Page 9 of Knocking up his Nanny

CHAPTER 6

When a beeping alarm wakes me, I open my eyes in total shock, and cannot remember where I am. I try to move, but find there are iron bars around me. Then I remember that they are only a man’s arms.

“Oh my god,” I say in dismay. “I forgot about the chemo!”

He stirs then, and clears his throat, reaching for his phone. “It’s okay. You’ve got fifteen minutes until her session ends. I set an alarm.”

“Oh—you did?” I say with surprise. I feel like I’ve been sleeping all day, but it must have been no more than a small nap. Maybe less than half an hour. Why does it feel like the best sleep I’ve ever gotten? “Thank you.”

“You’re lucky you have a good excuse to leave me,” he says with a smile. “The next time you wake up in my arms, I’m not letting you rush off so easily.”

“The next time?” I ask with a puzzled smile. “That’s a bit presumptuous. I don’t even know your name.”

“You will,” he says, kissing my nose. “Now get your cute butt up and get dressed.” He abruptly stands up, pulling the blankets off me and making me squeal with dismay with the cold air hits me.

When I reach for my bra, a flush of hot embarrassment hits my cheeks. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you saw my underwear.”

“I saw a lot more than just your underwear,” he says with a chuckle.

I am surprised to find my clothes neatly folded in a pile near the couch. When did he get a chance to do that? There’s even a packet of baby wipes to help me freshen up. I’m sure my makeup is smeared all over my face horribly, and I’m quite messy in other locations, too.

He’s thought of everything.

I dig into my big comfy sweater for my phone, and see that I do, in fact, have a few minutes to get ready before picking my mom up. So, I get dressed and freshen up as best as I can, while the man stands over by the window, texting someone on his phone. Last of all, I place my Cheetos in my pocket. Something to look forward to later.

“Okay,” I say awkwardly. “I guess... I’m going to go now.”

He turns back to look at me. “Wait a minute—I still feel awful. I would have really liked to take you on a proper date. This is not like me, at all.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “It was lovely, really. The nicest, unexpected, random, crazy date in the middle of the day at a hospital.”

“Will you let me take you on a real date someday?” he asks.

“Well, yes,” I say softly. “Of course.”

“Good,” he says, walking over to me. “Now sit down.”

A bit puzzled, I follow his instruction. I am startled to find him pulling a brush through my hair, and then using his fingers to create a part down the middle. He then expertly braids my hair, and fastens it back up into two buns, exactly as it was before. I reach up and touch it with amazement, and stare up at him in disbelief. Then I stand up and run over to a mirror to double check his work.

“How did you do that? This is an extremely difficult hairstyle!” I turn from side to side, completely stunned. “It looks exactly like it did before.”

“I watched the YouTube videos,” he says with a grin. “I wouldn’t want your mom to be suspicious or worried and ask too many questions.”

“It took me hours to learn how to do this style! How did you manage this in seconds like that?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Maybe I’m a genius. Maybe I’m just good at stuff and things. You’ll have to spend more time with me, in order to find out.”

“Well, how am I supposed to see you again if I don’t have your name or number?” I ask him. “Those seem like very basic things you should give me after a great date. Maybe even before a great date.”

“This was only an okay date,” he tells me, stepping closer. “That’s my fault. I should have taken you on a properly great date, and I will someday. But for now, take this.” He hands me a card.

“What’s this?” I ask, seeing that the card belongs to a Michelin-starred restaurant.The Willow.Does he work there?

“I’m not sure how your mother feels after chemo—some people lose all appetite, and some people are hungry as horses. Either way, that restaurant is on the way home to Silver Mountain, so if you stop there, you can grab dinner together. I recommend the seafood chowder—it might be gentle enough for your mother to handle a few bites, if she has trouble eating.”

“I could never afford this place in a million years,” I tell him, although my stomach growls at the thought, protesting against my words.

“The owner ofThe Willowis very close to me, and she owes me one or two or three million favors. I already texted her that you’re on your way, and made reservations. So, dinner’s on me, and get whatever you like. Even the most expensive things on the menu. Whatever your heart desires. And feel free to invite whoever else you like. Any family or friends.”

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