Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
He studies my face. “Not many people shock me, Miss Brielle.”
“I seem to be good at giving you nanny shocks.”
He smirks. “That you do. Running me over in a golf cart is a highlight though.”
I laugh, and his eyes twinkle with a special something. “What would you call me? I mean, if we were friends?” I ask.
He bites his bottom lip. “Bree.”
A warm, soft feeling runs over my body. “Nobody has ever called me Bree,” I whisper.
“That’s not true, I just did.”
I smile softly.
“So, do we have a deal? You won’t leave? We can try and work this out?” His hopeful eyes hold mine.
I nod. “I guess.”
He stands and looks around, as if he suddenly wants to run.
“Why do you hate being in this room so much?” I frown. “The day you showed me this room, you wouldn’t even walk in.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels very personal being in your space. Makes me uncomfortable.”
“You’re weird.” I smile. “Goodnight, Mr. Masters.”
He grins, clearly happy he got me to stay. “Goodnight, Miss Brielle.”
He hobbles on his sore foot, and then stops at the doorway, turning back. “Please don’t ever run me over again.”
“If you don’t stand in front of my golf buggy again, I won’t.”
He shakes his head in amusement and leaves my room, and I smile at the back of the closed door.
Well, that was unexpected.
I wait at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on, guys, we have to go or we will be late.”
The sun is shining brightly and I slept well last night for the first time since I arrived. I’m feeling a bit better after Mr. Masters came to talk to me last night. Maybe this will work out after all. Sammy bounces down the stairs in his school uniform, passing me his school bag when he reaches the bottom step. “Willow, come on!” I call.
“Don’t rush me,” she growls as she comes down the stairs. She stomps down past us with her school bag slung over her shoulder. Sammy and I exchange looks.
Hmm, she’s in a mood this morning. I get into the car and she sits in the backseat, glaring out the window with her arms folded over her chest. I glance at her in the rearview mirror.
What is her problem? She was fine yesterday. God, teenagers.
“What’s on today, guys?” I ask.
“I have library, and then we have sport after lunch,” Sammy answers.
“I put your lunches in your bags. Dad left them in the fridge after he made them last night,” I say.
“I’m not eating it.” Willow scowls. “I hate what he packs me. It tastes like shit.”
I bite my lip to stop my smile. Good to know it’s not just me she hates today.
We get to her school and I pull the car over. Willow climbs out without a word. I wind the window down and call out, “Have a nice day, dear.”
She flips me the bird and keeps walking, making me giggle.
Sammy smiles and grabs my hand, grateful that she doesn’t get a rise out of me.
“Are we going to go and have our coffee and hot chocolate now, little man?”
He nods with a beaming smile. “Yep.”
I pull out into the traffic. “I think I’m the luckiest nanny in the whole world to get to have hot chocolate with you every morning.”
His cute little face lights up and I feel my heart constrict. No shit. I really am the luckiest nanny in the whole world.
“Spill the beans,” I say to Emerson.
It’s Monday night and we are at Willow’s soccer. It’s dark and cold. Huge lights light up the fields. Sammy is kicking a ball with some little kids on the fields next to us. Emerson has come with me so we can catch up and
talk about Mark, the guy who picked her up from the airport. She worked for an art dealer back in Australia and had to email Mark's company about some art that had to be shipped over. They got talking and started a friendship. She was convinced he was the one. He ended up getting her a job so that we could do this working holiday thing. I'm not sure we would be here if it wasn't for his hounding.
“God, I don’t know.” She sighs. “There just seems to be no spark.”
“What do you mean?
“He doesn’t have ‘the thing’, you know. He’s short, and to be honest, he kind of annoys me.”
I giggle as I sip my coffee. We’re sitting in the car as we watch Willow train.
We watch the cold mist appear in front of everyone’s mouths when they speak.
“This place is fucking freezing,” she mutters into her coffee.
“I know, right? Witches tits cold.”
I glance over and see Mr. Masters walking across the field. He’s wearing his navy suit and a long, dark overcoat. His hair is short, and his jawline strong.