Charlie

For a full week, I did little besides work in an effort to gain a little ground, fueled by the desire to earn myself time off.

I hadn’t seen Hannah much, mostly just in the mornings on my way out. But last night, I’d come home from work early enough to eat with the kids before sojourning in my office to burn the midnight oil.

And it had felt good.

I’d even helped out a little at bedtime, the task made simple with Hannah at my elbow, offering comfort and a smile that gave me confidence.

Of course, Hannah was always smiling, and I always found myself smiling back. It was a foreign feeling, something so natural, but my face almost resisted it, as if those muscles had atrophied from disuse.

There was just something about that simple curve of her lips, so wide and honest. I didn’t know her very well, but that smile made me feel like I did.

Off to work I would go every day, too busy to consider much of anything—not my failures or shortcomings or the beautiful, young au pair who had moved in with me. At least I had a plan, and that plan required me to work, stay on top of my shit, and earn myself some time.

Of course, then a new merger landed on my desk, and what little ground I’d gained was lost just like that.

The buying and selling of businesses wasn’t a process that slept, not even when the lawyers did. Instead, the work piled up, the contracts that needed revisions stacked in a never-ending pylon of legal speak and clauses and subclauses and addendums.

It was a brutal business—mergers and acquisitions. We were wheelers and dealers, loophole finders and corner trimmers, dotters of Is and crossers of Ts.

And I hated it.

It was soul-sucking and draining. I’d been at my firm—a big-shot firm with a reputation for working with predatory efficiency—for six years, and it was too late to switch gears, too late to change the course any quicker than the Titanic could have when that poor sap had rung the iceberg alarm.

It was a quandary I’d considered a lot over the nine months since Mary left. Don’t get me wrong; I’d contemplated every decision I’d made since I first agreed to go out with her. But my career was the only one I felt I could maybe do something about.

What that something was, I had no clue. All I knew was that, with every year and month and week that had passed, I’d been finding myself less and less enchanted by the money or the toll it took on me.

I sighed and picked up my highlighter that Saturday afternoon, bowing my head over the contract in front of me with my goal pushed to the forefront of my mind and my regrets pushed back.

A small knock rapped on the door.

“Come in,” I said distantly, eyes still on the page, expecting Katie with food, judging by the state of my empty stomach.

“Hello. Katie sent me with your lunch.”

My eyes snapped up at the first syllable from Hannah’s lips. She walked toward me with a tray of food and a quiet smile.

I set my highlighter down and moved the papers aside, standing to greet her, instantly aware of her presence.

Sly, Katie. Real sly.

“Thanks, Hannah. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?” she asked as I took the tray.

“For serving me, I guess. I don’t expect you to wait on me.” I fumbled a little, feeling sheepish.

“Oh, it’s all right. I don’t mind. The children are just down for their nap.”

“Good.” I stood there stupidly in the middle of the room, tray in my hands, uncertain of what to say.

She nodded once and shifted as if to leave, the smile still playing at her lips.

“So, how are you liking it so far?” I asked a little too loudly.

“I like it very much, thank you. The children are lovely. We made pasta necklaces this morning. Sammy made you one, too, with wagon wheels. He said you were a cowboy.”

I set the tray on my desk before sitting on the edge of it. “I only play one on TV.”

Hannah laughed, and I found myself relaxing, feeling at ease, feeling comfortable.

“Katie’s wonderful, too. She’s made me feel very much at home.”

“She does that. It’s a wonder how I ever survived without her. My parents were here for a while after my wife left, and it was hard to let them go back home. The only thing that made it easier was Katie. She’s almost like family. Like a well-meaning, meddling, loving aunt who makes a mean roast.”

A little chuckle passed her lips, but she didn’t offer a response.

“Your room is okay?” I asked, the urge to keep the conversation going nudging me on.

“It’s just fine. I wondered … does the fireplace work?”

“It does. We’ve got wood around back. I’ll show you where it is and how to tend it, if you’d like.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m sure I can sort it out, thank you.”

So polite. Demure almost.

The conversation lulled again, the silence strained, though we were both smiling. She didn’t seem to want to leave any more than I wanted her to.

The realization surprised me, the desire for her company shocking and mildly inappropriate.

Dangerous, Charlie. Let her go. She’s your nanny.

Oh, but if she weren’t, some quiet part of my mind whispered.

