Page 28 of Sweet Distraction

“Bite me,” I say, but I’m laughing now. For real this time.

Willow will be Poppy’s nanny for as long as I need it. There will never be anything more than that. Of that I have no doubt.

CHAPTER NINE

Willow

Poppy’s out cold.

Her face is planted into the pillow with one arm thrown over her bunny’s neck. Her tiny mouth is slack as she breathes evenly and her fingers keep twitching. Hopefully, she’s lost in a dream of imaginary fun.

She looks how I want to be—dead to the world and oblivious to the chaos we just stepped into—but sleep eludes me.

It must be this big, empty house that calls for me. Of course I’d love to explore it, to fall more in love with it than I already have, but truth be told, I need to do some toddler proofing.

I lived with several families in my college years when I nannied and when I first arrived, it would always feel like I was intruding on their space. They’d tell me to make myself at home. They’d encourage me to feel like what’s theirs is mine, but it always takes some time to sink into that feeling. To not feel like a stranger sneaking around and invading other people’s privacy.

And then, when you add to that whose house I’m currently in, it makes things even more . . . weird.

Poppy pulls me from my thoughts. She makes a small mewling sound and then murmurs, “Mommy.”

It’s the first and only time I’ve heard her adorable voice, and it’s a heartbreaking one at that.

Undoubtedly this was going to be hard—uprooting a three-year-old from all she’s known and who’s just lost her mom—but I also wondered if she’d be so wrapped up in all these changes that she’d slowly adjust without realizing what she’s lost.

I can help ease her sadness when she’s awake, but there’s not much I can do to chase the nightmares away when she sleeps.

So far she’s been such a trooper. My smile is bittersweet as I tuck the blanket up over her side, gently brush a curl from her cheek, and back out of the room, leaving it cracked open so that I can hear her if she needs me.

I’m exhausted. The emotional toll of the day, of worrying about her and meeting Rocket for the first time, has hit me hard now that I’m alone. I’m hungry and welcome the solitude and silence of the house.

What I learned a long time ago with this live-in nanny gig is coming back to me now—when your charge is sleeping, savor the time for yourself.

To have a glass of wine. To catch up with friends. To read a book. To simply step outside of my world of sticky hands and cherubic cheeks and be a twenty-six-year-old woman.

It’s not always an easy feat to achieve, but right now is the perfect time. I have a sleeping toddler and a silent house.

And I’m freaking starving.

I grab my phone with the baby monitor connected to it and head toward the kitchen with the intention of getting a better lay of the land beyond where the dishes and pantry are.

As I move down the hall, I take stock of what borders the rooms we’re in. Yes, their doors are closed, but it’s my job to make sure Poppy is safe and secure. Therefore, I need to know if she were to open one of the doors and go in, what she’d find. Some gym equipment she could hurt herself climbing on? A collector’s room where everything is glass or breakable? Or who knows what else?

I am in a rock star’s house, and they have reputations for a reason, right?

Let’s hope I don’t find anything embarrassing this time around. Not on the first day when my initial impression of Rocket is still forming and amendable.

The first bedroom beside Poppy’s is mine, so I pass it and open the next door to find an office. I stand in the doorway in awe of the platinum records lining two of the four walls. One after another with a few gold ones mixed in there.

And then it hits me squarely in the gut that I’m at the Rocket Caldwell’s house.

Like . . . holy shit.

Those are real, and there are dozens of them. I itch to walk in there and look closer at each and every one, but I’ll wait to do that until Rocket invites me to do so. While he may be a public figure, this is his private space.

But before I can let the picture of what all those accolades paint sink in, my phone rings in my hand. I jump to turn the ringer off, afraid of waking up Poppy, and answer the call immediately.

My best friend’s face fills the FaceTime screen.