Page 24 of Mr. Wolfe's Nanny

Jill giggles but she’s still got concerns. “But am I… I know Lady Ducks isn’t real,” she whispers.

I think my heart nearly stops. This is the first time I’ve heard Jill acknowledge that her imaginary friend is imaginary.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a special friend who helps us when we’re sad or scared or lonely sometimes. So long as you remember what you just said,” Quinn tells Jill.

My daughter smiles and the two of them rub noses together before the bedtime routine begins. I have to step away with the lump swelling in my throat as raw emotion threatens to overwhelm me.

This beautiful, sexy woman drew my attention from the moment we met but here she is slipping under my skin and lowering my defenses. I need to be wary of that.

∞∞∞

When my birthday arrives on Thursday, I’m in for a surprise. “We made you breakfast, Daddy!” Jill shouts, bursting into my bedroom far too early and scrambling up onto my bed.

I’ve still got some soreness from the wreck but I manage to bite back any groans as my daughter showers me with birthday hugs and kisses. Who could frown in the face of that onslaught?

Ryder comes in next proudly bearing a tray with Quinn, Maria and Julieta hovering behind him. “Good morning, Mr. Wolfe. Happy Birthday,” the ladies say in sync.

“The children chose what we made,” Maria adds with a look that’s both apologetic and amused.

Ryder reveals the plate of waffles liberally covered with chocolate chips, sprinkles and whipped cream. Yikes. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth when it comes to breakfast. But there’s black coffee and bacon at least, bless Maria.

I thank them all and the housekeeper and cook leave while Quinn helps Ryder set the tray on my bedside table. I see her glancing at the picture of Kathy there. She should be celebrating her birthday next month but she’s not.

Melancholy rises up like a fog I can’t see through. I try to hide it from the kids. I fight against the ignoble lingering resentment, too.Did you know the day I took that picture? Why didn’t you tell me?

“Let’s help prop your dad up with pillows,” Quinn tells them and I hadn’t noticed she was watching me closely until then.

“I’m hardly an invalid,” I joke but none of them listen. It’s my birthday and I’m still off from work to recover.

But instead of fluffed-up pillows behind me, Quinn tosses one at me with a playful glance at Ryder and Jill. They’re quickly grinning like little fiends.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I say before I’m under attack in my own bed. The kids are dogpiling pillows and then themselves on top of me as Quinn holds her sides and laughs. It’s just like something Kathy would’ve…

I take a deep breath. The melancholy isn’t gone exactly but it’s better. I think Quinn might actually possess some of Mary Poppins’s magic.

“Hey Ryder, pass me my coffee now, okay?” I say once they’ve got the violence out of their systems.

My kids snuggle under the covers next to me, telling me about their upcoming school day. Quinn smiles and slips out the door to get ready. My birthday is off to a good start.

Naturally, that’s when my phone rings with emergencies to deal with. The kids pout as I take the call from the office. “Two minutes,” I mouth to them.

It’s more like twelve and I get a very disappointed look from Quinn when she sees me next.

∞∞∞

Yesterday was my thirty-eighth birthday so, if I lather up in the shower thinking of Quinn, I’m giving myself a pass today. I won’t be acting on anything. She’s too good of a fit for my household.

Yeah, and she was an incredibly tight fit in another way, too.

Moaning, I close my eyes, shamefully rubbing one out while thinking of the hot nanny and not nearly as ashamed of that as I should be.

I find her alone in the foyer a short while later scowling at her car keys. She should be taking the kids to school soon. “Is everything alright, Ms. Quinn?”

“My car won’t start.”

“Oh.” My BMW was totaled, I’ve obviously not shopped for a replacement yet and Dan’s getting the Town Car serviced today since he’s not driving me into the city. “You can take the Porsche,” I offer.

“I can’t drive a stick shift and does it even have enough seats?”

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