“You’re sure about this?” my friend Selina asks me for the third time as I close the trunk of my car.
“I’m sure,” I laugh, spinning to face her. I gesture toward her townhouse. “Aren’t you happy to have me out of your hair and have your space back?”
She pulls me into a hug. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
“Thank you for taking me in,” I say sincerely. Since my contract ended with the Clark family three weeks ago, I’ve been sleeping in Selina’s spare bedroom. She’s one of my oldest friends and one of the only people who truly stood by my side as I dealt with loss after loss the past three years. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I pull back and smile. “Milly and Mason are…they’re good for my soul.”
Selina raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And their father?”
I blush but laugh it off. “He’s not awful.”
She snorts. “Not awful my ass. You said he was the best you—”
I clamp my hand over her mouth before she can finish that statement. Shaking my head, I say, “We’re not going there, Lina. What’s in the past is in the past and—” I stop at her widened eyes, knowing she’s calling me out on my own bullshit. I sigh. “Look, I’m trying. I’m trying to move past everything that happened.”
“No, you’re not. You’re running, babe. Even your therapist—”
“There’s no need to bring Dr. Carlisle into this.”
“—thinks so. You’ve been on the move since you and Jerry split. You haven’t given yourself any time or grace to deal with the loss of—”
I tap my palm over her mouth again, my eyes pleading with her to stop talking. She sighs and drops her chin in acknowledgement. I remove my hand and shuffle back a step. “Can you just be happy for me? James Ryan is a great dad, his kids are amazing, and nannying for them will be good for me. I can feel it.”
Selina sighs but doesn’t offer any more comments. “Okay,” she says reluctantly, pulling me in for one more hug. “But if you need to come back, my guest room is yours.”
“I don’t deserve you, Lina.”
“You deserve a hell of a lot more than you let yourself have, Bells.”
I pull away and flash a smile, not wanting to think about her words. They bring up too many painful memories of the past and today, I’m not going there. Today, I’m taking a step into the future. “I’ll call you tonight?”
She nods. “Happy moving day and congrats on the new job.”
“Thank you.” I slip into the driver’s seat and honk once before backing out of her driveway.
The moment I turn the corner, my smile slips and I relax into the plush seat. What am I thinking? How can I live in the house of the guy I ghosted over the summer? But how can I not when his kids and I share such a natural connection?
The moment I met Milly and Mason, I understood the depth of their loss. Maybe it’s because I studied children’s psychology and education or maybe it’s because I’ve experienced loss of my own. Whatever the reason, I felt kindred spirits in Milly and Mason and truly believe that my supporting their family through this transition will be beneficial for them.
But will it be beneficial for me?
One glance at James and all those thoughts and feelings from summer came rushing back. The slice of magic I found with him that night has been at the forefront of my mind from the moment he pulled open his front door.
I recall that night with perfect clarity. How his whiskey-colored eyes held mine and he stared directly into my soul. What’s more? He didn’t flinch at the ugly he saw there.
I felt his understanding sweep through me like a tornado. The depth of his compassion left me reeling. Even though my attraction to him—deep brown eyes, dark, neatly styled hair, and an irresistible cleft in his chin—was immediate, it was his demeanor that drew me in. The way he dipped his head when he asked a question, as if he was unsure if he should ask. I liked how he leaned closer to me when I spoke and how he seemed to perceive more than he let on.
James Ryan is the only man since my divorce who looked at me like I wasn’t broken beyond repair, like there was still hope for me to find a semblance of happiness. I ran straight toward him, desperate to soak up more of his kindness and compassion.
Now, I’m going to live with that man, the one who’s been occupying my thoughts and dreams. I pull into his driveway and turn off my car, sitting for an extra minute to build up my courage to face him.
I need a fresh start. Couldn’t this be it?
I shake out my hands and blow out one more exhale before opening the car door just as the front door to the house swings open and two little munchkins fly down the porch steps.
“Bella!” Milly shrieks.
“You’re here!” Mason hollers.
“Happy move-in day!” They clap in unison.
Some of my anxiety leaks away as I squat down for their hugs. “I’m so excited to move in,” I tell them truthfully. “Will you guys help me unpack?”
“Of course we will,” Mason says, walking to my trunk. “Pop it open.”
I laugh, pressing the key fob to open the trunk.
As Mason and Milly reach inside, looking through some of my belongings, James steps onto the porch and I freeze.
Why does he have to look so good? Broody? His dark eyes blaze with emotions I can’t pinpoint. His hair is styled but he’s dressed simply, in gray sweat shorts, a white tank, and sandals. His biceps pop when he moves toward me, a predator concealing just how dangerous he truly is.
To a heart like mine, fragile and warped, the attentions of a man like James, empathetic and deep, have the ability to level me when I still haven’t found my footing.
“Hey,” he greets me, his voice rumbly and low. It’s sexy and manly and definitely not what I should be thinking about as his kids tug my suitcase from the trunk.