I cleared my throat and stood. “Let me know if you change your mind about the fireplace. And thank you for lunch.”

“You’re welcome,” she said and left the room, closing the door with a snick.

I sighed again, this one heavier than before. God, she was gentle, soft, so different from what I’d known.

Mary had been anything but soft, anything but warm. And Hannah was the absolute opposite, even down to their appearance; where Hannah was fair and colored like spring and sunshine, Mary had dark hair and dark eyes and porcelain skin, like winter branches against cold white snow.

But it didn’t matter how different Hannah was or how welcome that difference was. It didn’t matter for so many reasons, reasons that began and ended with Hannah’s role in my home.

She was my nanny and nothing more.

The day wore on, though I didn’t see Hannah again. Katie came for the empty tray with a slick smile but said nothing, and neither did I. Next thing I knew, Katie returned with a dinner tray.

I’d barely made a dent in work.

The sun had gone down by the time I finally had enough, my brain sputtering and mixing up words in its exhaustion. No amount of stretching could ease my stiff, aching back, but I tried anyway.

With a sigh, I stood, perking up when I opened the door and smelled something baking, something sweet. I followed my nose and the sound of laughter, stopping just outside the kitchen.

Hannah stood at the island, and my children sat on the surface, around a mixing bowl. Lemons and blueberries were scattered around the egg crate, oil, and a brand-new bag of flour—brave of her, I’d say.

Maven’s face was purple from blueberries; one rested between her thumb and forefinger, and she placed it into her mouth with grace—for a three-year-old. Sammy was singing a song that repeated the word lemonberry at varying heights and decibels, and Maven was dancing, a bouncing sort of head-bobbing motion. And Hannah was stirring the batter, smiling down into the bowl, occasionally meeting Sammy’s eyes to bob her head in solidarity of his musical endeavor.

The room wasn’t overly bright, the dimmers turned down about halfway, painting the room in golds and browns and softness. Katie was nowhere to be seen.

The timer on the oven went off, and Hannah wiped her hands on her apron, reaching for a pot holder before opening the stove and pulling out a pan of muffins. Sammy cheered, and Maven dipped her finger in the batter, looking at Sammy to be sure he hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t.

When Hannah set the muffins down and turned, when she caught my eye, her face lit up with a smile that hit me in places long left sleeping. I smiled back and stepped into the room, feeling light and heart-full at the same time, my exhaustion swept away by the scene in the kitchen, leaving me feeling calm and peaceful and good.

“It smells incredible in here,” I said.

“We’re making ka-varker-tarts!” Sammy crowed.

Hannah laughed. “Kwarktaarts.”

“That’s what I said! Ka-vark-tarts!”

Another laugh. “Yes, of course. And what do you call these?” She held up a blueberry.

His face screwed up in concentration. “Bosbes?”

“Well done!” she cheered and ruffled his hair. “You’ll be speaking Dutch in no time.”

I wandered over to the muffins, salivating. “Blueberry muffins?”

She tilted her head from side to side. “Sort of. It’s lemon-blueberry quark cake. Well, these are muffins. We’re still working on the cake.”

I picked one up, hot or not. It smelled too good not to.

“Be careful,” she said with a laugh.

“Please, step back, ma’am. I’m a trained professional.” I bounced the muffin between my hands, unwrapping it as I went while my salivary glands worked overtime. Once it was free, I broke off a steaming piece, held it as long as I had the patience for, and popped it in my mouth.

Where it promptly melted.

I thought I saw my brain when my eyes rolled back in my head, and a low moan rumbled up my throat. “Oh my God,” I said in the second between swallowing and shoving another bite in.

She leaned against the island counter, watching me eat with an amused look on her face and her arms wound around her small waist.

“No fair, Daddy! I want one too,” Sammy said with a magnificent pout.

“Sorry, son. These are all mine.” I pretended to gobble them all, and he squealed my name.

When I turned around, I popped the rest of heaven in my mouth. I peeled the wrapper from another muffin and broke it in half to blow on it. When the steam was mostly wafted off, I offered half to Sammy and the other half to blueberry-faced Maven.

They greedily tucked in, and I reached for another muffin, practically drooling still as I hurried to unwrap it.

“God, Hannah, what’d you put in this? Crack?”

“What’s crack?” Sammy asked with his mouth full.

“A special kind of sugar,” I answered around a bite.

Hannah laughed again, grazing her lips with her knuckles. “The secret is the cheese.”

