me.” I immediately want to palm my hand against my face. His lip quirks up briefly, and I almost think I imagined it. He doesn’t mention that I’ve seen him twice now, and one of those times, he called me his sweetheart and felt the outline of his cock when he held me, and neither do I.
“So,” he stands beside me, angling his body forward, watching his daughter play, all professional demeanor. I look out onto the field and recognize her—the cute little girl who dropped her crayon.
He doesn’t continue talking but fixates all his attention on his daughter. She is up to bat and then hits it off the tee. She throws her bat backward, almost hitting another little girl also in uniform who is oblivious to the game she is supposed to be a part of as sheleans over to pick a dandelion from the grass. His daughter runs toward first base. Wow, she is a fast little thing. The ball goes out between second and third base and rolls past a kid as he takes off to retrieve the ball. She comes flying past second base, her little braids flapping in the wind as she continues running toward third base.
The ball is thrown to third base, but the girl drops it, and his daughter rounds the base, heading toward home plate. The player throws the ball toward home in an attempt to get her out, but it lands flat, between third and home. She scores a home run, and I jump up and down. I’m hollering loudly while fist-pumping the air when I suddenly realize I was too caught up in the game. That is when I feel him before I see him staring at me. He’s not smiling at me, but he’s not scowling either. I’ll take that as my own personal win here. I raise my shoulder, shrugging.
“What can I say? I love a good game.” His eyes are alight with humor as he looks toward his daughter, placing his hands around his mouth.
He shouts, “Way to go, Catalina!” His voice rises above the hoots and hollers. There’s that voice again, the accent that sends shivers down my spine.
The feeling is quickly doused when a woman approaches him and stands there.Is this the mom? She places her hand on his shoulder possessively, and he doesn’t move his arms entwined across his chest. “She’s a natural, Manny,” she purrs, and I can’t help the snort that leaves my mouth. His head turns slightly my way. He doesn’t engage her in conversation or respond to her comments. In fact, he just ignores her. I stand there awkwardly, wondering whether I should introduce myself or walk off. Feeling like an interloper, I lift my hand to get his attention and let him know I can meet him later if now is not a good time. However, before I get a chance, he tells the woman he needs privacy. She looks at me, her eyes narrowing, but when she glances up at him, that hostile look is gone, replaced with understanding as she nods.
“Of course, Manny. Call me when you get a chance, okay?” She runs her nail down his arm in a show of possession, and I roll my eyes. His gaze never leaves me, and he sees it all. I immediately regret it when his features harden. It is juvenile, and I hope I didn’truin my chances of getting the job. Why do I even care? I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should bail. He must sense my indecision.
He extends his hand. “I’m Manuel Torres, and that,” he points, “is my daughter Catalina.” He gestures to the little girl dancing, still high on her victory. I meet his extended hand in greeting.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Nadia Kennedy.” His grip tightens around mine, and I feel the roughness of his hands, the calluses of which I wonder come from manual labor. When I saw him, I suspected his muscles were those honed from hard work, not the gym. Well, maybe he does work out, too, but the man can sure fill out a shirt. I should not be checking him out that way. I need to keep my cool and act professional. That lady who came up to him may have been hitting on him, but I will be working for him, and I can’t engage in these thoughts if I do. “Thanks for meeting me. I saw the ad at the town recreational department, and they told me you needed help with your daughter, Catalina. What hours do you need from me to help you?”
I see him relax when I ask him job-related questions, and he delves into the job details. I nod. “I can totally do that,” I agree willingly. “I also work at the Big Lake Tavern in town, waitressing, but I can definitely work around your schedule. My hours there are pretty flexible, too.” His shoulders slump almost as if a weight has lifted. “I’m only here for the summer, though.” I lift my hand up. “I want to clarify that because I will leave and return to school in August.” From what I heard from Deb at the rec center, I know he is a single dad.
“That’s perfect,” he quickly replies, unfazed by my concern. “I just need help during the summertime. The next couple of months, really,” he clarifies. “The rec department doesn’t take her age until next year, which is a temporary issue.” He moves his hand back and forth. “Once she’s back in school in the fall, I won’t have this problem moving forward.”
“Great, so do I have the job?” I ask.
He quirks his head at me like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “Aren’t you going to ask about the pay before you accept?” He eyes me suspiciously. I smack my forehead with my palm.
“Sorry, yes. How much does it pay? I was so excited about getting a job that I forgot to ask that.” I don’t need to tell him that I have enough money and that this is about me occupying my time so that I can forget about my present situation.