“Hi.” I lift a hand in an awkward wave.
“Guys, hang on a sec.” He moves to my trunk and easily lifts the two suitcases and one duffle bag I packed. He glances at me. “Is this it?”
“That’s it.”
He frowns, peering into the back seat of my car as if suspecting I have more packed baggage hidden there. I don’t. All the packed baggage is stuffed down my throat, clogging my chest and expanding in my stomach. I work a swallow and close the car door and trunk.
“Come on, let’s get you settled,” James says as he lifts both of my suitcases, the strap of my duffle bag pulling taut across his chest.
Milly and Mason each take one of my hands and lead me into their house. It’s sweet, the way they’re so excited for me to move in. It’s the extra encouragement I need to smile at James as he places my luggage down in my new room.
“Thank you.” I place a hand on the back of the desk chair. The room is all white, simple and airy, with a crispness that I like.
James nods, shooing his kids out of the room. When he reaches the threshold, he pauses, and turns back to me. “If you need anything, just holler.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say.
He nods, his eyes intense as they hold mine. “I hope so, Bella.” He closes the bedroom door behind him, leaving me to wonder about his cryptic words and the meaning behind them.
“How are you settling in?” Dr. Carlisle asks during our weekly therapy session held via Zoom.
I tilt my head as I weigh my words. “It’s only been four days.”
“And?”
I smirk at him. I’ve been speaking with Dr. Carlisle at least once a week for three years now. The man sees through my bullshit without blinking. “I’m settling in fine. The Ryans are a great family. Milly and Mason are both in school during the day. And James, the father, is busy. His schedule is filled with team meetings, workouts, practices, you know the drill.”
“This is the same James from the summer?”
I roll my eyes, wishing I didn’t fill Dr. C in on my summer hookup. “It is.”
“Ah.”
“What’s that mean?”
He shrugs, his eyes amused. “I just find it interesting that you don’t have more to say about him, considering you’re now living together.”
“We’re not living together. I’m in his employ.”
“All right.” He steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. “So, it’s been a seamless transition.”
I sigh, knowing I can’t lie to Dr. Carlisle. Not if I want to keep making progress. And I am, even though I occasionally stumble. “I wouldn’t say seamless.”
“Are you running?”
“Every morning,” I admit. “At least ten miles.”
He nods but the space around his eyes tightens and I know my response worries him. “Eating?”
“Yes,” I say truthfully.
“And the time you’re left on your own?”
“I’m filling it as best as I can. Learning the family’s schedules and supporting their housekeeper, Justine. Helping the twins with their homework.”
“Sleeping?”
“Not great. But—”
“You never sleep well.”
“Exactly.”
Dr. Carlisle tsks. “That doesn’t make it okay, Bella.”
“I know. But I am trying.”
His expression is skeptical but he doesn’t press and I don’t volunteer any more information. “Any more thoughts on re-enrolling in your PhD program?” He changes tactics neatly.
I raise my eyebrows, only half joking when I mutter, “Have you been talking to Colton behind my back?”
Dr. C smiles. “Your brother doesn’t want to see you give up on something you worked so hard for.”
“I know that. But I still don’t feel ready. I still don’t feel like I’m able to make that commitment.”
“Why not?”
I shrug.
“Bella,” Dr. Carlisle says, his voice gentle.
“It’s a lot of hours, a lot of work. It’s not the kind of career you can have without sacrifice.”
“A lot of careers require sacrifice.”
I work a swallow past the lump growing in my throat. He’s going to make me say it; of course he is. “I still want a family, Dr. C. I’ve given up on a lot of my dreams but I haven’t given up on that.”
“Nor should you,” he replies immediately, easing the sting of tears behind my eyelids. His expression softens as he stares at my face through the screen. “We’re out of time for tonight, Bella. Tomorrow, try to sleep in a little later.”
I snort, shaking my head.
“Run nine miles instead of ten. Try journaling for fifteen minutes instead,” he tries again.
I bite my lower lip. “We’ll see.”
“You’ve made a great deal of progress, Bella. I’m proud of the strides you’ve made. This week, try to channel your restlessness into something other than running. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, promising myself that I’ll make an honest attempt.
“Talk to you next week. If you need anything before then—”
“I’ll reach out,” I say, relieved I haven’t had to do that in over a year. “Thanks, Dr. C.”
“Have a good night.” He disconnects our call and I log out of Zoom.
Walking over to my bed, I flop back and stare at the ceiling. James doesn’t leave for his season opener for two more weeks and I’m already desperate for him to be gone.
He’s more of a distraction than I anticipated which is comical considering he’s barely here. When our paths do cross, my awareness of him heightens and my skin tingles. He meets my eyes with barely concealed longing, his mouth parting as if he wants to say something. Except he never does. We toe the line between us cautiously, but I know it’s only a matter of time before one of us dips a toe on the other side.
