Page 8 of Foster

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for a nanny,” I mumble.

“I’ve got you covered,” Brienne says. “One of my execs who’s relocating to our London office had a wonderful nanny the last few years. Let me see if she’s still available and you can interview her. But I’ll also get team services on finding other options and helping you prescreen eligible candidates.”

If I thought my head was spinning before, I’m so dizzy now I’m not sure I can stand from my chair. The prospect of becoming a full-time dad while managing a hockey career is terrifying, and yet… it’s also thrilling. Coming off one of the best summers of my life having Bowie Jane all to myself has me solidly set in my belief that I’d choose her over the league any day of the week and twice on Sunday. However, if I could have both my career and her… well, I’d…

Okay, not going to let myself get too excited. I’ve got shit to do.

Rising from my chair, I thank both Callum and Brienne before saying, “I’m ready to do whatever you tell me to do.”

“I’ll have an attorney you can talk to within the hour. I’ll see if I can set up a meeting with you and this potential nanny as quickly as possible. I’m sure we can have an order entered prohibiting Sandra from leaving the country by tomorrow, but it might take a little longer to handle the full-time custody issues.”

“Whatever it takes,” I assure her. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

CHAPTER 4

Mazzy

The last notes from Lily Kershaw’s “Ashes to Snow” fade from both my voice and my guitar strings. It’s one of my favorite covers to perform here at the Perco-Lately.

The clapping is not polite but exuberant and I get a wolf-whistle from the back. This coffee shop is one of the most popular in downtown and the coffee drinkers love their folk and indie pop music, and more importantly, they love me and Leo. We play here every other weekend and it’s a favorite of mine.

Leo… not so much. He’d rather play edgier stuff in bars and while I’m not opposed to that, those gigs never quite fit into my nannying schedule. However, given I’m temporarily between jobs, I’ve agreed to a few such events with him. But I really do hate those late nights.

Leo’s guitar chords pick up as mine fade. When we play together, each of us will sing individually, but mostly we duet. We’re both phenoms on the guitar and our voices harmonize perfectly.

The crowd recognizes the opening chords to “Leather and Lace” by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley, and a rousing cheer goes up. While the demographic in here is all over the place, from hip twenty-year-olds to millennials to Gen X, they all know a broad range of music.

Leo and I sit on stools, the stage slightly elevated and tucked into a corner. I’m wearing a pair of cargo pants, a Violent Femmes T-shirt that says “I Forget What Eight Was For” and a pair of sparkly flat sandals. None of it goes together, but that’s kind of my style. My red curls are piled on top of my head with some loose tendrils springing around my face. My makeup is light because I love my pale skin and freckles, but I always wear flavored lip gloss—today’s yumminess is mango-pineapple.

If I’m sort of a conglomeration of various styles, Leo is straight up edgy rocker who looks like he’s about to burst into Metallica—his favorite band of all time. He’s got on well-fitting jeans ripped at one thigh and the other knee, a sleeveless Queensrÿche T-shirt that fits like a glove to his broad and chiseled chest and his muscled arms are fully tatted. He wears his dark hair long and messy, and it falls around his face as he bows his head over his guitar while I sing Stevie’s first verse.

I can practically hear all the women swoon when Don Henley’s verse starts and Leo lifts his face, those hazel eyes sweeping over the crowd before his smile reveals perfect teeth.

Leo Stratham is the definition of hotness, but his smile does not melt my panties or make my heart flutter. I’ve never once swooned over him. We’ve been friends since grade school when our respective parents enrolled us in piano lessons together, then on through high school, by which time we’d both learned the guitar and bass and I’d even dabbled in the violin. We both had good voices and would meet up at my house to jam.

It was my mom who made an offhand comment one weekend as we sat on the back deck, plucking at our steel strings and trying different melodies. “You two should form a band.”

We looked at each other, our hands stilling on our acoustic guitars. I played my grandfather’s Martin D-18, which I still play to this day, although now I have three other guitars. Leo had a Gretsch Rancher, his favorite. A silent message passed between us. “We should totally form a band.”

I’m not sure exactly what constitutes a band. It seems it should be more than two people and contain more instruments than two acoustic guitars, and while we both play the piano and keyboards just fine, we’ve never brought on any more members. Instead, we’ve stuck to our six-strings. It’s what we do best, marrying my raspy, lilting tone best suited for ballads and his edgier, deeper voice that melts panties with any rock song.

With my sandaled feet perched on the lowest rung of my stool, I sway to the melody, leaning slightly forward toward my microphone. Leo has one combat-booted foot on the rung, the other long leg stretched in front of him. His microphone stand is between his legs, and I glance out across the patrons, noting every woman’s eyes are pinned on him. I grin and pick up on the lyrics where he leaves off.

I don’t sing in coffeehouses or bars for the money but for the pleasure of sharing music with others. As a full-time nanny for the last seven years, I make ridiculously good money along with benefits. Although my prior job just ended, I’ve received several offers this week because I’m good at what I do. I last worked for an executive who’s transferring out of the country and he gave me a stupendous review.

Leo, on the other hand, lives hand-to-mouth on the earnings we make together. I can only usually do one gig a week with him when I’m nannying but he plays on his own and with another band, usually seven days or nights a week. He lives in a seedy apartment with two other guys over in McKees Rocks and eats ramen for most meals. Still, he loves his music so much, with grand dreams of getting noticed and signed to a label, that he’ll happily live the rest of his life this way for that one shot.

We finish “Leather and Lace,” our last song of the evening, to even stronger applause and people calling out for an encore.

Leo looks over at me. “Want to do a few more?”

I check my watch and shake my head. “I can’t. Got another job interview.”

“I thought you’d already decided on a job,” he says softly, placing his hand over the microphone and leaning toward me.

“I did but I’ve been asked to do one more interview—special favor to Sasha. It won’t change my mind, but I agreed.”

Sasha and Craig Hamberly were my former employers, and I worked for them for four years, watching their five-year-old son and two-year-old daughter. Sasha and Craig are executives with Norcross Holdings and apparently Brienne Norcross herself called in the favor. One of her hockey players is in quick need of a qualified nanny and while I really didn’t want to spend the time or energy doing another interview when my mind was made up, I love the Hamberlys like my own family and I’d do anything for them.

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