Endlessly.
When the cum has cooled, and we’re lying on our sides facing each other, still kissing like we can’t get enough, he wraps his legs around mine, linking us together.
“That was amazing,” he whispers between soft kisses.
“It was. Absolutely perfect.”
Thirty-two
Nash
Asharp rap on the front door zaps my daughter like she’s been tased.
“She’s here, she’s here, she’s here,” she squeals as she rushes to the front door and pulls it open.
Today is the first day having Emma work with us. From the video calls we had before she and Corey moved back here, we agreed that she would help with childcare, including school pick-ups when Nancy starts school, and then will provide general domestic assistance such as grocery shopping, cleaning, and cooking.
I’m going back to work in a couple of weeks, and it was important to me that we havesome time for her and Nancy to find their feet on their own, while I’m still available in case of any issues. Judging by the welcome Nancy is giving Emma, I don’t need to worry.
But there could be a marked difference between how Nancy reacts when she’s being fussed over, and how she might react when someone other than me tries to challenge poor behaviour, or that sassy mouth. I get up from my stool and follow Nancy to the door, where Emma is cooing over the picture Nancy drew for her last night.
“Morning,” I say. “Come on in. Nance… let Emma get through the door, please.” Nancy reluctantly moves away from the threshold and allows Emma to come inside. Once the door is closed, she grabs Emma’s hand and tries to pull her through to the living room.
“Hang on, wee yin. I need te chat wi’ your Da a second. Go on and make us some tea, and I’ll be wi’ ye soon.”
Consider me slack-jawed when Nancy does exactly as she’s told, first time, with no snarky protests, and goes to her play café and starts the act of ‘making tea’. I turn to look at Emma, who stares at me with just the barest hint of satisfaction.
“Jesus, I was shittin’ m’self that she wouldnae listen to me. It’s been ages since I worked wi’ kids, but…” she holds her hand toward Nancy. “Like riding a bike.” She wipes her hands together in a ‘job done’ gesture before marching into the kitchen. By the time I pull myself together and follow her, she’s already got the kettle on and is searching through the kitchen cupboards for cups. “Tea?” she offers, and I nod mutely.
She puts a tea bag in my cup from the canister on the side, then goes back to the front door to grab her small, brightly coloured canvas backpack. She brings it back to the kitchen and pulls out a grey and blue box.
“D’ye mind if I leave this here?”
“What is it?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me, and I take the box from her proffered hands. Fine Blend Scottish Teabags.
“Proper tea,” she says proudly.
“Um…” I raise one eyebrow at her, about to expound the clearly superior flavour of a good strong cup of Yorkshire Tea, but she straightens, spine stiff, and places her fists – not hands, fists – on her hips.
“Um, what, Nash?”
“Um, nothing,” I relent, slightly terrified, handing the box back. “Nothing at all.” How have I never clocked how scary this woman can be? And over tea, of all things?
“Aye. That’s what I thought.” She removes a bag from the box and places it in the other mug, then places the box beside the canister with a pleased nod.
She bustles around my kitchen like she’s been here for years, not minutes.
“Emmaaaaa,” comes my daughter’s finest whine from the living room. “Your tea is ready.”
“Indeed it is,” Emma says to me, smiling and passing me my cup, while she whisks hers off the counter. “Coming, toots.”
I’m left standing in awe, watching this whirlwind of a woman engage with my daughter in such a natural, easy way that I scoff at myself for ever having been concerned. Emma has a gift with children, with Nancy at least, in that she holds a status that is almost magical. Nancy has told me that Emma is ‘so cool, Daddy’ and has already asked more than once if she can pierce her nose and dye her hair blue. I’ve refused until she’s eighteen to even consider it, which earned me a fierce glare.
But coolness aside, Nancy listens toEmma as she corrects pronunciations gently, challenges Nancy’s tendency for sassy comments, and keeps her on schedule for the whole day. I spend most of it at the dining table, lining up my work schedule for the middle of next month, and listening as Emma takes Nancy through some activities.
I’m pleased to realise that when they’re playing in the garden, just outside the bi-fold doors of the dining room that are open to let in the summer breeze, they are not simply playing. Emma is, in fact, teaching Nancy about biology and geography without her even noticing.
Corey comes over at five o’clock for dinner with us. Emma cooks spaghetti bolognese, and Nancy loves it, even while she ends up wearing most of it. Luckily, Emma, the consummate professional, came armed with matching adult and child aprons. They have seals printed all over them, and Emma got Nancy to wear it by roping her into helping with the cooking, and then, when she left her own apron on to eat, Nancy followed suit.
