Page 3 of The Double Play

I sigh. I’m not ready to think about working for a new family, but I know I can’t put it off forever. Mikayla and Patrick gave me a generous severance package, but even that will run out eventually.

Mikayla walks over to the kitchen sink and wets two paper towels, then wrings them out, giving one to me before using the other to wipe her face.

“I guess I should look into that job,” I say.

She gives me a half-smile. “Or you could move with us?”

I let out a soft laugh. “I wish I could, but I don’t want to leave Raven. She needs me.”

Mikayla nods in understanding. “I figured I’d give it one more shot. You know you’ll always be welcome in our home.”

I wipe under my eyes, breathing deep so that I don’t burst into tears again.

“So, who’s the family?” I ask, barely able to get the words out around the lump in my throat.

“Patrick was talking to his agent, Brock, about the transfer and brought you up since Brock has so many connections. As soon as Patrick mentioned you, Brock said it was perfect timing. Apparently, one of the guys he manages needs a nanny. He plays for the Cowboys. His name is Emmett Foster.”

I grimace. I know next to nothing about baseball. I learned a lot about football while working for Mikayla and Patrick, but I’ve never been much of a sports person. The only reason I even know the Cowboys are a baseball team is because my dad loves the sport. He tried to get me into it as a kid, but I couldn’t stay awake. In fact, that’s what my parents started putting on the television when I was fighting a nap. To my dad’s dismay, it worked like a charm.

“Baseball is not my forté.”

“I don’t think it’ll matter that you’re not a baseball fan,” Mikayla says with a laugh. “He just needs you to take care of his daughter. Which, of course, you’ll be amazing at. I’ll send you the information. Apparently, Emmett’s mom is conducting the interviews, so that’s who you’ll reach out to.”

I frown. That’s odd. I’d think that Emmett or his wife would want to be a part of the interview process. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to get an interview,” I say as I throw away my paper towel.

“Whoever you end up working for is going to love you. You’re the best nanny in the world, and the best friend a girl can have.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as tears burn my eyes again. “You’re the best boss, and the best friend in the world.”

We share another tearful hug. I go and give the twins a big squeeze before leaving. I’d say bye to Patrick, but he’s being interviewed for a sports segment on our local news about his departure. He and Mikayla did a lot of work in the community, so I know they’ll be missed by more than just me.

I pull away from their house, the electric gate shutting behind me as it’s done hundreds of times before. Only this is the last time. An aching void grows within me. I drive home with the radio off, the sound of my car on the asphalt breaking the silence. I wish I would just miss the Lawson family like the rest of our community, but it goes deeper than that. They gave me what I’ve longed for: a family of my own. When I took care of Daisy and Tansy, it helped soothe the sting of not having children myself.

All I’ve ever wanted was to have a husband and kids. But I’ve yet to meet a guy who has those same aspirations that I also mesh with. I’m twenty-five, and though I know I’m young, it feels like I’m rushing toward spinsterhood when I see all my friends from high school married with kids already, or at least with an engagement ring on their finger.

I let out a long, weighted sigh as I park in front of my apartment complex. Hopefully Emmett–or rather, his mom–will like me. The longer I’m alone, the bigger the hole in my chest will grow. That feeling isn’t one I’m fond of, so as much as I’m not ready to move on from the Lawsons, Ineedthis job.

Chapter three

Hazel James

It’sbeenthreeyearssince I last interviewed for a position. If my interview with Mikayla could even qualify as one. I had a few classes with her cousin in my final year of college, and he recommended me for the job. Then, when I arrived for the interview, Mikayla said she had a gut feeling I was the one right after she hugged me in greeting. We were strangers, but by the time the ‘interview’ was over, it felt like I’d known her for years.

So, I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing. I called Mikayla last night in a panic with half of my closet stacked on my bed because I didn’t know what to wear. Imighthave slept on a pile of laundry last night. I ended up choosing jeans and a pink top with ruffle accents. But now that I’m pulling up to a castle-like mansion, I’m wondering if I should have gone with the pencil skirt Mikayla said was ‘too formal.’

I climb out of my red Mini Cooper and tip my head back to take in the glory of the Foster home. The Lawsons’ house was lavish, but this place is on another level. It looks like a castle was shipped from England to Tennessee. The house is made entirely of pale gray bricks, with multiple turrets and a set of towering double doors at the top of a stone staircase. Behind me is a large stone fountain at the center of the circular driveway I parked in. The landscaping is impeccable, complete with crawling ivy that makes the estate look lived in.

I adjust the strap on my leather crossbody bag, then slowly make my way toward the stairs. My stomach tightens with nerves. I’m not terrible around people, but I am more introverted than extroverted. Suddenly I wish I would have taken Mikayla up on more of her countless invites to parties with the rich and famous of Nashville. Maybe I would have more experience talking to people who live in castles.

I search for a doorbell but don’t find one. The only way to alert anyone of my presence is to knock with my fist or use one of the large brass rings in the center of the door. I shrug, then reach up and lift the even-heavier-than-it-looks door knocker. It hits the door with a loud thud that makes me jump.

My heart picks up speed in my chest as I wait. Just as I’m about to try the knocker again, the door opens.

“These doors are ridiculous,” a woman huffs.

Slowly, a figure appears in the gap. An older woman with blonde hair and kind brown eyes tugs on the door with a frown. “I should have told you to come in through the garage. No one uses this entrance on account of how heavy these doors are.” I smile as she smooths out her short hair and then the pink gingham dress she’s wearing.

“Are you Mrs. Foster?” I ask, and she returns my smile with a bright one of her own.

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