Whenever my eyes connect with his, a rush of desire or a beat of attraction flares through me. Then, I recall his words to me about how that night, our night, will never occur again. That’s the only reminder I need to ensure our interactions are professional, polite, and centered on his kids. Just the way they should be.
Still, it takes me twelve days and another session with Dr. Carlisle until I’m able to reduce my morning runs to eight miles. Old habits and adrenaline spikes die hard. In order to keep my thoughts centered on the present, and not on James Ryan, I need to keep my body moving and my mind engaged. That way, I’m too exhausted to think at bedtime. Much too tired to remember. And entirely too drained to dream.
By the time October begins and James is ready to leave town for his season opener, an away game in Chicago, I’m ready to have space from his presence. In fact, I need a break from all the complicated feelings he conjures up inside of me.
The way his fingers brush mine when he passes me a mug of coffee in the morning. The curiosity that blazes in his eyes when he sees me in workout clothes and sneakers. The extra-long side glances, the shaky exhales, the questioning expression on his face even though he never voices his questions, unnerve me. It’s like I’m teetering on the edge of my chair, waiting for James Ryan to decide if I lean back into the plush cushion or fall on my ass.
My first test in my new role comes the night before James’s departure.
“I can’t find my stuffy!” Milly wails from her bedroom. Her cries, nearly hysterical, have escalated beyond the normal range of frustration and sound downright panicked.
I race toward her bedroom and nearly collide with James in the hallway outside her door.
His hands dart out, clasping my waist to steady me. His eyes flash, a warning with an edge of nerves, before he pulls back and flies in his daughter’s bedroom. “Milly? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I follow close behind, my heart sinking when I note the tears streaming down Milly’s face, the way her fingernails dig into her palms.
“I-I-I can’t f-find my s-stuffy,” she sobs, collapsing into James’s arms.
He scoops her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. Something about their embrace, the concern held in the tightness of his jaw, the helplessness in her voice, scrapes at me.
“Is it your hippo stuffy?” I ask softly.
Milly nods. “M-mama g-gave her to me. I s-sleep with h-her every night.”
“She must help you have sweet dreams,” I say gently.
Milly nods. James catches my eyes over his daughter’s head. His expression is unreadable but he doesn’t say anything. Perhaps he’s waiting to see how I handle this situation. Or perhaps he’s relieved he doesn’t have to.
Luckily, I spotted Milly’s stuffed hippo hanging on the bathtub ledge earlier. I dash to grab it and when I re-enter the room, Mason is sitting on his sister’s bed, his expression twisted.
“This her?” I ask, holding out the hippo.
“Mellie!” Milly cries, jumping from her father’s lap to snatch Mellie up.
“She just needed to take a bath. Too much playing in the mud,” I explain, wrinkling my nose.
Milly smiles and Mason’s expression smooths out.
Milly hugs her hippo tight and kisses the top of her head. “Thanks for finding her, Bella.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Milly. Would you guys like me to read a chapter of one of your books before sleep?”
They both nod, blurting out their requests at the same time.
“It’s my turn. You went last night,” Mason reminds Milly.
I grin. “How about we read two chapters tonight? One from Matilda”—I glance at Milly—“and one from How to Train Your Dragon”—I look to Mason.
They agree eagerly, scurrying to grab their books.
James stands from Milly’s bed, stretching his long legs. His eyes haven’t left my face and when I meet his gaze, I’m unsure what to make of the turmoil in his eyes.
“Is that okay?” I ask, wondering if he’s annoyed I’m letting the kids stay up to read a second chapter.
“That’s fine,” he murmurs, rolling his lips together. He steps closer and it’s the closest we’ve been since that night. The scent of his cologne, masculine and spicy, washes over me.
Part of me wants to reach out, place my hands on his hips, and feel the strength of his body move under my palms. Another part of me wants to shuffle back and add distance between us.
I don’t do either. Instead, I remain motionless, waiting for him to make a move. Or not.
He surprises me by touching my arm, his finger swiping from my elbow to my wrist before dropping back to his side.
“You’re really going to be okay with me gone,” he says, a note of surprise in his tone.
I bite back my smile. “We really are. So are you.”
He nods, looking unconvinced. James clears his throat, gratitude flooding his expression. “Thank you, Bella. For being here. For doing…all of this.” He gestures wide, encompassing Milly’s bedroom.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper back. “Now go pack. I’ll tuck them in and when you come home, bring a win.”
He smiles, the corners of his lips turning up in that same smirk that’s equal parts surprise and genuine. James kisses the twins and wishes them good night before stepping into the hallway.
Milly, Mason, and I pile into Milly’s bed and I open Matilda to chapter four.
The kids snuggle in deep as I read and I revel in the moment, wondering if I’ll ever snuggle kids of my own. Wondering if I even deserve to anymore.