“Okay, that’s not a problem. I will take care of her.”
He wants to say more, but stops. “Catalina, can you please give the adults some privacy to talk?” He points to the table for me to sit, and I pull out a chair and sit as he does the same across from me.
She grabs her coloring book and begins to leave, but Manuel touches her arm and pulls her toward him, stopping her from leaving. “I’ll call you in a minute so you can say goodbye to Ms. Nadia and show her your room before she goes. Sound good?” She seems to forget she was being dismissed, nodding excitedly, and then she runs off, shutting her bedroom door behind her. It’s evident that Manuel didn’t want his daughter to hear whatever he has to tell me, and I can’t help but wonder what it is.
Once he hears the click of her door, he turns toward me. His posture is stiff, and his intent is serious. His striking blue eyes are fixed on me, obviously assessing what he should tell me. I inhale slowly, calming my breathing while waiting for him to speak, but he sits leaning a little forward. I want to do the same, but fight the urge to meet his advance and remain perfectly still. He brings his hands up onto the table and laces his fingers together. I want to look at them and see the ink there on his corded forearms up close, but I don’t do that either. I don’t think I could hide my thoughts from him, and considering what he said about “Victoria’s mom, the stalker,” I don’t want any labels added after mine.
He clears his throat. “I’m only telling you this because it is important and, although personal, it is relevant to the care of my daughter,” he begins. “I also trust that you will keep this to yourself. This is a small town, and we like it here. I don’t want everyone knowing my business.” He waitsfor me to speak.
“I understand. I won’t say anything to anyone.” I know this is what he wants to hear, and I mean it. I want him to trust me and feel safe enough to continue with whatever it is he needs to say next.
“I am recently divorced, and my ex-wife, Catalina’s mother, is not currently in the picture.” I must have a puzzled look on my face because he elaborates. “She had some issues with alcohol and substance abuse, which led to our divorce. I have full custody of our daughter, and she is allowed supervised visitation only, pending her rehabilitation program.” His lips purse at the latter part of his explanation. It's almost as if he wants to say more.
“Oh,” I answer, now understanding his issue with the questions regarding whether I smoke or drink. She must have seen her mother drunk or impaired on something, and he doesn’t want that around his daughter again. “So, will she come over when I am here?”
“No. She…” He trails off, not wanting to or deciding how much to tell me. “She ran into some problems with her mental health and won’t be around for a while. She might not be around this summer at all, or if so, maybe toward the end, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but I will let you know.”
Trying to lighten the somber mood, I joke. “Okay, so no other women should be allowed in the house, like stalker moms.” He watches me, not speaking. The silence stretches, and I instantly regret the comment. I didn’t mean anything by it.
He leans forward, and I sit upright, my relaxed back posture going ramrod straight. His gaze sharpens. “I don’t allow any women into my house.” He leans forward. “Ever. If I fu—take someone to bed,” my breath hitches at his catch of the word, and I swear his pupils dilate, his gaze dropping momentarily to my mouth, “it won’t be here. So don’t let anyone in.” He leans back, and now I have a visual of him fucking someone, and I can’t get that visual out of my head. His words and actions take me aback, and for unknown reasons, they slightly turn me on.
I gulp, maintaining eye contact because I won’t let him get to me. “Got it,” is all I can come up with. “No women in the house.”
He stands from the table. “Good. I’ll getCatalina so you can see her room and tell her goodbye.” With that kind of dismissal, I know that I am in deep shit.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Itoss and turn all night, and when I wake up, it’s to the face of my new employer. I keep hearing that phrase repeating on a loop in my mind. “If I fuck someone, it won’t be here, so don’t let anyone in.” The way his upper lip curled slightly when he caught himself had me clenching my core. I immediately replaced it in my head with the word “fuck.” I imagine he would have said that if he knew it wouldn’t scare me off. I also know that right now, if I push a finger into myself, I would be soaked. I hate that he got to me, and I hate that I am affected by him this much.It’s only for a couple of months, I keep telling myself.I can do anything for a couple of months, right?
