Page 32 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

“Cash is fine.”

I dig a roll of bills and peel off fourteen hundred dollars.

Her eyes widen at the large amount of money.

“We good?”

“Yep. Thanks.”

We eat in silence for a while.

She’s not her usual bubbly self, and I know that’s my fault. I’ve done nothing but snap at her since she got here. I try to think of a way to break the ice that’s frozen between us, but I’m not very good at this kind of thing.

Before I can come up with anything, she gobbles down her cereal and slides off the stool, heading to the sink.

“Well, goodnight.”

My eyes trail after her. “Goodnight, Grace.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lucky—

Monday afternoon, I climb off my bike and grab the drink from the cup holder I borrowed from Brick. He gave me a look, but let me use it.

Heading inside, my phone rings. I check the screen.

“Yeah, Prez?” I pause on the porch, pressing the phone to my ear.

“We’ve got more toys for this run than we can carry on the bikes. Can we use your pickup to haul some of them?”

“Sure,” I say automatically, then pause. “Uh, Grace probably needs it to bring the girls to town to watch the parade.”

I open the door and walk through to the kitchen. Grace sits at the dining table, looking at an old cookbook of Melanie’s. I reach over her shoulder to set the Frappuccino down.

Her eyes get big, and she spins, but seeing I’m on the phone, she doesn’t speak.

I give her a wink and withdraw to the kitchen.

“All right, VP,” Prez says. “We’ll work something out. See ya later.” He disconnects and I slip my phone in my pocket.

Grabbing the jug of OJ out of the fridge, I chug some straight from the carton and look through the doorway to the dining room. I catch the big smile on Grace’s face as she takes a sip.

That right there made it all worth it.

I spot a plastic grocery bag hanging off the back of one of the barstools and peer inside. There are a couple of shirts which look used. I spy a receipt poking out and snag it.

Good Will.

She shopped at Good Will, and she spent a grand total of seven dollars.

I glance at the clock. It’s one pm. The girls don’t get out for two hours. Hooking the bag on my finger, I bring it into the dining room and drop it on the table in front of Grace. “Did you get a coat?”

“I… no. I haven’t found one yet.”

“You need a coat, Grace. And not some second-hand thing from Good Will.”

“What’s wrong with second-hand?” She glares at me.

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