And we did like.
Joey had become a sleeping rock star since we’d moved in, and I was…well, less of a rock star and more of a cruise ship lounge singer. Still, previously, I’d been more of a karaoke singer without a mic or the scrolling screen of lyrics.
But the sleep I got was restful, which made a massive difference in my disposition and outlook. It no longer felt like the sky was falling. My house was still a wreck, Liam had done a runner, my body wasn’t the same, and sometimes I considered what it would be like to kiss Elliot, but I was okay. Safe, with a gorgeous roof over my head and an even more beautiful little daughter.
I stroked Joey’s cheek as she nursed. “We’re going to meet some nice people today, honey. One of them might be your nanny while Mommy and Elliot go to work. Not that it matters if Elliot is here. He’s not responsible for you, which you know, of course, even though you like when he holds you in the palm of his hand. I think you got a little mixed up about that. You’re supposed to wrap him around your pinkie.”
The first of three candidates arrived right on time. Mary was young, no more than twenty-two, but according to the agency I’d contacted, she’d been taking care of babies and children most of her life.
She bustled into Elliot’s house, giving me a firm handshake, then swept her gaze over the architecture.
“You have a very beautiful home,” she said in a brusque tone.
“Oh, it isn’t mine. The baby and I are staying with a friend.”
“And the father?”
“It’s just me,” I breezed. I had to get used to saying that since I was certain I’d be asked the same question for as long as I was single—which would be a long, long time.
Mary’s thin lips flattened into a straight line, and my gut bubbled with reservation. When I’d pictured a nanny for Joey, Mrs. Doubtfire or Mary Poppins had come to mind, not a staid-looking young woman with all the warmth of an ice cube.
I was probably being too hasty in my judgment, and that was most likely due to being nervous about leaving Joey with someone else when we’d been attached at the boob for two months.
“That’s okay,” Mary said in a tone that conveyed she didn’t actually think it was. “Is the baby sleeping?”
“Yes. She has a pretty regular morning nap, so she should stay asleep while we chat.”
“Good.” Mary nodded sharply. “Schedules are vital for infants’ development. They are the backbone of my nannying philosophy.”
Thinking she was joking, I started to laugh—a nannying philosophy sounded a little ridiculous. Mary merely glanced around the foyer with a tight expression, her hands clamped tight around the strap of her shoulder bag.
“Okay, great. Let’s go have a chat in the living room. I’d love to get to know more about you, Mary.”
She finally looked at me, lifting her chin in acknowledgment. “Certainly. I’ll follow you.”
We settled in the living room, Mary in an armchair, me on the sofa across from her. I’d set out bottles of water and cheese and crackers, which she ignored. It was fine. I wouldn’t have been able to eat during an interview either.
“Okay. Let’s get started.” I smiled at her, trying to convey good mother and totally not an impostor. She only blinked back, so I wasn’t sure how convincing I was.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry I’m late.”
Mary and I whipped around at the sound of Elliot’s voice. He unbuttoned his blazer as he strode into the living room. His gaze landed on mine, and he offered the barest hint of a smile.
He sat down beside me, so close his thigh brushed mine. I stared at him, confused by his sudden appearance.
Turning to him so my hair blocked my face, I murmured, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the interviews,” he stated, like it was that simple.
“You are?”
“Yes.” He patted my knee once then gave it a firm squeeze. “Introduce me.”
Mary leaped from her seat with more energy than she’d shown me the entire time. “Hello, I’m Mary Lewis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Elliot didn’t offer her his hand and remained beside me. “Hello, Mary. I’m Elliot Levy. Catherine and I have some questions for you. Please, sit down and we’ll get started.”
This was the Elliot I was familiar with. The one who inspired hundreds of postscripts. Cold and abrupt. He hadn’t been that way with me lately, and the little green-eyed monster inside me was pleased Mary was receiving that treatment.