I am stuck with this visual of the handsome man who haunted my dreams last night, and I know how undoubtedlyfucked I am. I push the strand of my damp hair against my forehead, which is equally slick. Tossing my hand over my eyes and groaning at the feeling of being left unsatisfied, I throw the covers off, kicking them off with my feet.
I don’t waste any time. I get ready quickly—no one to impress here. Not wanting to be late, I brew a quick Nespresso capsule of espresso with a splash of non-dairy milk on top. I don’t bother to mix it in. I just pour it into a stainless steel mug as I grab my bag and jump into the car, putting it into reverse and cruising down the road to Manny Torres’ house with a million thoughts floating around in my head and not a single one relating to my job as the nanny.
Those thoughts don’t stop even as I pull into his driveway. The truck is outside, and I park alongside it, barely giving it a second glance as I grab my things and practically skip to the front door. Before I can even knock, the door swings open, and I’m met with the scowl of the man who performed effortlessly in my dreams with a standing ovation. My ovaries would have been doing cartwheels if it was real, but as I see how he regards me—the permanent scowl of his face—I know that is far from becoming a reality. Besides, he is my employer, and I will be leaving in a couple of months. Nothing could happen between us, and nothing would last even if it did. So, I take his scowl and choose to ignore it.
“Good morning,” is all I say as he steps aside and lets me in. I know I’m on time, but I ignore him when he glances at the clock. This is a summer gig to do a little self-discovery before I finish my last year of college, nothing more. I drop my bag on the floor and place my coffee mug on the counter. I look around, but I do not see Catalina.
As if reading my thoughts, Manuel goes to the kitchen, grabs a stainless steel mug from the cabinet, and fills it with black coffee. I notice he doesn’t add anything to it. I continue to stay silent, waiting for him to say anything, something that will break the palpable tension. I wonder if this is really worth it, but then I think of what I would be doing otherwise, and I continue to wait for his instructions. He finally speaks and puts me out of my misery.
“Catalina is asleep. She will wake up soon, and then you can makeher something to eat. I stocked the refrigerator with her favorite items, so feel free to get yourself acquainted with everything. Just please stay out of my office and bedroom. Everything else is okay.” I nod once again. He stays there staring at me, but I still don’t comment. He saunters over to me slowly, and I watch him. He’s close enough to touch me, but just then, he leans over and grabs his lunch box from behind me as I fight the urge to lean into him.
As he grabs hold of it, he says, “I’ll be home at five,” before pulling away and picking up his to-go cup on the way out. I hear the door click shut and walk toward the window. The shades are open and the curtains pulled back. I watch him look behind in the rearview mirror as he reverses out of the driveway. As he puts the truck in drive and our eyes lock once again, I watch him pull away, and I don’t know what I’m doing.
“What are you looking at?” A little voice startles me, and I jump back, clutching my hand to my chest.
“Oh, gosh, Catalina. You scared me,” I tell her breathlessly, and I convince myself that it has nothing to do with her dad.
She laughs. “Sorry to scare you. I heard the door close and knew you would be here already.” I regard her and smile brightly. “My daddy wouldn’t leave me alone. I was so excited I could barely sleep,” she tells me.
I nod in agreement. “I know, I couldn’t sleep either,” I tell her, but it was for totally different reasons. “Come on, Catalina, let’s get some breakfast.” I take her little hand and place it in mine as we walk to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and take a peek. “Wow, your dad wasn’t kidding, was he?” The fridge is stocked with fruits and yogurts. There are also several juices and bottled waters. I open the cabinets and see cereals, canned vegetables, and a whole lot of rice. “Oh, I should bring over my rice cooker,” I tell Catalina.
She claps her hands. “My papá loves rice, but especially when my abuela makes it.” I smile, thinking of Manuel and his mother.
“I bet she’s an amazing cook, huh?” I tell her, and she licks her lips.
“I miss her,” she says sadly, “but I’m glad you are here with me.”
I chuckle. “You know, Catalina, I am glad I’m here, too.” I clasp my hands in front of my chest. “Okay, what do you want to eat?”She looks at me. A sly smile spreads across her face, and I know she’s already plotting something I should say no to, but here we are. She takes off running to her room to get dressed.
