Page 38 of The Overtime Kiss
“Please, you moved in with him.”
“I know, and look at this,” I whisper, like I’m afraid talking loudly will break the magic spell of this apartment—the magic being the wide-open space, the quiet, the fresh carpet smell. “And it’s all mine.”
Trevyn gives me a friendly smile. “It’s perfect, doll.”
“But,” I say, plucking at my tank top, “I should change before I get the kids.”
“Please, all the moms dress like that,” he says.
“And yet I’m going for something a little more…demure.”
He gives me an approving wiggle of his fingers. “You’re so demure, Sabrina. So demure with your gold star and your resistance.”
“I am,” I say lightly, but resistance is exactly what I need. From Tyler’s thoughtful questions to his genuine concern, the man is definitely boyfriend material.
Not that it matters.
Not that anything will happen.
This place feels like more than just a step up—it’s freedom and a fresh start all at once. I won’t ruin it, even though I still have the hots for my boss.
As he waits for me, I change into jeans and a simple blue top—something that won’t make me stand out at school pickup with the kids. I’d rather blend in.
Then I stand in front of the mirror, take a big breath, and say quietly, “You can do this.”
It’s what I used to do before my skating competitions when I was younger. When I was older too. My parents would say it to me when I was waiting to take my turn on the ice—one of the few encouraging things they ever did for me.
At the time, I believed both that I could do it and they believed in me. I’m not sure they ever truly did though. They wanted me to train harder, jump higher, eat better, land stronger, wake up earlier. Is that belief in me or hope in a human machine? I’m not sure. But that’s okay because I learned how to believe in myself, both on and off the ice. Thanks in large part to Elena, who helped me when I was ready to stop skating competitively. When I had to figure out who the hell I was without the order, the rigor, the rules.
Still, even though I believe in myself, this job as a nanny isbrand new. I swallow nervously, picturing making mistakes and fucking up and not having the right answer for the kids. Briefly, the desire to write down every detail of what I did flits through my head, chased by thoughts of training harder, faster. But the thoughts are just that—thoughts. They’re also brief.
I’m on the other side of all that perfectionism.
One more centering breath, then I leave the bathroom and the pep talk behind. Grabbing my canvas bag with the fox illustration on it, I head up the stairs with Trevyn in tow. There’s only one little problem, and that’s why nerves are still chasing me.
“I’ve never nannied before,” I whisper to Trevyn.
“Don’t worry, doll,” he says, then dips a hand into his bag, handing over a small white kit with a red cross on it. “I got you a first-aid kit.”
My throat tightens with gratitude. I love that he thought of this, but the perfectionist in me dies hard. For years, prepping for every competition wasn’t just a habit; it was survival. I guess you can take the girl out of competition, but you can’t take the prep out of the girl. I dip my hand into my bag and brandish my kit with a smile. This time, though, prepping seemed like a good idea. “Me too. I googled everything a nanny needs.”
He whistles in appreciation. “Look at you, slaying already.” He squeezes my arm. “You’re going to do great,” he says, his tone shifting from playful to sincere. “If anyone knows how to thrive under pressure, it’s you. And hey, if anyone gives you a hard time, do what we always did on the ice—pick yourself up with a smile and move the fuck on.”
“Words to live by,” I say.
My friend takes off, popping into the kitchen to say a quick goodbye to Tyler, who’s staring at the shelves in the pantry, a little zoned out.
“My Lyft is on its way, so she’s all yours now,” Trevyn says to my new boss, and I nearly swat my friend.
Tyler quickly snaps out of his stare at the cans of black beans to turn around, brow knit. But his expression clears quickly. “Thanks for helping. It was nice to meet you, Trevyn. If you ever want hockey tick?—”
“Yes, sir! Please.”
I laugh at my friend, admonishing him. “You are shameless.”
Trevyn arches an imperious brow. “Have you seen the warmups, doll?”
I point exaggeratedly to the door. “Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”
