Mackenzie’s school was ten minutes from the house, and although there was a slight traffic jam with all the Mercedes, Range Rovers, and BMW’s backed up on Main Street, all vying for a position as they dropped their children off at the private school, it was nothing compared to morning traffic in DC.

Not even close.

Anxiety swirled in my stomach after watching Zee skip toward the front door, teachers, and administrators diligently watching over each child as they made their way into the school. I turned the car toward the house and arrived at the driveway far too soon after dropping Zee off at school.

For a brief moment, I wished for the D.C. traffic—anything to delay the inevitable. I pressed the garage remote to open the door, but left the car sitting just outside.

Maybe it was the rebel in me, but doing it made me feel like I had some control over this damned meeting with the good doctor, even if I really didn’t.

I took my time taking off my jacket and shoes, making sure they were neatly placed under the entryway bench. I hung the Jeep keys back on the key rack and admired the shiplap entryway decorated sparingly, with a single painting. I’d missed it yesterday, but someone took the time to capture the sunrise I’d witnessed this morning in a watercolor.

Passing through the kitchen, I saw that everything had been put away, and it looked spotless. My heartbeat increased as I faced the fact I couldn’t delay meeting with him any longer. He’d likely heard the garage door open and had to know I was here.

With a fortifying breath, I turned and walked toward his office, hating the feeling that took me back to my childhood, standing on the doorstep of my father’s office, dread lining the pit of my stomach like a lump of lead.

The door was slightly ajar, and it sounded like he was talking with someone. I paused, unsure of whether to go back to the kitchen or knock.

“Yes, we’re very happy here, thank you,” the doctor’s voice drifted through the open door, and I could just make out what sounded like a muffled female voice in the background, maybe coming through a speakerphone. “No, no it won’t be necessary, Daisy, really.” He continued. “I can’t today, I’m heading into a meeting and then out of town… No, no we’re all set, and Mackenzie has a nanny now so that won’t be necessary… I see. Well, let me get back to you, and thank you for calling, Daisy, we appreciate everything you’ve done to make this transition go smoothly.”

I heard a click as the phone rested back on the hook, and then a deep sigh. I intended to count to ten but chickened out at four. I knocked.

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open, moving just one step inside. “Should I come back later?” I asked, hopeful.

“No, this is a good time. Come in and sit down,” he invited, as he moved around his desk and sat in one of the two chairs positioned across from it, gesturing for me to take the other one.

I paused before moving forward, taking in the surroundings, appreciating the masculine and exquisite taste he had in furniture. It wasn’t dark and foreboding as some offices tend to be, but rather, the furniture matched the rest of the house—modern without being cold, yet minimalist and comfortable. Whoever had chosen the décor for their home had done an excellent job of creating simple and uncluttered spaces that somehow made you feel comfortable and at-home almost immediately.

His office had a fireplace, and my eyes gravitated to the portrait hanging above it—it stole my breath.

There was Mackenzie as a toddler in the lap of a woman. The woman holding her must have been her mother—she was stunningly beautiful with blonde hair falling in ringlets around her face, and the same vibrant sea-green eyes that Mackenzie had, except these eyes, radiated happiness and love toward the daughter she held.

I lost myself in that moment, the weight of all that Mackenzie had lost when her mother died hit me and drove the air from my lungs. Suddenly I realized Dr. Mills was staring at me and I forced myself back to the present. “Your wife,” was all I said.

“Yes. My late wife.” No emotion. No inflection in his voice. He gestured toward the chair again.

I lowered my eyes, forcing air back into my lungs, blinking away the tears that threatened at the back of my eyes. The artist who captured the obvious love and devotion she’d felt for Mackenzie was exceptionally gifted.

I wondered what it must be like to be loved like that. I was aware enough to realize the sadness gripping my heart wasn’t just for Mackenzie.

I sat and waited, hoping this was not going to be a repeat of the grilling session I’d endured during the original interview.

“Mackenzie likes you.”

I smiled and felt my face relax. “I like her, too.”

“You’re a natural with children.”

“I wouldn’t say that has always been the case, but your daughter is wonderful, and an absolute joy to be with.”

He nodded. “She’s been through a lot.”

“I realize that—and I’m sorry.” I could see he was going to object—it seemed completely logical to me to be sorry that something bad had happened to someone—it didn’t mean I thought I was responsible for it. “I’m sorry for your loss, and Mackenzie’s loss,” I clarified.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. “I have to go out of town for a few days on business.” His eyes followed my eyebrows, which had creased slightly. “If you’re not comfortable, I can cancel it.”

“I’m surprised,” I answered truthfully, “but Mackenzie and I can handle it. I wouldn’t have thought that in light of the fact that I’ve only just arrived, but we’re comfortable with one another, and I think she’ll be okay with it.”

“I agree. I would never have thought I’d even consider it, but then I didn’t expect her to take to you the way she has,” he added frankly.

“I couldn’t have predicted it, and I didn’t expect it, either. Truthfully—I’m honored to be part of Mackenzie’s journey, and I don’t take the responsibility lightly.”

“I’m aware. I appreciate that. I wouldn’t leave you with her otherwise.”

I nodded, waiting.

“I don’t really need to recount the terms of our contract, but I want to hear how you’ll approach these days with her. How you’ll handle it if she does miss me more than we realize, and what you’ll do if there’s an emergency.”

It was my turn to scrutinize. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He shifted in his chair but kept his eyes locked on mine.

It was all I could do to sit still. I didn’t understand why every encounter with him seemed to take my breath away and sometimes turned me into a blithering idiot.

It hadn’t been like that during our interviews, but now that I was in his home, connecting with his daughter, a dynamic had changed. I pushed the thought aside and waited for his reply.

“I think it’s natural to want to understand how you’ll approach these possible situations as you and I have only just met.”

“I’m quite certain you had a thorough background check done on me—I certainly signed off on that. You grilled me for hours on these very topics. Do you need me to repeat myself?” There was no judgment in my voice, but I was annoyed. My eyes never wavered from his.

“Apparently, yes.”

The corner of my mouth quirked up. “All right then. It’s Monday, so approximately how many days do you think you’ll be away?”

“Hopefully no more than two—three at the most.”

“Mackenzie has school each day, so we’ll have breakfast together each morning, and I’ll take her to school. I’ll pick her up at the end of the day, and on Tuesday she has ballet at 3:30 p.m. After that, we’ll come home, have a snack, maybe go for a walk, and get her homework done before dinner. Then we’ll read, or dance, or maybe another activity of her choice. Beyond that, our schedule will only vary with the after-school activity, which as you know on Thursday is an open afternoon. If you’re not home by then, I’ll see if I can set up a playdate with a friend here at the house or at the community playground.”

I paused, glancing at the painting briefly before continuing, my voice softer. “She’s going to miss you, so we’ll talk about that whenever she needs to and for as long as she needs to. Other than that, I’ll keep her busy with the activities she loves most, and make our early days together as positive and happy for her as possible. With respect to an emergency, I will call 9-1-1 if needed, first. Then call you, making my way down the list of emergency contacts—which, by the way, are organized in priority order in my Evernote iPhone app, which is always with me.”

I pulled my iPhone from the back pocket of my jeans and put it face up on the arm of the chair. He glanced at it briefly before his eyes returned to mine.