Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Everyone who graduates from Portland gets a pin alongside their certificate. It’s a sky-blue porcelain and gold metal ‘P’ lapel pin. I don’t normally wear mine, but I treasure it. I keep it in a trinket box my first nanny gave me when she left when I was six years old, alongside a dried-up Play-Doh bee my first charge made for me for my birthday, a photograph of me holding Eddie when she was born, and another of me and Dylan when he graduated. My most treasured items in the world.
Today I’ve put the pin on. I don’t know if it’s armor. Maybe I need to remind myself it’s just another workday. There’s nothing to see. I’m just a nanny looking after a newborn. Please move along and get on with your day.
Guinevere needs me. She’s recovering and I’m going to be entirely focused on her, the youngest Cove of the clan.
I’m a nanny. Not Dax’s lover, despite what the last twenty-four hours have brought. I don’t know how things will feel between us today. I’d planned to scratch the itch and move on, as if being with him for the night would be like defrosting the windscreen of my car and then being able to continue my journey.
But as he pressed a kiss to my forehead and headed back to his room and Guinevere, I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. Dax Cove is more than an itch that needs scratching.
I head out to the kitchen and start to make up a bottle. Just as I’m screwing on the cap, Dax appears in the doorway, Guinevere a bundle in his bare arms, held closely to that rock-hard chest of his.
“Hey,” I say. Despite trying my best to sound breezy, my voice sounds forced and awkward to my own ears. I feel fifteen years old.
“Good morning.” His voice is gravelly and it sends a shiver across my skin.
“How did she sleep?” I ask.
“What are you doing up?” he asks, closing one eye and pushing his hands through his hair. I look away from the expanse of skin he exposes.
I glance at the clock over the door. “It’s seven. What do you mean?”
“I thought you’d want a lie in,” he says. “We were up late and it’s your day off.”
I freeze. Dax Cove has scrambled my brain so much, I’ve lost track of the days of the week. It’s Saturday.
He chuckles. “You’ve lost track of the days?” he asks.
“Committed to checking on Guinevere,” I say, my eyes wide, my smile about to erupt. “I did her bottle.”
“Thanks.” He takes it from me. Our fingers brush and our gazes lock.
“How did you sleep?” he asks as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. He has a muslin over his shoulder already. He’s come prepared. “It was late when we went to bed.”
I exhale and turn to the coffee machine, trying to hide my blush. Some of the things he did to me last night—well, I’m not sure which bits were legal. “It was. You want coffee?”
“I really do,” he says, then, with his leg, he pushes out the chair next to him. “Then come and sit. Unless you want to go back to bed.”
My eyes widen, but I’m facing away so he doesn’t see. Yes, I want to go back to bed. With him. But I know that’s not what he means.
I take a deep breath and scan the kitchen, looking for something to put away or clean. A red flash catches my attention and I look more closely. It’s the red ribbons of the Christmas decorations I made of Guinevere’s hand-and-footprints. He’s hung them up on the pin where he usually hangs his keys, and his keys are on the counter below. I can’t help but think it’s a real shift for Dax, and I smile.
“What are your plans for today?” he asks. “We’re going to head to the park if you want to join us.”
I do. But I shouldn’t.
Last night was a one-off, right? I’m still trying to keep my job. If we draw a line now, there’s a chance that can happen.
“I have some unpacking and organizing to do.”
He chuckles. “I bet you do. You have a lot of stuff.”
Not really, I think. I’m nearly thirty, just a couple of years younger than Dax, and he has things to fill a three-bedroom flat. What do I have? Enough to fill one room.
“That’s why it needs to be organized.”
“You think it’s okay to take Guinevere out? It’s still cold.”
“Fresh air is good for her. You don’t need to isolate her now you’ve had the diagnosis of viral meningitis.”
“Right,” he says.
“Am I teaching my grandmother to suck eggs?” I ask.
He laughs. “I think I’ve forgotten everything from my medical training. It’s like my brain has wiped entire sections of my hippocampus clean to make room for other stuff.”