Page 7 of Nine Week Nanny
"Denver."
"In town for business?"
"Yes. My company just acquired a hospital. I’m here to make sure the transition’s smooth."
"Oh, nice. I’m in healthcare, too. Sort of. Pediatric therapist."
"Interesting. So you moved here for that?"
"Yep. Never been to Palm Beach before. Got the job and took the leap."
I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my mouth.
The conversation finds its rhythm. She’s quick with her responses, sharp enough to keep pace. The bartender drops fresh drinks, and I notice her fingers have stopped tapping against her glass.
“You’re the calculating businessman who doesn’t drink at the bar," she teases, glancing at my sparkling water.
"I like keeping a clear head." I lean in just enough to close the space. "Especially when something catches my attention."
A flush blooms across her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. "And what exactly caught your attention today?"
Her eyes hold mine, steady and unhurried. I let the question hang, not in a rush to hand her the obvious answer.
"Sparkling water and small talk. You might be the most unexpected thing I’ve run into all week."
Her voice is lighter now, but there’s something underneath, like she’s carrying the weight of a day that didn’t go her way.
"I think I'll take that as a compliment. I'm not usually one for small talk."
"You should. I meant it as one. Thanks for taking the time to speak. You're the first person I've talked to in person here that isn't working in my condo's rental office or a barista taking my order."
I shift toward her, resting my forearm on the bar so I’m angled in her direction. She doesn’t back away. "Now that you mention it, you're my first conversation outside of work and hotel staff. And Citrine, of course."
"Cheers," she says, lifting her glass to mine.
Her mouth curves, not in a practiced, picture-perfect way, but just enough to pull my focus. My eyes catch there a beat longer than they should before I look back up.
"So what does a Southern girl do in Palm Beach when she’s not unpacking or working?"
She exhales through her nose, almost a laugh, but not quite. "I wouldn’t know yet. Like I said, only been here a few days, and I've spent most of my time looking at boxes and feeling overwhelmed, trying to figure out where to start. Hence, the solo trips to the bar at night for three nights in a row. Pathetic, right?”
I let that sit for a second, turning her words over. The way she said it, matter-of-fact with no embellishment, tells me more than she probably intended.
“Not at all. I can identify with that."
She takes a slow sip from her glass, gaze steady on mine over the rim. When she sets it down, her fingers linger on the stem like she’s deciding whether she’s done.
"And you?" she asks. "When you’re not smoothing hospital transitions in states across the country?"
"Apparently, I buy drinks for women who make me forget I had other plans."
Jesus. I'm such a cheese dick.
"That a line?"
"If it is, I’ve never used it before."
She leans in, resting her arm on the bar so our knees almost touch. "So you say. You seem pretty smooth, buying me a drink from down the bar, Mr. Hospital Man Pope."
