Page 21 of Mornings By the Linden Tree
“No, that is not it at all.” I blew out a shaky breath before tearing my sight from my ward to look at Lennon. “I’m not sure how well I can handle having a man who I’m attracted to so close at hand.”
“Ah, okay, I was hoping your reluctance was due to the crippling pull we have with each other,” he said, placing a hand on my knee. My body reacted instantly. Blood raced south. Whatever it was this young man had, my entire being was wholly into it. “We can always just play things as they come, no pun intended.” I chuckled uneasily but could not ask him toremove his hand. I liked how warm it was. “I mean, if things get romantic, then we can decide how to proceed from that point.”
“Do you think romance is in the cards? I’m considerably older than you, and according to a few men I’ve known, I am not the easiest person to kindle a spark with.”
“I love how you talk,” he said with warmth. “And yes, I could totally see romance with you. I think you are incredibly hot and we get along well.” My dick was enjoying this conversation far too much. I glanced at my niece who had now removed her shoes and socks. Why? Why would she go barefoot in a public space? I dug out the hand sanitizer.
“Hold that thought.” I left Lennon, and that strong hand on my knee, to round up my ward, her footwear, and bring her to our spot. Then I rubbed sanitizer into her little feet. My finger going between her toes made her giggle madly, which made Lennon giggle as well. Once her feet were cleansed, I dressed her feet, and she climbed into my lap with a yawn.
“Sorry for that interruption.” Valeria patted my chest softly. I rummaged into her backpack to find a tiny paisley bunny. She cradled it to her and let her eyes close. “Thank you for the compliment. I try to stay in shape.”
“You are succeeding,” Lennon replied softly as our gazes met. “How about we just say this is a temporary hand from a friend? You can return to work a few days while you continue your search for a nanny without stressing. I’ll be happy to get the extra income and spend time with Valeria. If things between us get cozy, then go us.”
“Cozy,” I whispered as I inhaled the sweet smell of baby shampoo. I’d never really gotten cozy with another man, or anyone, for that matter. Cozy. What a charming word for such a monumentally massive possibility. “Yes, that sounds good. I’ll check your references and will contact you soon.”
His smile nearly bowled me over.
Funny how at one time, I had possessed a modicum of restraint.
“So,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “Shall we start the interview?”
Truly it was just a formality to assuage the nervous voice in my head begging me to reconsider letting Lennon get even closer. Oddly enough, that internal speaker sounded a great deal like an eight-year-old Wesley.
Chapter Nine
During our interview—a conversation to assess his qualifications that he aced but felt biased so I required a second cooler head to sit in on the second interview Monday—we agreed Lennon would have a two-week trial as Valeria’s primary caregiver when I was at work given he passed all the prerequisites social services would have in place. I had no great worries that he would have any difficulties.
We decided to have a short tryout this morning, bright and early Sunday, with Ms. Markes on standby, while I took a run. I was astounded and impressed that the young woman now in charge of our case would be so willing to work on a Sunday. That said a lot about her dedication to ensuring her cases were overseen properly. Now if I could manage to stay awake long enough to greet my guests…
Our night was ghastly as always, Valeria refusing to sleep in any bed, and so we ended up passing out on the sofa around three in the morning. My phone alarm went off at six. I sat up, rolled the child off my numb legs, and slowly rose. My neck was nearly locked up from sleeping with my head propped on thearm of the couch, my vertebrae felt out of alignment, and my left hip popped with each creaky step I took. Coffee. I needed coffee.
While I waited for the magical bean juice, I yawned, pattered to the small downstairs powder room, and relieved myself. It was only as I was washing up afterward that I got a good look at myself in the small imported Italian mirror over the sink. I looked awful. I’d aged at least ten years in the past month. My skin was dry, my hair even more so, and my goatee was as overgrown as my neighbor’s wildflower patch. Wildflowers my ass. She and her dog were just too cheap to hire a gardener like the rest of us who lived on this street. Making the world better for the bees my ass. Did she not think we didn’t know the difference between an ecologically grown patch of native blooms and a flowerbed that had gone to ruin?
I slapped my cheeks with damp hands. It did little to restore my usually robust complexion.
“The undead walk Beacon Street,” I moaned to myself, flipped the light off, and went to gather my coffee. With a cup of heaven in hand, I flopped down in the nook, sipped my way to a semi-coherent state, and then ate the leftover Pop-Tart Valeria had left on a paper plate at midnight. “How the mighty have fallen.”
Also, it was strawberry, a flavor I disliked, but I was hungry and lacked the energy to fix something more healthy. This was how it began. The decline of the adult body started not because you left college and your chosen athletic endeavors behind to work. No, the adult body fell to ruin because children entered your life, stole your sleep, and left you too dilapidated to whip up an egg white omelet for yourself.
The breakfast pastry disappeared as did my coffee. Feeling no better than I had when I woke, I went to fetch my Sunday copy ofThe Globefrom the front stoop, then curled up in my soft leather recliner, with yet another cup of coffee, to read the week’s news.I didn’t make it past the editorial page before I was out like the proverbial light.
The ringing of the doorbell jarred me out of the best sleep I’d had in days. I sat up, blinked at the cold cup of coffee resting by my hand, and had a moment of complete confusion. Then it came to me. Sunday. Run. Lennon meeting the social worker. Doorbell. A pinto bean, one of a handful, scattered on the table fell from my cheek. I dashed several more away, a few bouncing to the floor. Broom. We would broom later.
“Shit,” I mumbled, throwing a glance at the microwave in the wall. “Shit,” I snarled when I saw that it was eight o’clock. Stumbling over myself I darted to the front door, lounge pants sliding down my hips, and drool drying on my chin, to open the door to Ms. Markes, a pudgy woman fresh out of college, with bright red hair, freckles, and a bag of donuts from a national donut chain. “Good morning,” I softly said as I tried to look self-possessed.
“I brought donuts,” she said with a gentle smile. She was as pale as cottage cheese. Perhaps the whitest white person I had ever seen. “I hope that’s okay?”
“Fine, yes, we love donuts,” I whispered as I stepped aside. “Come in. Please forgive my manners. We had a rough night.” I felt as if I should get a T-shirt made with those five words emblazoned on the front so I didn’t have to keep explaining why I looked like a waste management truck had run over me. Several times.
Ms. Markes glanced at Valeria snoring on the sofa as we crept past it toward the kitchen.
“Her records show she’s been having night terrors, and while that is very upsetting for everyone in the household, it’s also normal after a child has suffered trauma. Oh, thank you.” I smiled feebly as I took the bag of baked goods from her, then motioned for her to sit at the island. The nook was a mess ofdried beans, crayons, and toast crumbs. “Are you attending your biweekly sessions with Dr. Bajaj?”
“We are,” I said over my shoulder while arranging donuts and bear claws on a dinner plate. “Coffee?”
“Please, yes, my fiancée and I were at a dinner party last night when I got your message. We should have left earlier, but she was having such a good time that we didn’t get home until after midnight, so I’m a little muddy,” she explained with a tenderness in her tone.
“Rest assured your mental fugue is not going to be commented on by me. I woke up with pinto beans stuck to my face.”
