Her posture softens a little, and I count it as a win. Anything to make her feel relaxed. Like she matters.
“I told you,” I say over my shoulder to Mr. Gray Sweatpants, who’s looking at me like I’ve grown three heads. “I’ve got this. Go clean Jemmy.”
He stares at me for several protracted seconds, and I expect for him to reiterate his argument that he doesn’t need me.
Instead, he steps toward the high chair and lifts Jemmy out of it.
“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He presses a kiss to the little boy’s head, ketchup and all, and something warm flickers in my chest.
Gray sweatpants. Tight shirt. And good with kids?
My ovaries are officially on overdrive right now, but I do my best to keep my libido in check. After all, this man could soon be my boss.
I went into this interview not caring one way or another if it worked out, trusting the universe would make it happen if it was meant to be.
But now I’m praying it works out. I can’t quite explain it. I feel this pull inside me, telling me this is where I need to be right now. And not for these kids or Mr. Gray Sweatpants.
But for myself.
“Thank you, Rowan,” Mr. Gray Sweatpants says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Of course…” I trail off, furrowing my brows. “You never told me your name.”
His lips lift in a tiny smile. “Hayden.”
“Hayden,” I repeat quietly.
He holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
Then he leaves the kitchen.
CHAPTER FIVE
HAYDEN
Water sloshesover the side of the tub as Jemmy sinks another ship with his toy dinosaur, but I barely notice it. Instead, my thoughts seem focused on one thing and one thing only.
Rowan.
Can I hire her as my kids’ nanny? She’s so different from the last few nannies they’ve had. Maybe that’s a good thing.
She’s the first person who didn’t look at Presley with sympathy or pity after learning she doesn’t talk. Maybe it’s because everyone else I’ve hired already knew our tragic story. Knew about our loss.
But Rowan just rolled with Presley not talking like I told her she prefers grape juice over apple. No gasp. No sorrowful eyes. No whisperedpoor babyenergy.
Just acceptance. Casual. Uncomplicated.
Maybe that’s what she needs.
What weallneed.
“Easy, buddy,” I say, attempting to get a firm grip on Jemmy’s head so I can wash the ketchup out of his hair. “This is a bath. Not a water park.”
He picks up his toy dinosaur and roars.
“Point taken.”
He returns his attention to the tub filled with toys, and I take advantage of his momentary distraction and lather shampoo into his hair.
