4
CHLOE
Ipushed at the old wooden gate nestled in the stucco wall. As it shifted, a sea-blue tile with gold lettering caught the light and I ran my hand over the smooth surface. With a smile, I snapped a picture to run through a translation app later.
Before moving on, I took in the wall’s weathered facade. This was one of Luc’s properties. Did he know the entrance could do with a lick of paint? He was a successful artist, after all. Oh, the irony.
I gave the gate a shove, and it swung open with a hearty squeak. The only other sounds were birdsong, the drone of insects, and wind in the trees. No mumble of conversation. No child’s laughter. Odd. I was here as a nanny, after all.
Stepping into the quiet oasis, I surveyed my surroundings. The garden matched the gate. It was slightly run down with straggly hedges and tufty grass. I glanced around, not quite sure where to go next.
Opening the phone in my hand, I found the message Iris sent me earlier. It’d arrived about the same time as my run-in with King Neptune.
She’d sent a voice memo along with a mother lode of kissesand smiley faces. She knew to rely on technology rather than my quirky brain.
I hitplay, and a tinny recording of her voice broke the silence.
“I assume you made it. Luc spoke to Maxime. He says you won’t stay in the main house as there aren’t enough bedrooms. You’ll sleep in the garden annex. You can’t miss it. It’s a little building with bougainvillea around the door. He won’t be there when you arrive, but he’ll leave a key in a pot outside. He said to make yourself at home until he gets back. Don’t forget to call me if you need anything. Love you, and… good luck.”
The message ended, and the hair on my arms lifted.Good luck? She’d already warned me not to expect warm hugs and welcome mats from my new boss. But something in her tone made it sound like I was walking into a bear cave.
I’d already handled one tricky customer today. A ridiculously hot one, admittedly.The fisherman’s arrogance had left a nasty taste in my mouth. Still, I hadn’t been able to shake the memory of his hazel eyes or how his muscles fired when he pulled in his net.
Would I mind running into him again? Maybe not. But I’d insist on a no talking rule.
I bit my lip and begged my brain to focus. I was here to be a responsible adult. To look after a child. To enter my ‘grown-up’ era. Now wasn’t the time to swoon over sea gods.
Ignoring the gentle twist in my gut, I stepped into the garden and started down the path. A small outhouse sat to my left and a large white building with terracotta roof tiles rose to my right. A thick row of lavender ran down its side,the scent sharp and sweet in the air.
Past it, I caught a glimpse of a turquoise swimming pool beyond the house. Across, sat an outdoor shower, perfectly placed for a view down to the beach.
Another building stood to the garden’s left—smaller anddressed in more terracotta. Unless I was sleeping in the outhouse, this had to be the annex.
My belly fizzed. Iris was right. Its front was bougainvillea-central. I loved bright flowers as much as the next girl, but they came with the inevitable side-product—bees.
My blood ran cold.
I’d never been stung, but I just knew I’d be allergic. My eldest brother was. Watching his face swell and his breath grow shallow on the way to the hospital after he’d been stung was etched into my brain forever. If allergies were hereditary, I was a ticking time bomb.
I crept towards the doorstep, a steady hum in my ears. The bees were probably harmless. But just in case, I dropped my backpack on the grass and pulled out my still-damp beach towel, draping it over my head like a wedding veil.
Just as Iris described, a little pot sat next to the door beside the welcome mat. I poked my hand inside and fished out a small key. Making myself as inconspicuous as possible under the floral canopy, I opened the lock and stepped inside.
The interior of the small building was a blinding overload of white. White walls, white sheets, white muslin curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open window. Only a small vase of bee-free wildflowers and terracotta floor tiles added a pop of colour.
I kicked off my flip-flops and padded to the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Taking a breath, I smiled.Yes. This little house would be heaven.
Eventually, I peeled myself off the sheets and shuffled to a rustic-looking door, praying it led to a shower. Technically, it did. But when I pulled back the curtain my heart sank.
The cubicle looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the seventies. An enormous crack split the tiles, and it smelled like mouldy drains.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I needed to wash the beach away.
With a sigh, I reached beyond the curtain and turned on the tap. Nothing. Not even a gurgle.
Frowning, I retrieved one of my flip-flops and smacked the pipe. Still nothing. I hit the metal a third time—as hard as I dared. But despite a deep groan from the pipes, not a single drop of water made it out of the shower head.
I puffed out my cheeks. I couldn’t meet my new employer looking or smelling like flotsam and jetsam. He’d turn me out before I could even introduce myself. What to do, though?
