Page 64 of Bad Wolf's Nanny
He could see it in the way she didn’t meet his eyes. In how she moved like a wind-up toy wound one click too tight.
She came back out a moment later, the soft grey bear tucked under one arm. Without a word, she set it beside Sam’s things and walked straight into the kitchen.
Then came the crash. A dull, familiarthunk. A quiet curse.
Dane followed.
She was crouched beside the cupboard under the sink, yanking at the door with both hands, teeth clenched. “If this wretched thing jams one more time—”
“Let me do it.”
She glanced over her shoulder, already shaking her head, “It’s fine. It’s been doing this since I moved in. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be.”
He didn’t wait for permission. Just crossed the room, pulled open the hall closet, and fetched her pathetically under-stocked toolkit.
Lola stood, arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow arched in unmistakable challenge.
“Well,” she said dryly, “good luck finding anything useful in there.”
He ignored the jab and knelt to inspect the hinge.
The wood had warped slightly at the base. Easy fix. A quick adjustment and some sandpaper would solve it.
He tightened the bottom screw, adjusted the alignment, and sanded the inner edge just enough to stop the catch. Then opened and closed it twice to check.
No jam.
Smooth as glass.
Lola stared at the door like it had betrayed her.
“It’s working,” she said, voice flat.
“Aye.”
She adjusted her posture slightly, straightening her already-ramrod spine. “Thank you. Very gallant.”
Dane stood and closed the toolbox.
For a beat, silence hung between them. He hesitated, then tried, gently, “You know you don’t have to do all this alone, right?”
She blinked.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged,” he continued, softer now. “Sam’s got at least eight people wrapped around hisfinger and a whole damn pack backing him. You don’t have to shoulder all of it by yourself.”
Lola’s chin lifted. “I’m not. I have a schedule. And a job. And a thesis to finish, which is, incidentally, already behind deadline. So no, I don’t have time to sit around sipping weak tea at the club while the rest of you make jokes about patrols and…and…protein powder.”
Dane blinked. “That wasn’t what I—”
“Ethel’s expecting me tomorrow, anyway,” she cut in, “she wants help reorganizing the archives. There’s a stack of old history scrolls in the back that haven’t been catalogued since 1987.”
“Right.”
She turned toward the table, gathering her notes, tucking them sharply into folders with practiced precision.
He watched her for a long moment, then stepped toward Sam’s bag and lifted it. The baby was quiet in his carrier by the couch, eyes heavy with sleep, clutching a corner of the blanket.
