Page 15 of The Wolf's Plus-Size Nanny

She chews on her bottom lip, clearly weighing her options. “What about my rent? I can’t just break my lease.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I promise. “Sublease, find someone to take over, whatever it takes. You shouldn’t have to kill yourself trying to make ends meet.”

Sonya lets out a slow breath, her eyes drifting to Fiona, who’s now dozing off against her shoulder. “And you’re sure this is what you want?”

I nod without hesitation. “Absolutely. You’re a big part of why Fiona’s even settled. You’ve been here every step of the way, and I want you here, Sonya. I need you here.”

Her gaze sharpens, searching my face for any sign of doubt or hidden motives. I let her look, not shying away from the scrutiny. Finally, she sighs, her shoulders sagging in what looks like reluctant acceptance.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll do it. I’ll move in.”

Relief floods through me, and I offer her a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Sonya. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Sonya nods, though her expression remains wary. “We’ll see.”

I watch Sonya as she stands, cradling Fiona with that effortless grace she’s got, and something tightens in my chest.This is good—she’ll be here, and we’ll figure things out. But the reality of living together, day in and day out, hits me like a punch I wasn’t expecting. She’s not just moving in; she’s moving into my space, my life. And Sonya’s the kind of woman who doesn’t hold back, who’ll call me out on every screw-up and expect me to step up.

I swallow hard as the weight of it all settles in. It’s not just about Fiona anymore. It’s about Sonya and me sharing a roof, figuring out how to coexist without biting each other’s heads off. Sonya’s got her own way of doing things, and I’m not exactly known for compromising. Our constant bickering isn’t going to magically disappear just because we’ve decided to play house. If anything, it’s going to get more intense.

I can already picture the fights over the little things—her nagging me to clean up, me pushing back just to see her flare up. It’s a stupid, endless loop, and we’re both too stubborn to back down. But then there’s the other side, the one where I can’t deny how much I’m starting to enjoy her being here, even when she’s driving me nuts.

As she walks toward the nursery, I can’t shake the nagging thought that maybe I’ve just signed up for more than I bargained for. Living with Sonya means I’ll have to deal with her on a whole new level, and I’m not sure I’m ready for the reality of what that looks like. Because the truth is, the more time I spend around her, the more I’m starting to see past the arguments and the tough exterior. And that scares the hell out of me.

This isn’t going to be easy. Sonya’s fierce and opinionated, and she’s not going to let me off the hook when things get tough. But maybe that’s exactly what I need—a kick in the ass to be better, to do better.

Or maybe it’s going to blow up in my face, and I’ll be left wondering why I ever thought living with Sonya Welsh was a good idea.

Chapter 7 - Sonya

I’ve moved in with Jack Thomas, and I’m already wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake. The house is a whirlwind of half-finished projects, and boxes are everywhere. My suitcase sits awkwardly in the living room, surrounded by a sea of Fiona’s baby gear and random piles of Jack’s stuff. Jack’s out helping Alpha Evan go through food inventory, and I’m standing in the middle of this chaos, feeling like I’ve walked into a storm I’m not ready for.

Fiona’s asleep in her crib, looking like a tiny bundle of peace in the otherwise disorderly room, and I take a second to just breathe. The quiet is nice, a stark contrast to the constant hum of stress I’ve been carrying around. It’s weird, but the idea of not having to race between three jobs just to make rent is both a relief and a new kind of anxiety. I’ve spent so long trying to prove I can do it on my own that accepting help feels like admitting failure. But then again, I didn’t have many options left.

I’m grateful Jack didn’t press me for details when I told him why I stayed in Green Lake. It’s one thing to say I wanted a fresh start; it’s another to admit that going back to Stardust Hollow would’ve meant facing a million questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Jack, to his credit, just nodded and let it be, and I’m thankful for that small mercy.

I pull my hair into a loose bun, glancing around the kitchen that’s in desperate need of some organization once again. It’s like Jack never quite got the hang of putting things away, and if I’m going to be living here, I might as well make it livable.

I start with the basics—putting Fiona’s bottles in a sensible place, rearranging the cabinets so I can actually findthings. It’s almost therapeutic, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m doing something that’s purely for me.

After an hour of sorting through the mess, the kitchen looks halfway decent. I wipe the sweat off my brow and glance at the clock. Fiona’s still napping, which is a miracle considering how unpredictable her sleep schedule can be. I take advantage of the rare quiet, grabbing a quick snack and leaning against the counter. I should be unpacking, but honestly, the idea of having my own space—even if it’s just the spare room down the hall—feels like such a luxury that I’m in no rush. For once, there’s no landlord breathing down my neck, no customers yelling at me for their coffee, and no ticking clock telling me I’m late for my next shift.

It’s strange, feeling this light. I haven’t felt this kind of ease in… well, maybe ever.

Jack’s been decent about everything, which surprises me more than it should. He’s gone most of the day handling whatever pack business keeps him so busy, but he’s always here when it matters—tucking Fiona in at night, taking over when she’s fussy, and making sure she sleeps in her room even when I offer to keep her with me. It’s like he’s determined to make up for lost time, and as much as I give him crap, I can’t help but respect that. Jack’s got his flaws, but when it comes to Fiona, it’s clear he’s all in.

With Fiona still out cold, I decide to keep going. The living room needs help, too—half the furniture is shoved against the walls like Jack never decided on a layout, and there are stacks of old magazines and random gear that just don’t have a home. Typical Jack, as I’ve come to learn. All impulse, no follow-through. He probably built this cabin on a whim without giving it much thought at all.

I get about halfway through folding a mess of baby clothes when I feel the exhaustion creeping in. The couch looks inviting,and before I know it, I’m lying down, just for a second. I close my eyes, telling myself I’ll get right back up. But the quiet of the house, combined with the sheer relief of not having to run myself ragged, is too much to resist. My eyelids grow heavy, and before I know it, I’m out.

I wake up to the sound of Fiona’s soft breathing still coming from the baby monitor, and I watch the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest on the screen. A quick glance at the clock tells me I’ve been out for nearly an hour. My muscles are stiff from the awkward position I fell asleep in, and I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The house is still quiet, and I realize Jack must still be out. Good. I’ve got time to get my bearings and finish what I started.

I stretch and wince at the lingering ache in my back. Living out of a suitcase and couch-surfing between shifts has done a number on me. I feel gritty and disheveled, and a shower sounds like the best idea I’ve had all day. I head to the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair and trying to make myself look somewhat human again.

The door’s slightly ajar, which strikes me as odd because I remember closing it earlier. I push it open the rest of the way, and the instant I step inside, the sound of running water hits me. The bathroom is full of steam, fogging up the mirror and curling the edges of the wallpaper. Before I can process what’s happening, I see Jack’s silhouette behind the glass shower door, clear as day.

Crap.

“Oh my God, sorry!” I squeak, backing out so fast, I nearly trip over the bathmat. My face flushes hot, and I’m not sure if I should run, hide, or somehow erase the last five seconds from existence. I slam the door shut behind me, and my heart is pounding as if I’ve just sprinted a mile.

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