Page 6 of Nanny for the Damaged Ex-SEAL

"This won't be enough? How many snacks do you eat in a day? You'll be going with lunch."

"Dani gave me three snacks for school."

"Dani did that? I'll have to have a word with her."

Dani is our former nanny in San Marino. She couldn't come with us because she has a life over there. I wish she'd been able to, though. Because it's been just a few weeks of doing this on my own and I'm convinced I'm not doing it right.

When I'm sure we've got all we need for tomorrow, I push the shopping cart to the join the line. I load our items onto the belt while Ethan pushes ahead so he can see the cashier. "I'm starting school tomorrow," he declares.

She lifts her head up. "Oh, really?"

"Yes," he says smugly. "That's why I need that much snacks."

She laughs. "Oh, I see." She begins scanning the snacks.

"All mine," he says and smacks his lips.

Everyone in line behind us laughs out loud as I pull him back beside me.

The next morning, I’m running around the house, combing Ethan's hair while making oatmeal while also packing his lunch. This is harder than I thought it would be. I was a SEAL; I've been in jungles and been on sea and gone on missions where I'd been in the line of fire, but this right here is a challenge for me. There were nights when we were staking out and couldn't eat or drink for fear of losing sight of the target and I did that no problem, but here I am struggling with one kid.

"We're going to be late, Dad, aren't we?" Ethan asks as he puts a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth.

"No, we’re not. We'll get there just in time."

"It's my first day. I don’t want people to laugh at me."

"Why would they do that? I'll kick their asses if they do that."

Ethan enlarges his eyes, his spoon suspended in the air. "You're not supposed to say that about kids."

I stop stuffing items into his lunchbox. "Were you talking about the kids? I thought you meant the adults. Sorry about that."

I start to make for the garage when I realize I haven't brushed my hair. I pick up the comb I used for Ethan and stand in front of the mirror in the living room. I run the comb through my dark hair, now streaked with grey on the sides. I look stressed, with bags visible beneath my eyes. My dark brown eyes look dull. They’ve not had light in them since Cassy died. I grab a protein bar to eat on the way and we head out of the door.

I blare my horn and slam on my break countless times. I fight the urge to curse out the bad drivers; having Ethan belted into the back seat stops me. I press my lips together until we reach the school. I glance down at my watch. Two minutes until start time. I look back at Ethan, who lets out a sigh of relief to see that we aren't the last to arrive.

After walking him to his classroom and promising to come pick him up later in the day, I head out for my first day of work. Only I'm not as lucky as Ethan, because I'm nine minutes late already. This isn't a professional look. All I can do at this point is press the accelerator and make the best time possible.

I’m twenty minutes late when I get there.

"Hi, Steve," I greet the owner of the gym, who I run into at the entrance despite my intention to sneak in unnoticed. Some luck I have.

I don’t wait for him to utter the words. "Umm, yeah. I'm sorry about the time. Kid stuff."

He nods. "I'll be back." He points to a guy. "He’ll show you around."

I nod and walk toward the guy. Yeah, I’ll be needing a nanny. This isn’t going to work.

Chapter 3

Aria

It's Dad's birthday today. He’s turning fifty-nine. Bria is coming to pick me up. I rummage through my closet for the perfect dress. I'm not in the mood to play dress-up today, but it's Dad's day and I want to look nice. Plus, it's not just family members who'll be there. It's his friends, too, as well as Amy's friends, his real estate business associates, and other people I don't know. I can't afford to look like I've just lost my job.Maybe you do need to look like you just lost your job so that someone might offer to give you one,a voice says to me. I dropkick the voice out of my mind. I'm not embarrassing Dad like that. Out of the question. I’m not a charity case.

My eyes rest on an orange dress. My hand reaches for it, but I decide against it. My bright red hair paired with this dress will make me look like a clashy Halloween/Christmas festivities combo. Instead, I reach for the black spaghetti strap dress just beside it. I take it off the hanger and press it to my body, looking into the mirror. I've lost some weight, but I'm sure it'll still fit. I take off my towel and throw it on the bed. Then I put on my panties and bra and slide into the dress. It looks good enough. It hugs my wide hips firmly and accentuates my flat tummy. I let my red hair down and sit on my vanity stool to brighten up my face.

I look at my freckled cheeks as I pat my face with mineral powder foundation. It's so funny how the same things you couldn't stand at some point in life become your favorite. As a child, my freckles were repulsive to me. I disliked them and wished I could scrape them off, despite Mom having the same ones on her face. But over the years, I’ve grown to love them. They’re unique. I line my eyes with an eye pencil and comb my brows, then put on matte lipstick. I slip sparkling hoop earrings into my earlobes as I hear my doorbell go off.

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