Page 136 of The Nanny Goal

She looks down at our hands. “I don’t know how summer vacation in New York sounds to you…”

“It sounds great,” I say immediately. “We’ll make it work. We would anyway, because it’s where you need to be. But there are some really solid off-season goalie coaches in Jersey. We can spend the entire summer with you if that’s what you want.”

The little hesitation even as she as nods makes me feel like shit. I pull her back against me with my free arm, our hands still clasped. My heartbeat slows as soon as I’m wrapped around her again.

“I’ll even get Inessa into a preschool there,” I murmur into her hair.

“Pretty sure New York preschools are more competitive than Hamilton’s,” she mumbles.

“I’ve heard money can make things happen. For us to be with you? I would happily spend it.”

“Or we could find you a proper nanny this week, and they could come with you.”

“I don’t—” I cut my protest off. Because she’s right. I do need to find a nanny, at least for the playoffs and the summer.

And they won’t be a replacement for Emery.

Because Emery was never my nanny. She was my chef, and my EBUB, and a friend, and then my lover.

And unlike her parents, I don’t think it’s her job to fix this gap in childcare for me.

Which brings us full circle back to the text message she sent me that brought us to this moment.

I stroke her thumb with mine. “Tell me about your phone call with your parents.”

CHAPTER44

EMERY

“Ugh.” I roll my head, my neck suddenly tense. “I don’t want to.”

“But I want to know. And you heard my struggles.”

I lean my cheek against his. “I love being this close to you.”

“Same.” His free hand drags up and down my spine. And then he lowers his voice and whispers, “Did your parents make my problem your problem?”

“Yeah.” I take a deep breath.

He keeps rubbing my back.

“What else?” Again, he whispers the question. Low, slow, soft.

“Wait, are you…” I gasp. “Are you doing the TikTok hack fortoddler tantrumson me?”

“I…forgot it was for tantrums,” he continues to whisper. And his rubbing hand slides up to the base of my neck. “Would a neck rub help?”

I’m never going to say no to a neck rub.

“Maybe,” I admit, letting my head fall forward, until my forehead is resting on his shoulder.

He releases my hand and gives it his full attention, his thumbs finding all the points where I’m holding tension and working me into a puddle of goo in his lap.

As I relax, I start to tell him about the phone call. The whole story just slides out of me, no hesitation, no distress.

“I don’t want this to sound likeIdon’t care about the bind this puts you in, because I do, but I also know we’ll figure it out,” I mumble. “But that was literally all they cared about. I had to hang up on them.”

“You wanted them to be excited for you.”

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