It wouldn’t be right.
She trusts Dallas. And as much as it would be out of his control—he’ll lose that trust if he lets this happen.
Ifwelet it happen. I’m here to help him keep his daughter. Nothing else. No matter what.
Even if his texts do make my stomach flip for no apparent reason.
Dallas:What do you like?
Willow:A bit forward, but all right. Fragrant baths, limes, the occasional chili pepper, strong coffee and extra shots of tequila.
Dallas:Let me rephrase. I’m at the grocery store.
Willow:Oh. My original list stands.
Dallas:Spicy tofu that makes your eyes burn it is, then.
Willow:Chicken, lots of greens, kale maybe? Watermelon.
Dallas:You call that a list?
Willow:And items two, three and four above.
Dallas:??
Dallas:How about wine?
Willow:Red.
I twist my emerald ring and play for a few more minutes, shifting to another song, letting the familiar tune calm me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
My stomach has been in knots all day, ever since my morning with Ellie. And I can’t quite pinpoint why. I can’t be nervous about the nanny thing, right?
I mean, it’s one thing to bring the girl her slippers and make her laugh, but I should be doing more, thinking of more. Do I need to stay on top of her mental health? Should I be asking about her favorite foods? Starting a recipe book that excludes all allergies?
This isn’t babysitting, after all. There are .?.?. expectations.
I’m spiraling again, so I take a breath. Must be the conversation I had with Mom earlier. She always did know how to put a dampener on anything new or good in my life.
And thisisgood.
Or maybe it’s Cole’s visit stressing me out. And the damage he’d be doing, not just to Dallas for having to fight for a kid that’s biologically his, but also to Ellie.
She doesn’t need this.
I sure hope Dallas’s instincts were right.This’ll blow over.
The front doorknob twists and my fingers hop off the keys.
Dallas walks in, eyes sweeping over me once. He’s in a black T-shirt, biceps straining against the sleeves, arms so solid and tanned, they look carved out of stone. I attempt to look away but my gaze only travels down to his jeans .?.?. low on his hips and worn in all the right places.
Good heavens, does he keep getting better-looking or have I just been in dreamland too long?
“Hey.” His eyes drop to where my fingers hover above the keys.
“Where’s Ellie?” I ask, panicking a bit because he did say he was picking her up, didn’t he?
He blinks, seeming slightly out of it. “Uh, Rose has a painting class at the cottage on Mondays and Thursdays. Ellie likes to go.”
