Page 13 of Nanny for the Damaged Ex-SEAL

She snorts. "I'm flattered, but you're lying."

I gasp and clutch at my chest and we both laugh. Amy is on to another rack now, searching for another dress. Amy is a beautiful woman, tall and in good shape. Her fashion sense is clean, classy, and boy does she like expensive things.

I'm engrossed in the sandals again when I hear her voice.

"Do you want those?"

I look up. "What?"

"Those sandals. You've been staring at them for a while now."

I run my finger across the little bow in the middle. "Oh, no. I'm just admiring them."

"Do you want them? I can get them for you."

"Are you sure? They’re…" I check the tag and widen my eyes. "$300."

"If you want them, I'll get them for you."

"Nah, I'm good. I can buy them when I get a job. Thank you, though."

She doesn't push it. "Okay. And how's the job hunt going?"

"Well, it isn't looking too promising right now, but I'm sure I'll find something soon."

She nods and picks a green taffeta dress off the rack. She heads for the changing room, then stops. "Could you work as a nanny?"

I drop the sandal back on the shelf. "A nanny? Umm…I never thought of that. Is there a job opening for a nanny?"

"Yes, and you'd be paid well. You're good with children. You’ve worked with them all your life."

I walk back to my seat. "Not all my life, but yeah I'm good with kids. But it depends. How old is the child, do you know?"

"Four years old. It's Ethan."

I'm about to sit, but I straighten back up. "Ethan? That means it's Connor looking for a nanny."

She nods. "Yes. And you'll be paid more than you were paid at the private school."

I shake my head and sit down. "No. I can't."

"Why not? You know Ethan. He loves you. It's not some random child."

I tap a hand on the upholstered chair arm. "Oh, I love Ethan. It's not him I’m worried about. It's Connor."

"What about Connor?"

I give her a slanted look. "You know we don't get along. That's what. He's not nice to me. He’s mean to me for no reason. We don't see eye to eye."

"I'm sure you two can patch things up."

"We can't," I respond sharply.

"Kids these days. So hot headed," she says, and goes into the changing room with the taffeta dress in hand.

She comes back out with horror on her face, because this dress is shorter than the last one. "Oh my God. Who makes these dresses? Why are they all intent on showing my crotch?"

I keel over with laughter as she runs back into the changing room.

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