I warily eyed the muffin. “There’s cheese in here?”

She nodded. “That’s what makes it so moist.”

I shrugged and shoved another bite down the hatch. “It’s unreal, Hannah.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning back to her bowl to pour the batter into a Bundt pan. “All right, who’s going to help me with the bosbes?”

“Me!” Sammy cheered, raising his hand while Maven clapped.

She offered them a dish of berries. “All right, just like last time. Put them on the top very gently, like this.” She demonstrated, placing a few blueberries on top of the batter.

The kids followed suit.

I unwrapped another muffin. “Gee, Hannah, I’m not sure how having you around will work out for my waistline.”

She smiled at me over her shoulder. “Oh, I think you’ll be all right.”

Hannah hadn’t said a single salacious thing, but I couldn’t help feeling like there was some underlying meaning to her words. Maybe it was something in her voice, the hint of softness, or maybe it was the way she looked at me, like I meant something, like I was special. It made me feel like more, made me wish I were more.

Maybe I was high off her crack cakes.

More likely, I was just stupid.

“Do all the Dutch bake this well?” I asked, eager to halt the train of thought I’d found myself riding.

“I’m sure quite a few do. My grandfather owned a bakery, and my grandmother, mother, and aunt ran it after he died. Baking has just always been in the family, I suppose.”

“Do you enjoy it?” I asked as I took another bite, slowing down.

When she turned with the pan, her cheeks were high and rosy. “Oh, I love it. To take bits of things and turn them into something whole, something more. The time and care that goes into making something that brings someone else pleasure. The routine of it—measuring, stirring, kneading. The smells and the warmth of the oven … all of it. I love it.”

“Think you’ll take over the business?”

“No. My eldest sister and eldest cousin have taken over in our mothers’ places.” She sounded a little sad, and the thought that she couldn’t have what she wanted sent a bolt of irrational anger through me.

I frowned. “Well, that’s not fair.”

She opened the oven and met my eyes as she slid the pan in. “You sound like Sammy,” she teased.

“The kid’s got a point.”

“It would be nice, but I’m happy. And I’ll find a job that makes me happy. I’m sure of that.” She set the timer.

“Hannah, can we have cake tonight too?” Sammy asked.

She used her towel to wipe off his hands before dusting his nose. “Not tonight. It won’t be cool and ready to eat until you’re far away in dreamland.” She lifted him off the counter and set him down, picking up Maven. “Come, come. Let’s go take a bath, yeah?”

Sammy cheered, and Maven clapped again.

Hannah was still smiling when she looked back at me. “I’ll be back to clean up, okay?”

I nodded, feeling like I should step in, take over. But in the end, I just said, “Thanks, Hannah,” and watched her disappear.

The moment I was alone in the quiet kitchen, I was struck by a realization. I wasn’t miserable. For a minute, I wasn’t tired or angry or remorseful. I’d almost call it happy.

The moments had been so few and far between, and they always seemed to come with a price. Playing with the kids made me feel ashamed for not playing with them more. Talking with Katie reminded me of how alone I was. It was always something.

For a minute, for a little sliver of time, I felt like my old self, the old version of me who had thought he was happy, who had felt like he was enjoying life, who’d joked and laughed, and who hadn’t felt like scum, even if I was. I might have been in denial back then, but at least I’d found some semblance of joy in my life. The sight of my children happily helping Hannah bake, topped with Hannah’s easy smile and peaceful presence, made me forget all about the rest.

Of course, I still let Hannah take the kids upstairs, momentarily paralyzed by doubt in my abilities, the product of months of avoiding my responsibilities out of fear and guilt, which only made the guilt worse and the fear stronger. The cycle I found myself in was vicious, and I wanted out. I just had to figure out how to get out.

With a sigh, I looked around the mess in the kitchen. I might be a coward, but I was still a gentleman, goddammit. And so I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.

Hannah

I gently closed Sammy’s door, waving at him until the crack was too small for us to see each other anymore. Maven had gone to sleep easily after a book in the rocking chair, but Sammy had required three books, a drink of water, and a trip to the bathroom before he let me go. I waited a moment longer outside his door, just in case. And, when I was fairly certain he wasn’t coming back out, I headed downstairs.

It had been a good day, a fun day, but a tiring one. And it wasn’t over, I realized, as I remembered the mess in the kitchen. But when I turned the corner, the kitchen was quiet and spotless.

