Page 68 of Marrying the Nanny

“Really? I spill my guts and you can’t give me even the abridged version?”

“I was young and stupid; he was immature and angry. I thought he loved me and would take me away to live happily ever after. Instead, he dumped me and I punished him by doing a lot of stupid things that he doesn’t even know about. I sure showed him. Which isn’t to say I regret Biyen. I will be forever grateful that my mother got to hold my baby, but being pregnant at eighteen while Mom was sick was hard. Having a new baby while I was grieving was hard. Even now when my life is pretty stable, things aren’t easy.”

Sophie used a fork to scrape up the bits of fish and veg that had fallen from her taco. When she lifted her gaze, she spoke gravely.

“I know you wanted kids with Kevin. What he did to you was awful. But imagine if he was the guy you had to share custody with. I don’t hate Nolan, but he drives me bananas and my life would be simpler without him. He has a right to see his son, though. Biyen has a right to see him and love him with his whole, earnest heart, if that’s what he so desires. I have to accommodate that. Think about all of that as you’re considering Reid’s proposal. What if it doesn’t work out? What will that look like?”

Emma looked at the juicy mess on her own plate and nodded. “I hear you. Thanks for lunch.”

*

Reid took flack walking around the village with a baby strapped to his chest, but Storm put a smile on every face so he accepted the dent to his hard-ass image.

He toured the finished and furnished Ocean View Lodge, where the proposed fine-dining restaurant had been reconfigured into a self-contained luxury suite. He studied the reservation book at the main lodge, and made note of tasks still to be completed. He assigned a few workers to get started on the pub roof and checked on the cooler at the general store, where he learned the compressor had arrived, but hadn’t yet been installed.

Sophie was coming back from lunch and gave him a strange look—hostile? Suspicious? She agreed to make the compressor happen that afternoon, though.

“Everything under control?” he asked. “With Logan gone, I mean.”

“The place has managed for thirteen years without him. I can handle twenty-four hours,” she said with a blithe smile.

No thaw, then. “I’m here if you need an extra pair of hands.”

“I see you have an extra pair of hands.” She caught one of Storm’s and made a kissy noise against her tiny palm.

When Storm fell asleep, Reid went back to his office and set her on the quilted play mat under the activity gym. He fetched a fresh coffee, put both cell and landline on do-not-disturb, then closed his door with instructions that he not be interrupted.

Time to properly analyze the ecotour information Trystan had compiled. Torturing numbers made Reid a kinky SOB, but he genuinely loved it. He started punching figures into a spreadsheet, estimating cost of operation and income projections from the existing bookings. He was hoping the profit margin would be enough they could sell that segment, not feel compelled to keep it.

That wish was not to be granted. There was enough money to be made for him and his brothers to see a two-point increase on their investment if they kept that under the Raven’s Cove umbrella as part of the eventual sale. More work, obviously, but with a slightly better payoff.

Someone tapped on his door.

He clenched his teeth against calling out, shot a look at the sleeping baby, but Emma poked her head in.

He touched his finger to his lips.

She followed his gaze to the corner and crept in quietly, closing the door behind her.

“Sorry,” she said in an anxious whisper. “I really need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?” His stomach knotted.

She must have decided to reject his proposal. He never should have brought it up. He shouldn’t have let himself get attached to the idea. Seriously, why did it sting so much?

“I found this in the closet.” She lowered onto the chair across from him and put a padded envelope on his desk.

He frowned, thrown by the fact this wasn’t about their marrying.

“What is it?” The envelope was torn open on one end. The return address was a prosecutor’s office in California. Oh.

He glanced at Emma’s round eyes and pale face, then dragged his attention back to the tattered customs form adhered to the envelope. The contents were listed as one book worth twelve dollars.

“That’s who sent the baby book. Tiffany’s sister. Cloe. There’s a letter.”

He plucked out the folded page. It was from a yellow legal pad and was covered in a round, girlish scrawl.

Tiff,

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