Page 16 of Only Mine
“You sure?”
“Positive.” I nod toward the hallway. “Deal with your restaurant crisis. We’ll still be in your line of sight and I can figure out breakfast.”
Saint hesitates, then gives Ivy a stern look. “Listen to Miss Wrenley. No climbing, no cooking, no escaping.”
“No promises,” Ivy singsongs.
He shoots me one last glance. The indecision on his face would be comical if it weren’t so clearly painful for him. Then he disappears down the hall, answering his phone with a terse, “This better be important.”
Ivy watches him leave, thankfully sitting on a chair at the countertop now. “He’s gonna yell at somebody.”
“Is he?” I ask, rinsing my hands before taking over the abandoned breakfast efforts.
She nods sagely. “When his voice gets all quiet like that, it means somebody’s in big trouble.”
“Good to know,” I say, opening the refrigerator. “I’ll avoid getting in trouble with your dad.”
“Are you going to be my new nanny?” Ivy asks, swinging her legs from her perch.
The question hits me like a splash of cold water. I nearly drop the carton of eggs I’ve just pulled from the fridge.
“No, honey,” I say, cracking an egg one-handed into a bowl. “I’m just passing through.”
“Passing through where?” She tilts her head, reminding me of the sparrow from the garden.
“Life, I guess,” I say, more to myself than to her. I add another egg to the bowl. “I was planning to leave today, actually.”
“But you just got here.” Her bottom lip juts out. “That’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is,” I say, the words coming out more bitter than intended.
Wow, Wren. Way to dump your existential crisis on a kindergartner. Next, show her your therapy journal and really ruin her day.
Ivy’s face falls instantly, her small shoulders slumping as she stares down at her paint-covered hands. “Everyone leaves.”
Her matter-of-fact tone makes my heart twist. I set the whisk down and lean against the counter, facing her.
The sound of Saint’s voice carries from down the hall. His low, intense vibrato switching fluidly between English and French.
From Ivy’s grimace, I gather the conversation isn’t going well.
“I was just visiting your guesthouse for a while,” I explain, keeping my voice gentle. “I’m not actually here to be a nanny.”
“Nora said I was a monster.” Ivy picks at a spot of dried purple paint on her thumb. “Is that why you’re leaving, too?”
“Hey,” I say, moving closer and resting my elbows on the counter across from her. “You are absolutely not a monster. You’re creative and smart and honest, which are all really good things to be.”
Ivy’s green eyes study me skeptically. “Papa says I’m ‘spirited.’“
“That’s a good word for it.” I smile. “And I’m not leaving because of you. I’m leaving because that was always the plan.”
“Plans can change,” she says with a shrug, as if imparting ancient wisdom.
I rub my lips together, recognizing the dangerous waters I’m treading. The last thing I should do is give this child false hope about my sticking around, but the wounded look in her eyes makes my chest ache.
Saint’s voice rises down the hall, though the words are muffled. Whatever crisis is unfolding at his restaurant, it doesn’t sound like it’s resolving quickly.
“How about we make pancakes?” I offer instead. “Do you like chocolate chips?”