“Huh.” I smiled, hands on my hips.

And then I went in search of Charlie to offer my thanks.

He wasn’t in the living room, and a glance upstairs told me he wasn’t in his room. So, down the stairs I went to the ground floor, heading for his office. But when I passed my room, I found him in the last place I’d expected, kneeling in front of my fireplace, arranging logs.

The surprise at seeing him in my room, uninvited, sent a shock through me, buzzing over my skin, raising the hair on my arms and the back of my neck.

He smiled when he saw me standing in the hall outside the doorway, but when he noticed that I was rooted to the spot, drowning in unkind memories, his smile faded.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously.

“What are you doing in my room?” I asked, my voice quavering just a little, just enough to betray me.

He heard my fear and bolted to his feet with wide eyes. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in here without … you know, without your permission, without asking you. I was just going to bring some wood to your door, but it was open, and I thought … well, I just thought it would be nice for you to come in to a fire since I knew you wanted one, and you’ve done so much for me. Plus, the flue is a little dodgy, and I just … I should go,” he rambled, running his hands through his hair as he started for the door.

But as I looked him over, I knew he meant every word he’d said. Nothing was written in his body and face and eyes but apology and concern.

I reminded myself that he had no idea about Quinton, who would have advanced on me with single-minded determination, not keeping his distance, like I was an animal set to bolt.

It wasn’t so far from the truth.

But I wasn’t afraid of Charlie. I was afraid because of Quinton, and the difference between those two sentiments settled into my mind and heart.

I stepped into the room, palms out, voice soft. “No, I’m sorry. That was kind of you to help.”

He stopped, looking unsure. “Of course. I’m just … I didn’t mean to overstep.”

I offered a smile, and he relaxed, smiling back.

“It’s all right. Thank you for cleaning up after me, too.”

He shrugged and glanced into the fireplace. The light was dim, but I thought he might be a little flushed. “I could say the same. The kids go to bed all right?”

“Just fine.”

“Thanks for sending them down to say goodnight. Jenny never did that.” Some thought passed behind his eyes but slipped away.

“Of course.”

“Let me show you how this works.” He waved me over, and I walked to him, kneeling by his side as he lit a log covered in a paper bag. “I use these starter logs because I’m lazy.”

I chuckled.

“There’s a whole stack of them in the shed with the wood. I’ll leave you some matches, but it’s pretty straightforward. Put this one on the bottom, stack wood on top, light the starter, and voila.” His smile fell when he saw my face. “Wait, do you know how to do this?”

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. “I’ve started a fire or two.”

“I bet you have.” His voice had a wondrous, velvety sheen on it. When I met his eyes, he looked away with a snap. “Not that it’s all that complicated. Anyway, here’s how the flue works. It’s right here.” He showed me a small lever. “Open to the right, closed to the left. But it won’t really move unless you jiggle it downward first. Otherwise, it’s easy as pie. Or kwarktaart.”

I laughed again. “Thank you, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll bring in some more wood for you tomorrow. That way, you can make a fire whenever you’d like.”

He stood, dusting off his hands, and I stood, too. We’d been close when we were kneeling, putting us almost too close, but neither of us stepped back, leaving us just inside of what should be comfortable. It was enough of an invasion that my nerves triggered in succession down my back and arms to the tips of my fingers—not with warning or danger, but unexpected desire.

A moment hung between us, just a few heartbeats with our eyes on each other.

And then he looked away.

I took a step back, embarrassed and confused.

“I’ll … ah,” he stammered. “All right. Well, um, sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight.” My cheeks blazed, and I was thankful the room was fairly dark.

He nodded, and I thought he might be blushing too as he stepped around me.

I watched him go and let out a breath.

He didn’t go upstairs but back into his office. I heard the door close down the hall. The thought that he was still so close made me anxious, made me wonder, sent the questions zipping around my head like hummingbirds. He hadn’t intended for … whatever that was to happen. He’d honestly been trying to be thoughtful, and he was. He was thoughtful and handsome and charming, and he wasn’t Quinton.

And I’d wanted him to kiss me. For one brief, careless moment, I’d thought he would, wished he would.

That admission left me reeling.

So I closed and locked the door and changed my clothes, slipping into bed with a book to set my mind to rights while the fire crackled, hoping to turn my thoughts to anything besides the man sitting on the other side of my wall.