Page 47 of Timelessly Ours
“Is that why you’re so quiet today? Because you talked enough?” Rory asks, and it releases a soft chuckle from my lips.
“Yeah, probably.”
She blows out a relieved breath. “I thought it was because of me.”
Instead of reassuring her, I fork away the rest of my salmon and finish my sparkling water. “Rory, if you’re finished, go upstairs to get ready for your bath.”
In front of me, Royce stiffens as if preparing for battle with his daughter. He leans his head toward me and whispers, “I can handle it today—”
“Okay,” Rory chirps. “I’ll go get my bath toys.”
I stand and pick up both mine and Rory’s plates and set them neatly in the sink.
He stands as I move past him toward the stairs. “Nicole.”
“I’ve got it, Coach.”
His eyes meet mine and I’m not sure if it’s the edge in my voice that stops him in his tracks or the fact that I’m no longer using his name.
He puts his hands in his pockets and nods. “Yeah. It looks like you do.”
Rory is playful during bath time, but not very talkative. It’s the first time I’m giving her a real bath and I’m enjoying myself. I’d apparently put in way too many bubbles, but she’s totally here for it from what I can tell.
I lather soap off her silky hair.
“I like the way you do that. Daddy always does it too fast.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want you to get cold.”
She shrugs and it makes me smile. How easy she can be when she’s not deliberately trying to make me dislike her. I’ll likely never admit it out loud—especially not to her—but I liked the fire in her. The stubbornness, the bossiness, that need to challenge me. It makes me a little proud.
I never want anyone taking advantage of her.
“Did you think I was sad because you haven’t been very nice to me?”
She nods, keeping her eyes on the bubbly water.
“And my being sad, made you sad?”
Another nod.
I lower myself a bit. “You know you can tell me anything. We used to be friends.”
She looks up at me and gives me a look as if that was a thing of the past.
“Just because I’m your nanny doesn’t mean I’m not your friend.”
“It just means you’re going to quit.”
I frown. “What?”
“Angel and Daddy always talk about how my babysitters always quit.”
“But I’m not—” I blink.
Don’t make promises you can’t keep.
With the reminder of my probation period—for which I have six days left, I flick her chin. “Regardless of who I am—the nanny, Angel’s friend, or your local grocery store checkout girl, I’m always going to be your friend. I’m always going to defend you and laugh at others with you. That’s our thing. You’re my favorite little girl,” I add with a whisper.
