Page 19 of Only Mine
It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, but something about his grudging acceptance makes my shoulders relax for the first time since he stormed through the garden with pure wrath on his face. “Have a good day, Chef Toussaint.”
His eyes linger on mine for a beat longer than necessary, and I don’t look away, either. Then he’s gone, calling for Ivy to hurry up.
I stand in the kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of pancake chaos, wondering what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into. I came here to disappear, not to become a temporary nanny to a pint-sized tornado.
One day,I assure myself.What could possibly go wrong in one day?
The universe, wisely, doesn’t answer.
But I swear Pancake From The Bad Place gives me a knowing look as I move to clear the plates.
FOUR
WRENLEY
Saint’s morning routine for Ivy involves seventeen steps, two checklists, and enough diligence to launch a space shuttle, all of which he explained to me in a rapid-fire text message that arrived precisely one minute after he left.
I’m relieved when Ivy chooses a simple purple dress, leggings, and none of the meltdowns the mom influencers I networked with often posted about.
“Time to brush your teeth and hair,” I tell her, guiding her out of a room full of rainbows and into a marble bathroom.
“Papa makes me brush for exactly two minutes with the timer,” Ivy informs me as she steps onto the footstool in front of the sink. She points at an old kitchen timer standing sentry to the right of the sink.
I stare at it, then pull out my phone. “Let’s try something different today. We’ll use a special tooth-brushing playlist.”
Ivy’s cheeks plump with a huge smile. “Really? Do I get to choose the song?”
“Sure. What are you thinking?”
“Baby Shark!” She bounces on her toes, and I struggle not to laugh at the earnestness in her small face.
“Perfect choice. Let me find it.” I tap through my phone, locating the song that’s haunted parents since its inception. “Ready?”
Ivy grabs her toothbrush, nodding as I press play.
What follows is two minutes and seventeen seconds of Ivy dancing while brushing, toothpaste foam occasionally escaping as she mimics shark movements with her free arm. I find myself swaying along, making exaggerated chomping motions that send her into giggles.
“Again!” she demands when the song ends.
“Nope, one song is perfect. Look at those sparkly teeth!” I hand her a small cup of water. “Rinse and spit, shark girl.”
“Papa never lets me listen to music while brushing,” Ivy confides after her spit misses the sink entirely.
“Well, your papa seems like he has lots of good systems in place,” I say carefully. “But sometimes it’s fun to try new things, right?”
She takes my hand when I help her down from the footstool. “I’m gonna make him play that songeverytime I brush my teeth now.”
I cringe.Oops.
“Awesome. He’ll love it.”
For hair, I abandon Saint’s detailed instructions about sectioning and detangler application. Instead, I position Ivy by the window where natural light streams in, because perfect lighting is second nature to me now, and demonstrate the “mermaid braid” I used in a tutorial that got over two million views.
She twirls, admiring her reflection.
“I bet you’ll be the only mermaid in class today,” I say.
“Really?”
