Page 148 of Nine Week Nanny
I stop at a weathered bench beneath a massive Live Oak dripping with Spanish moss. The nearby streetlight casts his face in a kaleidoscope of shadows through the leaves.
Everything inside me screams to keep walking, but my legs won't cooperate.
"So you tracked me down just to tell me you love me?" The words come out sharper than intended. Self-preservation kicks in hard, a well-honed defense mechanism these days.
"Not just that." Pope takes the space beside me on the bench, maintaining careful distance between us. "I needed to thank you. For everything you did. And I wanted to tell you in person that I was sorry, that I should have done things differently, and if I could go back, I would.”
I can’t go there with him, so I pivot, grasping for safer ground. I can't believe I haven't even asked about Lennon. "How's Lennon? And Camila?"
His face transforms, softens in a way I've never seen before. The hard edges of CEO Pope Carrigan melt away, replaced by something else entirely.
"Lennon is thriving. Still at Seabreeze, still collecting shells." A smile touches his lips. "He talks about you every day. He asks when Sloane is coming back to read with the voices." He looks directly at me. "He misses you. We both do."
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest.
“Is he staying in Palm Beach? I thought the plan was always?—”
“Yes, he’s in school now at Palm Beach Day and kicking ass. He's such an amazing kid, and I owe a lot of that to you. You saved him. And me."
"Did Camila move there?" I'm so confused.
"Her divorce dragged out, and her housing situation got complicated." Pope leans forward, elbows on his knees. "So I petitioned myself."
"Petitioned what?"
"I'm adopting him, Sloane. Already had one home study, another scheduled next month. The final hearing is set forMay." His voice carries steady conviction. "I created a trust for him with Maria's insurance money and the proceeds from her house.”
I stare at him, unable to process this transformation.
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I'm proud of him, relieved for Lennon. But it terrifies me. This man before me isn't the one who insisted Lennon was a temporary responsibility. He's someone who rearranged his entire life for a child he barely knew.
If I let him in again and it falls apart, I won't survive it this time.
"That's wonderful for Lennon." My voice barely holds steady. "He deserves stability. You're a good man, Pope."
We walk back to my place in silence. The night feels different now. It’s heavier somehow, like a summer night after a rainstorm. Pope doesn't crowd me. He keeps space between us, and I'm grateful for that small mercy.
His SUV idles at the curb, the driver's silhouette visible through the windshield. The engine's soft purr underscores the rhythm of crickets in the park across the street.
I climb the three steps to the shared door into the foyer, fumbling with my keys. My fingers won't cooperate. Everything inside me is shaking.
Pope waits at the bottom of the steps, hands in his pockets. The light from my porch casts shadows across his face.
"I understand you're not ready." His voice is low, steady. "I won't push."
I turn, key finally in the lock, but not turned. "I'm sorry, Pope. I don’t want to give you false hope. I’ll never be ready.”
"I'm at Hotel Bennett on King Street." He shifts his weight, and for the first time tonight, I see uncertainty in his posture. "If you want to talk any more. Or let me buy you dinner. Or ask me more. Anything. I'll tell you anything you want to know, no morefixing or shielding you. But I also want you to know, there's no pressure."
My throat thickens with words I can't say. I nod instead.
"Lennon is spending the weekend with my mom and her partner, so I'm here until Sunday," he adds. "Three days."
The weight of what he's offering settles between us. Time. Space. Choice. All the things he didn't give me before.
I step down from my porch, closing the distance between us. Before I can overthink it, I wrap my arms around him in a brief hug. His body tenses in surprise before his arms encircle me.
The contact ignites everything I've been trying to suppress. His scent, the solid warmth of him, the way my body remembers exactly how to fit against his. It's overwhelming and not enough, all at once.
