Page 8 of Sheltering Lily

“Stains can always be scrubbed out,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow at me, the perfect arch showing over the rim of her glasses. Some days she didn’t wear them, so I suspected she had contacts as well. I liked how the glasses looked on her. They set off her features, especially when her thick, dark hair was down as it was then. One curl brushed her shoulder, making my fingers itch to touch it. I’d had similar thoughts more than once in the past weeks, but I’d ruthlessly controlled them.

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t freak out if you came home and found cake batter splattered in the oven or grape juice oozing from the refrigerator?” she asked.

I chuckled. “Okay, I admit I’m a neat freak, but as part and parcel of that, I’ve got an arsenal of cleaning products and I know exactly how to use them. Feel free to make a mess.” I kept my response light. We both knew she had a point about me liking everything just so, and it was clear she was enjoying creating images that would bother me. I liked that she teased me, but I wanted to prove that I wasn’t that uptight.

Her lips curved up. “You went pale and broke out in a sweat when I suggested that Sofia might like some art supplies. I’m guessing that your analytical brain considered every possible stain, blob, and mark, as well as how to combat them, within thirty seconds. Am I right?”

“Maybe.” Okay, definitely. But once I had figured out how to deal with all the potential stains, I’d gone right out and bought the items she’d requested. Partly because I thought Sofia would like them and partly because my nanny had a way of asking that was tough to refuse.

“I was shocked you agreed. Tell me…” She dropped her voice low, and it took on a seductive edge. “Did going to the art supply store give you anxiety?”

“It was terrifying,” I said, playing along with her and enjoying the flirtation. “All that color and clutter.”

“Did you organize anything while you were there?” she asked.

I bit my lip. I had rearranged some paints that were in the wrong bins while I made my selections.

“You did.” Her laugh rang out, taking any sting out of her accusation. “Oh, that’s too funny. I’d like to have seen that.”

“Is Sofia enjoying the stuff I bought?” I’d gladly risk stains and blobs if it made my daughter happy.

“She is. We’ve been focusing on identifying shapes and colors so far, but the watercolors come out next.”

I contained the shiver that went through me at the thought, but I was also glad I’d hired the woman next to me. She was bringing Sofia joy and teaching her at the same time. That was exactly what I had hoped to get from a nanny. I was lucky to have found her, even if it was temporary. And I won’t ruin it by making a pass at her, no matter how tempting she might look when she’s teasing me.

“Thanks for what you’re doing with Sofia.” I was grateful every evening when I came home and found Sofia gleefully playing or contentedly asleep.

“That’s the job,” Lily said. “And she’s such a delight to be around that I don’t feel like I’m working. You’re lucky.”

“I know.” I felt my luck. Fatherhood wasn’t something I’d expected, not yet at least. I’d thought down the road I’d meet the right woman and we’d have kids, have that perfect family. I didn’t want to shortchange Sofia just because the circumstances were different.

“Can I ask a question?” She eyed me.

“Sure,” I said, unable to tell what direction her thoughts were taking.

“I’m curious about the display case in the living room with the decks of cards.” She propped her elbow on the island and turned toward me, resting her hand against the side of her face. “You don’t seem like a gambler or a collector, although some of the decks look old. My guess is that they mean something special to you.”

“They do,” I answered. “I’m a card player of sorts.”

“Really? What’s your game?”

“Well, I play poker with a group of guys once a week, but my real game is bridge.” What my brothers had termed “the complicated old-fashioned game.”

“Unusual choice for our generation. My parents and grandparents play, but I don’t think I know anyone younger who’s into the game.”

“Yeah. I have to go to the senior center to find partners.” The seniors always found it amusing when I showed up to their card nights. I hadn’t had as much time to do that since Sofia came into my life.

“There must be a story behind your love for the game,” she said. “Will you tell me?”

I considered saying no or brushing her off with a promise of telling her later, but something about her put me at ease. “You know that I’m close to Chance and Zach, and I’ve told you about Alex,” I began. “They’re good men.”

“Like you,” she interrupted softly.

“Thanks.” I accepted her words, feeling a little thrill at the unexpected compliment. “But part of the reason we all work so hard to be there for each other is because growing up was rough. For me and my brothers, our parents were shit. Mom left when I was six. Dad wasn’t a man who should have had children. Zach, Alex, and I survived by sticking together. By the time we were in our early teens, we were headed down the wrong road. Fortunately, a teens-at-risk program connected us with a retired admiral, Peter Anderson. He took us in, became our foster father, and through one hell of a lot of work and love on his part, turned us around.”

“That’s when you got close to Chance and the other McCallisters?”

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