Page 50 of Dr. Single Dad

She would be. But I’m not sureIwould be.

“You go,” I say. “It will recharge you. It will be nice to have some time with your family.”

He raises his eyebrows and I smile.

“Take some time,” I say.

He stares at me for a second, then two, then three. I have to look away. Is he deciding whether or not to go? Does he want to say something? Wantmeto say something?

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

I nod vigorously.

“Then tonight,” he adds, “we should talk. About last night.”

The pulse in my ears pounds.

Talk about last night? What does that mean?

The time alone with Guinevere should be a relief, but instead the quiet that descends over the house just gives my brain the freedom to wonder what Dax wants to say. Is he going to fireme? Is he going to apologize or claim he had a little too much wine at dinner? Say he didn’t mean it, and he doesn’t think of me as anything more than the nanny?

I almost can’t decide which outcome I dread the most.

Whichever way it goes, I want to be in London when it does. I don’t want to be surrounded by his family, in the middle of nowhere, without being able to escape.

“Can we press pause and talk when we’re back in London?” I suggest. “I would prefer that.”

“Yeah. We can do that.”

At least if he fires me, I’ll be able to go over to Callie’s in the evening. I’ll be able to escape. Lick my wounds. And then work my notice.

TWENTY

Dax

Guinevere won’t take her bottle. The sounds of her fussing down the hall are a distraction from the article I’m trying to read, but Eira is with her. I need to tune her out and focus, though I’m realizing that’s easier said than done. I’ve been spoiled until now—she’s never been fussy before. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken her to Norfolk. She’s gone from an environment of nonstop noise, being passed around like we’re playing day-long games of pass the parcel, people cooing and ahhhing, to…still, quiet, peace. It’s just the three of us, now we’re back in London.

I’m bracing myself for a talk with Eira. Things between us have been… I’ve been so close to kissing her. More than once. But I’m her boss. She’s my daughter’s nanny. She lives in my home. She’s more than off limits, but I could probably be thrown in prison for some of the dirty thoughts I’ve been having about her.

It has to stop. I have to explain that things should stay professional between us. I can’t go through another nanny search again. I don’t want Eira to resign when I fuck thingsup or can’t give her what she needs. What she deserves. And she deserveseverything. I’m just going to have to grit my teeth and do the impossible: tell her we have to keep things strictly professional.

Eira appears in the doorway.

“Are you ready to talk?” I ask. I squint as I notice her pallor, white as the shirt she’s wearing.

“We need to take Guinevere to the hospital,” she says, her words tight and firm. “I think it will be quicker than calling an ambulance.”

My stomach drops to my knees as she turns and heads out of the kitchen. I scramble after her. “What’s happened?”

I follow her into my bedroom, where she pulls out the baby bag we took to Norfolk.

“She has a fever of thirty-eight point four. That’s up since the last time I checked. She’s not eating. She’s fussy. She just threw up. Not just some spit-up—actual vomit.” She moves to the crib and pulls open Guinevere’s sleepsuit. “There’s mottling and a spot. In fact there are three. They’re fading at the moment but?—”

The room starts to spin and I have to remind myself to breathe.

Eira thinks Guinevere has meningitis.

“I’ll get the pram out.” She doesn’t need to say anything more. Instantly, I feel a bloody useless fool not to have caught it first. I’m the doctor in the house, but the diagnosis didn’t even occur to me. “Can you get some things together?”

---