Chapter Twelve

Callie

“Would you like some pickle, madam?” Emery says, sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket as she peers into the cooler.

We’re in the park, the sun shining, ducks quacking from the pond. If I had to describe this day as anything, it’d be picturesque. The only downside is that, even after brushing my teeth twice and taking a shower, I can still taste Gray. I can still feel his hands on my body. Last night, well… I lost my battle against my attraction to him. I tried, but I couldn’t sleep. Then I slid my hand down my body. I gave in—big time.

“Yes, please, kind waitress.”

Emery beams and begins making my sandwich. “Am I a good picnic coi… what was the word, C-A-L-L-I-E?”

“Coordinator.”

She repeats it with deliberation. “Coordinator.”

“And yes, you are,” I tell her. “The best. You’re doing a great job.”

“Yippee!”

She really does make a mean sandwich. I take a big bite, and she tuts at me. After a glass of water, I say, “Have I done something to disappoint madam?”

“You munch munch munch like this.” She imitates me, making us both laugh like crazy. I almost pinch myself. There’s no way I’m being paid for this, is there?

Afterward, Emery asks me if she can read, and I say yes. We sit here for close to thirty minutes, both of us focused on our books. At least, that’s what an observer would see. But my thoughts won’t stop straying to last night. No matter how much I think about it, I can’t figure out who kissed who. It was more like a magnetic force was pulling us together, something neither of us could control.

In the space between touching myself and fighting the urge, I kept imagining Gray coming over to the guesthouse. He would tear the sheets back and stand over me, shirtless, the moonlight bouncing off the hard ridges of his abs. “You can’t seriously think I’d be satisfied just with a kiss. I need more. I need all of you, Callie. I need to kiss every inch of you. You’ll never be just my nanny.”

I’m jolted from my thoughts by Emery’s voice. “Muh-Mommy?” She sounds unsure, slightly hopeful, and a little bit terrified.

I look up. A tall, glamorous woman is walking toward us. She wears tight leather leggings and a gold-colored shirt with a glitter effect. Her hair is dyed blonde and styled in a bob with statement-making bangs. She looks like a model.

“Emery?” the woman says, standing over the picnic blanket. “Oh, darling, you’re so big.”

“Are you my mommy?” Emery says, sounding on the verge of tears.

Crap. This is bad. I’ve got no way of knowing if this is really Emery’s mother—especially if Emery herself doesn’t recognize her—and even if she is, I have to play this right. I haven’t even asked Gray what visitation rights she has, what access, or any of that.

“You can’t see that?” Sloane says, her lip curling slightly. “Look at me, silly, sweet girl. We’re basically twins!”

It’s true. They do look alike.

“I’m in Maplebrook researching a book project,” Sloane goes on, not leaning down to talk to her daughter, instead standing over her with an air of distance. “I was going to reach out to your father about visiting you, of course. I didn’t expect to see you here. It seems fate has thrown us together, hmm?” She turns to me. “And you are?”

“Callie,” I tell her, rising to my feet and offering my hand. “I’m the nanny.”

“Charmed,” she says, taking my hand, or rather, two of my fingers, and shaking for the shortest time possible. Then she turns back to Emery. “Aren’t you going to give Mommy a hug?”

Emery breaks my heart when she hides behind me, peeking her head around my hip. “Uh, uh,” she murmurs.

I smile tightly at Sloane. “It might be better to go with your original plan,” I murmur. “Reach out to Gray…”

Her lip curls, her eyes full of disdain. She looks between her daughter and me as if trying to comprehend how Emery could choose me over her. That’s how she’s taking this, I realize. I can see it. She’s viewing it as a snub as if I planned this just to offend her.

“Excuse me,” she says. “Why are you telling me how to handle matters with my own daughter?”

When Emery starts to cry, Sloane actually rolls her eyes . It’s enough to make me want to slap her across the face. It’s not my place to pass judgment, but that eye roll has my mind full of vicious ideas. She has no right to dismiss her daughter’s feelings when she’s essentially a stranger to her.

