Page 41 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

I freeze, coffee halfway to my mouth. “She made it?”

“Yeah,” Evan nods, eyes wide with the kind of enthusiasm that’s reserved for when kids get something they really love. “She said it’s for dinosaur rescue missions.”

I stare at the toy in his hands, my mind snagging on the memory of June giving it to him when they first met, without making a big deal out of it.

I try to wrap my mind around the fact that June, my son’s nanny, the woman I spend way too much time thinking about, made this for Evan.

She made it? With her hands?

My brain doesn’t quite know what to do with that information.

“Is it for crashing?” I ask, unable to help myself, my voice a little tighter than I’d like.

Evan shakes his head. “No. It’s for rescuing.”

“Right,” I mutter. “Rescuing.”

I don’t know what’s more bizarre, Evan’s complete and easy acceptance of June’s place in his life, or that she’s making these things for him. I thought she was here to look after him, feed him, help with nursery school stuff, and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or set anything on fire. I didn’t know she was going to be making these incredible wooden toys for him in her spare time.

It’s not that I don’t think she can do it—she’s got this quiet, capable energy about her, something that’s settled me in ways I wasn’t expecting. But these toys? That’s… that’s a whole different level of capable.

I feel my chest pull, somewhere between guilt and awe, and I have to look away before Evan notices the expression on my face. The kid is used to me zoning out, thinking too much. He’s good at giving me my space without making a big deal out of it.

This is all so bizarre.

The rest of the morning goes by in a blur. I keep catching myself watching June, the way she interacts with Evan, patient, thoughtful, always present. She’s gotten into this groove with him, proving she belongs here. That’s the truth I don’t want to admit.

It’s dangerous.

Everything about this is dangerous.

I don’t know what happened between us that night at The Timberline. I don’t know why I let myself get so close to her, why it felt so right even though I knew better. But I do know that I can’t stop thinking about it. Not a day goes by that I don’t remember how her body felt pressed against me, her lips so soft and eager against mine.

How she kissed me so desperately, so passionately.

Before she knew who I was, obviously.

Before I knew she was doing much more than just passing through.

I shouldn’t want her so badly.

She’s working for me.

And I need to keep it professional.

But every time she looks at me with those wide green eyes, every time she smiles, every time I catch a glimpse of her in the kitchen or in the hallway… I want her more.

I want to know everything about her.

And I hate it.

Because this can’t happen. Not with my kid in the picture. Not when I’ve got a life here, a responsibility I can’t mess up.

I glance up at her now, just as she’s pouring Evan another glass of milk, her hair curling softly around her face.

Her hand stills, catching my gaze, and I feel it.

That spark.