Sure, she handled herself well last night. Better than I did, honestly.
Between the burned grilled cheese, Jemmy’s ketchup disaster, and the smoke detector going off, I was barely holding it together.
Not Rowan, though.
She swept in like a modern-day Mary Poppins and put my house together.
A very attractive, tattooed Mary Poppins.
I figured it was a fluke.
A one-time thing.
But she was just as calm this morning. She didn’t wait for me to tell her what to do. She stepped right in.
Like she’s been doing this forever.
Like she’s been part of our little family for longer than a few hours.
And she didn’t just make sure the kids ate.
She made sureIate.
I can’t remember the last time I actually ate with my kids. While my mom has the entire family over for dinner once a month, that doesn’t really count. She cooks, my siblings fill the house with noise, and the kids run wild.
But this morning, it was just Presley, Jemmy, and me. Like life was before Cora died.
No wonder it felt strange. Like I didn’t know how to spend time with my own kids unless I was telling them what to do.
It makes me feel like a shitty father.
I try to shake it off as I walk into the clinic, waving a quick good morning to Margaret before heading toward my office, the heaviness increasing when I pass Cora’s portrait.
After shrugging into my coat, I slide on my glasses and flip through the short stack of patient messages I need to return. Within seconds, Robert steps inside.
As usual, his gaze flicks to the clock.
But instead of the smug look I’m used to, his brows lift slightly. Almost…surprised.
“Is there something you need, Robert?” I ask, pretending to be focused on the messages.
He clears his throat. “I wanted to let you know I took the liberty of hiring a nanny for you.”
I clench my jaw. Of course he did, even though I told him Dylan knew someone who might be a good fit.
“She’s available for the hours you need. Her name’s Dana. She teaches Sunday school. If you actually attended church, your kids would already know her.”
I don’t miss the condescension in his tone. He’s made his opinion on my lack of church attendance well known. And I’ve made my own opinion on organized religion equally clear. He has his beliefs. I have mine. I respect his.
I wish he’d respect mine.
“I appreciate it,” I begin in as even a tone as possible, “but I’ve already hired someone.”
His eyes narrow. “Who?”
“Dylan’s friend.”
“The dog walker?” he sneers.
