For a second, I thought I’d misheard her.
“Excuse me?”
“You can say no. I just… thought I should put it out there. She asked me last night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” I could sense the hesitation in her voice. Like she chose every word carefully, trying not to say the wrong thing.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
Of all the things I’d expected from this conversation, her offering to be my kid’s nanny was not it. My mind flashed between the initial disbelief, a sliver of fear at entrusting Harper to someone new, and an unexpected warmth at the thought of Dani being in our lives. Trust did not come easily, but I knew that for Harper’s sake, I had to consider this seriously.
“You don’t have to do that. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll figure it out,” I said finally. “You’ve got your own life, your own work—”
“Logan.” Her voice softened. “It’s fine, really. It’d be fun, Harper and I could get into a lot of trouble together.” She said, attempting to lighten the mood.
Something about those words and the way she said them left a heaviness beneath my ribs.
“I know I’m probably not your first choice,” she went on. “But Harper said she doesn’t want anyone else. She trusts me. You can set whatever boundaries you need. I’ll follow your schedule, her routines, whatever makes it easier.”
“You’d really just pick up and stay here while I’m away?” I asked, incredulous.
“Temporarily,” she said, her tone teasing to keep things from getting too heavy. “I promise I don’t come with a U-Haul.”
I fought the urge to laugh, but the tired, genuine sound startled me. “You’re serious.”
“Very serious.”
For a moment, the only sound was the soft whirl of my laptop fan.
I looked toward Harper’s closed bedroom door. Her drawings were still taped along the wall — me, her, and the stick-figure version of Dani she’d made the night of her impromptu milkshake party. She’d drawn Dani into our little world without hesitation.
I wanted to say yes. Hell, I needed the help. But it wasn’t just about practicality; it was about pride. Control. Letting someone help meant I’d failed at holding everything together.
“Hello?”
Her voice brought me back to the conversation.
“Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat. “Just thinking.”
“About how uncomfortable this makes you?” she teased lightly.
“Somethin’ like that,” I admitted.
“I figured,” she said. “You’re a good dad. The kind that tries to do everything himself while keeping his daughter happy.”
“You really think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
“You forget I’m a therapist’s best friend,” she said. “I’ve been taught to psychoanalyze by proximity.” She hesitated, her tone softening. “She just needs you — and someone she feels safe with while you’re away. If I can help with that, I want to.”
It was the sincerity in her voice that did me in. No judgment. No pity. Just a sense of grounded compassion.
“Okay,” I said finally. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
Relief washed through me so strongly that I had to sit down again. “I’ll pay you for the time.” I insisted.
“Don’t insult me,” she said lightly. “I’m not taking your money.”
“You’re staying with my kid. It’s only fair—”
