Page 75 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
“They really are,” I agree warmly.
“But Miss Cindy says soon they’ll get all crunchy and we’ll have to throw them away…” Rosie looks at me, clearly hoping I’ll come up with a solution.
“Your teacher’s right. The leaves don’t get water anymore. It’s like cut flowers—they dry out. But you know what’s nice? Next spring the trees will grow fresh green leaves, and in fall they’ll change colors again. Every year, all over again. Then you can collect more. With your classmates and teacher—or maybe your Uncle Gabriel and I can take you to the woods.”
“Really?” she asks carefully.
“Promise.”
Gabriel kneels down too and adds, “We can even preserve them.”
“Preserve? Like in a can?” Rosie doesn’t understand, which makes me smile.
Gabriel gives her a sweet smile. “No, we can set the leaves in acrylic. It’s like window glass, only stronger. The leaves keep their colors, but you can’t touch them anymore—only look.”
Rosie scrunches her little nose, trying to picture it. Gabriel goes on, “Kim can pick up the supplies tomorrow, and tomorrow night we’ll cast the leaves in. When we’re back from Italy on Sunday, the block will be ready, and you can take it home and show your mom.”
“I’d rather leave it with you. Mom would just throw it away.” She glances down at her leaves, then asks, “Can we put the sticks in too?”
“Of course.” Gabriel straightens up and lifts Rosie into his arms. I stand too, taking her tiny backpack and jacket.
“But first, home,” he says, “and I’ll cook you both something tasty.”
“Chocolate pudding?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“We can make that too,” I answer. A little treat is fine. I’ll just use almond milk and sweetener—her blood sugar won’t spike so much that way.
She’s tolerated it well do far, which makes me glad.
We leave the school and wave goodbye to the teachers.
After dinner, I bathe Rosie and get her ready for bed so Gabriel can read to her. But tonight, I notice something different: he’s making a point not to touch me.
I keep stealing glances at him, but Gabriel acts like I’m not even there.
As if I wasn't even there.
Or as if I was just... the nanny.
We sneak out of Rosie’s room and once out in the hallway, I ask,
"Would you like some tea?"
“No, thanks. It’s been a long day, and I really need some sleep,” he answers politely.
“Okay. Well… good night.” I feel a little disappointed, though I try not to let it show.
“Sleep well. See you in the morning.” He turns as if to leave, then hesitates, looking back at me. “You’re doing a really great job, Kim. I… Rosie and I—we’re both so glad you’re here.” His sweet smile makes my heart skip all over again.
“I’m glad to be here too, Gabriel. And I’m glad that after my trial week I signed the contract—that I get to look forward to a future with you and Rosie.”
“The trial week isn’t technically over yet,” he says with that same disarming smile, the one that makes it impossible for me not to gaze at him with something dangerously close to affection. Damn it, my heart leaps every time he looks at me like that. I swallow, fighting the urge to ask him again if he’s sure he doesn’t want to stay up for tea. But he’s right—he’s had a long day. He needs the sleep.
“True. But I trust you.” As I say it, our eyes lock for what feels like forever, until I finally look away and nod toward my room. “I’ll head in then. See you tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams,” he says before turning and walking to his room. I slip into mine and close the door behind me.
It’s late. Too late to call my mom now. Instead, I send her a long voice text, telling her all about my new job. My first paycheck will hit my account Friday—it’s for the trial week. I want to transfer it to her right away so she and Dad can finally pay off a chunk of the bills. The relief I feel at being able to help them is incredible—especially when the insurance wouldn’t…