I pick Emery up, rocking her softly. “Sloane,” I say in a reasonable voice. At least, I hope it is. “I understand this is a difficult situation, but as Emery’s nanny, it’s my job to put her wellbeing first. I can’t get involved in the parenting or guardianship situation. I would suggest that your first instinct was right—reach out to Gray…”

She ignores me, leaning forward to touch Emery. Time seems to slow. What the heck do I do? Do I have the right to stop a mother from touching her daughter? But I can’t risk upsetting Emery any further. She’s crying in a way I couldn’t have imagined just a few minutes ago, her face pressed against my chest. I turn slightly, shielding Emery.

“Who do you think you are?” Sloane hisses, which makes Emery’s cry even harder.

“Please,” I say. “Do what’s best for your daughter.”

“Are you calling me a bad mother?” she snaps.

Yes. “No. I just don’t want to stress Emery more than she already is.”

“I’ll talk to Daddy, okay, Emery? I’ll see you soon,” Sloan says in a sugary, sweet voice.

Sloane gives me a vicious look, then spins and walks across the park. I keep gently rocking Emery. Once she’s stopped crying, I say, “Should I make us some sandwiches now?”

She looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Can we go home, please?”

***

Emery sits in the library, staring at a book as if her sanity depends on it. It’s as if she doesn’t want to acknowledge reality, terrified of what it will do to her mind. I have to call Gray. I step out into the hallway, out of earshot of Emery but close enough to watch her.

“Sorry to call at work,” I say as soon as he answers.

“Is Emery okay?” he says.

Of course, that would be his first thought. “Sort of… Physically, yes. There hasn’t been an accident or anything like that.” I give him the rundown of what happened in the park, starting with the picnic and ending with the appearance of Sloane.

“For fuck’s sake,” he snarls, sounding angrier than I’ve ever heard him. He sounds like he could go fully berserk. “What the hell was she thinking? And she said she was there doing book research. So she’s not even in Maplebrook to see her daughter, and yet she thinks she has a right to waltz back into her life and make her cry.”

“It was awful,” I admit. “Emery didn’t even sound sure it was her mother.”

“From your description, it was definitely Sloane. You did the right thing, Callie.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I say. “I know it’s not my place to get involved, but the whole vibe just felt so off. It was like she thought Emery should run into her arms and play happy family. But Emery wasn’t even completely sure that Sloane was her mother.” I lower my voice. “It was really messed up.”

“Sloane’s only visited a few times,” he says. I can hear the rage in his voice, but he’s trying to bury it. Maybe he’s worried about letting his anger get out of hand, worried about what I’ll think, about what he’ll do . “And she said she was in town to research a book?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Must be her latest passion,” he mutters. “She left us because she was going to be a photographer, and we were stifling her freedom.”

I almost ask him how they ever functioned as a couple since there’s clearly so much animosity and resentment, but that’s not my place. I should use this as a warning sign. It’s giving me an insight into what a relationship with Gray looks like… as if I need more reasons we can never work. I just wish his taste would leave me the hell alone—or do I?

“Just keep Emery at home today,” he replies. “I’ll contact Sloane and see what she wants to do. Technically, I have full custody. She gave it to me. But as her mother, she has a right to see her, I suppose. But…” he sighs.

“You don’t want Emery getting attached, only for her to disappear again.”

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s a general concern I have, actually.”

Was that a dig at me? He doesn’t want Emery and me getting too close, only for whatever this is between us to ruin it. I decide not to respond… it would be so much easier if I could categorically say that he kissed me . But I can’t go that far. The moment just sort of happened.

After saying goodbye, I hang up and join Emery in the library. She doesn’t look up, just stares stubbornly down at her book. I want to comfort her, put my hand on her shoulder, give her a squeeze of support. But I don’t want to overstep. I have to remember I’m a professional. And Gray’s words are prominent in my mind. He doesn’t want his baby getting close to somebody if they’re not going to be here long-term.

“Are you enjoying your book?” I ask.

“Hmm,” she mutters.

“Would you like something to eat? To drink?”

She shakes her head. “Hmm.”

I open my own book, looking at the page, but also looking at Emery every so often. She reminds me of myself at her age, agony and resentment simmering beneath the surface. It’s like I can see the pain turning inward.

Are you excited for your daddy to come home? I almost ask, but there’s no point barraging her with conversation if she clearly doesn’t want to talk. I almost wish I was back with Jorge, with the twins, even if that had a host of other problems. At least, then, I never had to worry about being attracted to my boss or getting in the middle of a custody battle.