Willow glances at me in a little panic. “That’s a good question, uh .?.?. what’s .?.?. well, what’s a long time for someone your age?”
She thinks about it for all of two seconds. “Likea lotof sleeps.”
Willow laughs. “Oh, you’re in luck, kid. I do that a lot.” She sits on a chair so she’s more level with Ellie, while I try not to overpour sugar in my cup. “I was thinking, since .?.?.” She shrugs. “.?.?. I don’t have much going on back home, and you and I had such a fun week together, that maybe I could stay and .?.?.” She stares at my girl like she doesn’t know what to say. And now I’m the one panicking. “Hang out for bit, maybe teach you to play piano, take you to school, make you fun lunches?”
“Like a nanny?”
Willow winces and I try not to read into it too much. “Maybe. Would you like that?”
Ellie nods but there’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with me.
Willow nudges her. “Also, you give the best hugs.”
Can’t agree more with that. Ellie’s a hugger and I love that about her.
She giggles and steps into Willow’s arms. “Nowcan you tell me how long?”
Crap. Thought we dodged that one.
“I suppose till you get sick of me. Or my singing. Whichever comes first. The singing, most likely—I do that a lot.”
Ellie raises her hand. “I have another question.”
“Shoot.”
Ellie crosses her arms. “If nannies are supposed to wake you up and get you ready for school, who’s making your coffee?”
I clear my throat, stirring the caffeine in my mug. “I suppose I could leave you some in the morning before my rounds.”
Willow tosses me a look, then crosses to me, her eyes fixed on my cup. She swipes it from my hands and takes a sip. Her lips cover where mine were seconds ago and I wonder—no, Ihopeit’s intentional.
I watch her shoulders rise slightly as she inhales, and lower with a sigh as she tastes it. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Flicking her eyes to my chest she hands it back to me. “I’ll make my own, thanks,” she mutters.
She insulted my coffee. I know she’s messing with me, but I can’t think of a comeback. Because my stupid brain is trying to figure out how to flip this cup without making it obvious I want to taste her.
I suppress a growl. What is this woman doing to me? I shouldn’t want to taste her—or have my lips seek out traces of hers like a desperate moron who’s never been laid.
I set it down instead. My appetite shifting to something no level of caffeine can satisfy.
Willow raises a bored eyebrow and yawns. “So what’s for breakfast, Slippers? Oatmeal?”
“Yuk.”
Willow nods curtly but her head wobbles sleepily. “Powdered sugar it is.” She turns toward the counter, blinking like she’s lost. Then reaches for my mug again, this time gulping it all the way down.
“Not bad after all?”
“It’s barely eight o’clock. It’ll have to do if you want this kid fed and in a matching outfit for school,” she mutters.
“Should I be worried?” I murmur back as Willow reaches for a box of my cornflakes. I know Ellie is not going to like them.
She pours them into a bowl and I peek over at my frowning seven-year-old.
A tiny level of satisfaction—or maybe validation—that I know my girl better than she does.
“It’s day one, Spout, cut me a break. I’ll be .?.?.” She yawns and damn, it’s adorable. So adorable, I picture her doing it first thing in the morning .?.?. in my bed. “More on point tomorrow .?.?. probably.”
I must be tired too because I’m fighting the urge to carry her back to bed. Props if I manage to get her to that guest room rather than mine.
