Page 33 of Nanny for the Bikers

“I don’t mind,” Ayla says, her tone softening. She turns to face me, leaning back against the counter. “I like taking care of things. Of people. It’s just how I am…what I’m used to.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard. I know there’s more to her story, more to the sadness that lingers in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.

But for now, I just nod, holding her gaze. I won’t push too hard. I want her to open up to me on her own time when she’s ready. “Well, we appreciate it. More than you know.” I clear my throat, breaking the moment. “The table is ready by the way, chief.”

We work side by side, moving in a comfortable rhythm as we lay out plates and silverware. Ayla hums softly under her breath, a tune I don’t recognize but find soothing, nonetheless.

As I reach for the glasses, my hand brushes against hers. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm at the contact, and I nearly drop the glass. Ayla steadies it with deft fingers, her touch lingering a beat longer than necessary.

“Careful there,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. “Wouldn’t want to break anything.”

I swallow hard, my skin tingling where she touched me. “No, we wouldn’t want that.”

We finish setting the table in charged silence, the air heavy with unspoken words. I can’t help but steal glances at Ayla as she moves, admiring the graceful lines of her body, the way her hair swings like a dark curtain down her back.

Get it together, Clay. She’s your nanny, not a piece of eye candy.

I mentally shake myself, forcing my thoughts back to safer territory. “I can’t wait to dig in.”

Ayla flashes me a smile over her shoulder as she carries the pasta bowl to the table. “Then let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Just as we’re about to dig in, Piper’s soft babbling draws our attention.

“Looks like someone needs a diaper change,” Ayla says, already rising from her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch as she scoops Piper up, fussing softly to her as she carries her out of the room. The ease with which Ayla handles her, the tender way she cradles my daughter against her chest, sends a pang of longing through me.

Lost in thought, I barely notice when Ayla returns, a freshly changed Piper nestled in her arms. She gently lowers her into the bouncer, making sure she’s securely strapped in before giving the toy bar a playful spin.

Piper gurgles happily, her tiny hands reaching out to bat at the colorful shapes dancing above her head.

“There we go, all set,” Ayla says, straightening up with a satisfied smile. “Now we can eat in peace.”

She slides back into her seat, and for a moment, we simply look at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between us. “When do you think Teller and Kip will be back?” She asks.

I shake my head, shrugging. “They tend to come and go as they please. Never know when they’ll show up.”

Ayla nods, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “Should we wait for them?”

“Nah,” I say, waving off her concern. “They’re big boys. They can fend for themselves.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Besides, more for us, right?”

Ayla laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I like the way you think, Clay.”

We dig into our meals, the conversation flowing easily between bites. Ayla tells me about her day with Piper, the little moments that made her smile. I find myself hanging on her every word, captivated by the way her eyes light up when she talks about my daughter.

As we eat, I can’t help but marvel at how natural this all feels. Sitting here with Ayla, sharing a meal and stories, it’s like we’ve been doing this for years.

And as I watch her, the way she smiles, the way she laughs, I realize that I’m not just content. I’m happy. Truly, genuinely happy. And it’s all because of her.

18

AYLA

Clay’s voice pulls me from my thoughts…I hadn’t even realized how deeply I was thinking. “You seem lost in thought over there. Penny for your thoughts?” His tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine interest, like he truly wants to know what’s on my mind.

I hesitate, toying with my fork. Can I trust him with a piece of my story? The instinct to guard my heart is strong, but something in Clay’s open, honest face compels me to share.

“I was just thinking how nice and normal this is. Sitting down to a real meal together.” I take a deep breath. “Growing up, my family... we never did this. Never had family dinners or anything like that.”

---