“You can say fuck. She doesn’t understand what you’re saying yet.”
“She’s what? Nearly eight months old? Nine? She understands a lot more than you th?—”
“Fuh fuh fuh fuh fuh.” She smacks my cheek and cackles.
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, but a small snort breaks free despite my best efforts.
Jack looks devastated. “It’s fine. This is fine. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s not even really saying it. She’s too small for words. Oh my god did I just make her second word ‘fuck’?”
“Fuh fuh fuh fuh.”
I dissolve into quiet laughter.
“This is not funny.”
I rein myself in but struggle to keep it at bay. “You’re right. It’s not.”
He glares at me as he opens the door and gestures for me to enter. “It’s almost Sienna’s nap time. Her nursery is upstairs, the first door on the right. Take her up and I’ll release the Kraken.”
Release the Kronken. Heh.
I take this as a challenge, fully prepared to show off my super nanny skills. “Good luck, bestie. I hope you’re fluent in Czech.”
I salute him and head for the stairs, ignoring when he questions what I mean by that. I am most assuredlynotfluent in Czech; I only know a few commands… and swear words, which we should both probably take up using in front of Sienna now. Ifshe repeats them, at least no one will know what thekurvashe’s saying.
As soon as I step into Sienna's nursery, the dark, moody atmosphere of the rest of the house melts away. The walls are a buttery yellow, cozy and inviting. The wooden crib is painted a creamy white and has intricate carvings of flowers and vines. In the corner, there is an old rocking chair with faded floral cushions that look like they've been loved for years. Everything in the room exudes warmth and comfort.
I don’t know if it’s part of Sienna’s naptime routine, but when I sit and begin to rock, her tiny body wilts against mine and her eyelids droop with the swaying movement.
I brush my index finger between her eyebrows and down the bridge of her nose. I miss Maggie, but snuggling this sweet girl is a balm to the hurt. “You are the sweetest baby.” A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at the sound of my voice even though she’s almost out. “I think we are going to get along just fine.”
We sit like that for a few more minutes, then I stand and place her in her crib. She doesn’t stir, just snoozes away.
I turn to find Jack standing in the doorway. It startles me but I suppress the scream lodged in my throat to keep from waking her.
He smirks at the way I spook. “Get used to being jump scared. I forgot to mention the house is haunted.”
I snort as we quietly close her bedroom door behind us. “Yeah, this house and every other part of this town.”
“What, you don’t believe the stories?” He stops at the top of the staircase and turns to look at me.
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious.” I cross my arms over my chest and his eyes dart to the movement, snagging on my cleavage. I like that my body causes him to falter.
“So serious.” It seems as if he has to force himself to turn away.
The stairs creak as we make our way to the bottom floor again. “In that case, I need a raise.”
I follow him through the kitchen, the sticky scent of smashed fruit lingering as we pass the table and Sienna’s highchair. I am sure I interrupted lunch, and I quietly appreciate that he seems to be more attentive to Sienna’s needs than he is worried about immediately cleaning everything up for my sake. Just parent life things, and I am more than understanding.
I’m sure I’ll see bigger messes than this one if I stick around for any length of time, so there’s no use in him cleaning up for my sake now.
“We haven’t even discussed your pay.”
I try not to gape too obviously at stunning wooden cabinets and dark granite countertops, but I’m practically panting at the thought of cooking here. “You’re right. This kitchen is payment enough.”
“You like to cook?” He opens the door and Kronk gallops toward us from across the massive yard. His feet pounding against the stone back patio sound like a herd of bison.
As a kid, cooking gave me a sense of self-sufficiency I was hard-pressed to find anywhere else. In a household where my parents were accustomed to being waited on hand and foot by hired help, it felt like an act of rebellion to take matters into my own hands and prepare my own meals, as simple as they had to be given my age and the limitations that came with that.
