I’m just the nanny.
He shakes his head and grabs a tin from the cupboard. No stool needed. “This one?”
“That’s a pie tin.”
He tries again.
I shake my head and bite my lip to hold in a giggle. “Cake pan.”
He grunts and pulls out something else from the cupboard.
This time, I can’t hold back. “Cookie sheet.” I gasp, laughing. “Try the one with the holes for the muffins.”
He gives me a flat stare and reaches back in. Finally, he comes out with the right one.
“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”
“First, who doesn’t know what a muffin tin looks like? And second, I was having too much fun.”
He rewards my sass with one of his half smiles. I love the subtlety of his expressions. Learning them is like mastering a foreign language—an ancient, valuable code to crack, which holds indescribable riches.
Just. The. Nanny.
“It’s a little late for this, isn’t it?” He makes a valid point.
“I’m making muffins to take to the senior center. Belle and I are going in the morning. But I also wanted to finish a batch for you. I found a website with recipes for disgusting baked goods that are right up your alley. These beauties are made with flaxseed, gluten-free flour, honey instead of sugar, and extra protein.” I make a face.
“You’re baking for me?”
“Of course. Trust me, Belle and I aren’t gonna touch that batch. Our muffins are vastly superior, made the way God intended them to be, with real flour, butter, and sugar.”
He ignores my tirade against his nutrition obsession and swallows. “Thanks.”
“You know,” I say as neutrally as I can manage, “Belle really missed you this week.”
He rubs his neck. “I hate this schedule, but we’ve had more technical issues. I only have a few hours to sleep and then have to be back on set at six a.m. But I’m hoping to be home in time for dinner tomorrow.”
I tamp down the happiness that I’ll get to see him. That Belle will get to see him, I correct. “Good. That’s really good.”
He picks up the Christmas mug on the counter.
“I hope you don’t mind that we’ve gotten festive,” I say. “I know it’s very early and you aren’t staying here for Christmas, but Belle wanted to surprise you with some holiday decorations. So I brought a few boxes of decor that I had in storage at my parents’ house. It must be Snowflake Harbor rubbing off on her.”
I’ve tried to be restrained since I know this home is temporary. But Belle was so excited.
He gazes at the mantel, with its eclectic collection of pumpkins and snow globes. And then he looks pointedly at the twinkle lights that now decorate the edges of the large kitchen windows.
“Everyone loves twinkle lights,” I said defensively.
He gives a short laugh. “I’m just not used to it. It’s nice for Belle. Thank you.”
My posture relaxes. I hoped he wouldn’t go full Grinch on me, but I couldn’t be sure. I overstepped, I know. If he’d been home this week, I would’ve asked if it was okay to decorate.
“Belle’s already wondering if you’ll be getting a Christmas tree this year,” I say. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he says with a frown. “We won’t be spending Christmas here.”
I nod, not surprised by his answer.
