Chapter Eight

Callie

As we drive into town I sit in the passenger seat, my hands in my lap. I don’t know what I was thinking earlier, unloading all that stuff about Jorge Lopez—I hate even thinking his name—and the cult. I didn’t mean to. But there’s this weird thing between Gray and me. It’s like we’re always speaking across two channels. The first is nanny-employer, and the second is… well, all the things I can’t think about.

Emery is bubbly, hopping up and down in her car seat, asking me a million questions. I’m happy to answer her, to match her energy. It means I don’t have to think about what I almost did in the shower, the pressure I experienced for an aching moment, the sizzling sensation in my sex. But whenever I get animated with Emery, I sense Gray watching me. I feel him taking pride and enjoyment in our interactions. It floods me with so much warmth and belonging.

Finally, we reach The Scoop. A man with black hair leans against the exterior. He’s tall and lean and has a passing similarity to Emery.

“Uncle Wes!” Emery calls from the backseat.

As we pull into the parking spot, I’m sure I sense Gray change. It’s like he makes an extra effort to go into employer mode . It’s difficult to explain. It’s like the energy between us shifts. Any time I’m around him, I can sense something between us. But right now, if it wasn’t for the gym—and the way he looked when I ranted at him earlier—I might think I was imagining it.

Emery runs over to Wes. Gray walks slightly ahead of me, his posture seeming tight. He’s wearing a casual T-shirt which lets me see that his arms are tense. “Wes, this is Callie, our nanny extraordinaire,” He says. “Callie, this is Wes, Emery’s uncle and my best friend.”

My mind spins as I shake his hand. Emery’s uncle and Gray’s best friend… which means that Sloane is Wes’s sister, meaning Gray had sex with his best friend’s sister. Was Wes okay with this?

He must be able to read the look on my face. He smiles tightly. “Don’t worry. I know it can be a shock hearing a thing like that.”

“No,” I say, but it comes out weak and unconvincing.

His grin grows tighter. “Honestly, it’s fine. You can ask anything you want.”

“Wes.” Gray laughs awkwardly. “I think you’re reading too much into this, bud.”

“Hmm.”

Wes looks at me closely. There’s a hint of judgment on his face. I’m sure of it. Maybe he saw the way I was watching Gray as we approached. Or he thought I was checking him out. Heck, maybe I was. And now he’s thinking I’ll try to dig for his best friend’s gold. I don’t see why else he’d be so standoffish right away.

The four of us walk into The Scoop. “Why don’t you all sit down while I order?” I say, trying to be friendly.

Wes smiles in an ironic and belittling way. “Sure, sounds good.”

I take everybody’s orders, then wait in line. I must be more careful with where and how I look at things. I need to be more conscious that my feelings, desires, and hunger can suddenly appear on my face. The last thing I need is Wes thinking I’m some gold digger or disliking me for another reason and getting me fired. Dad needs rent money. I need money. And I really like Emery.

Once I’ve ordered, I join them at the table, laying out the ice cream. Gray smiles tightly at me. Wes nods, but I can see he wishes I wasn’t here.

“Callie, tell Uncle Wes about my octopus story.” When I hesitate, she says, “Please.”

“It was a very creative story,” I say, looking at Emery.

“Tell Wes ,” she says.

“Sweetness,” Gray says. “Don’t be rude.”

“Sorry, Callie.”

“It’s fine.” I turn to Wes, to his ironic and judgmental smirk. “She’s very good at thinking of unique angles. In this story, the octopus loses his tentacles and has to find clever ways to get them back. We’ve reached the point where he’s having a riddle battle with a puffer fish.”

“That sounds amazing, Emery,” Wes says, smiling down at her.

She beams.

I wonder what we’d be talking about if Emery wasn’t here. Would Wes come out and say what’s on his mind? Or maybe it’s the sheer fact that I’m not his sister. He sees me bonding with his niece and wishes that reality was different—that Sloane was here instead.

“How are you finding it, Callie, working for this old grump?” Wes winks good-naturedly at Gray.

“So far, so good,” I say. “The house is lovely. This town is beautiful. And Emery is just cute as a button.”

“Buttons aren’t cute,” Emery says, giggling.

“But you are,” I say, making a face at her.

“Yeah, it’s quite the place,” Wes says, still watching me. Heck. Did I mess up by mentioning the house? “And getting room and board as part of the deal must be convenient.”

This catches me off-guard. I’m not sure what to say, which results in me making this weird laughing noise, which is neither yes nor no. It comes out sounding defensive, and then I get angry. I spent too long having to monitor every single noise I made, every gesture, every expression. This inward-looking crap was supposed to be long behind me… it happened with the cult, and it happened with Jorge Lopez. Whenever I was around his wife, I’d feel like she was watching me. She thought we were having an affair—gross—and it was my job to put on a performance that would make that seem absurd.

Wes tilts his head at me after a long pause. It’s a gotcha sort of gesture. If the circumstances were different, I might snap at him but soon, we’re all eating ice cream. I lose myself in the act of making silly faces at Emery. When I put ice cream on my nose and lick it off, she giggles like crazy.

But then I notice Wes looking at Gray… because Gray is watching me. His eyes stare as I slip my tongue between my teeth and lick the ice cream off my nose. It’s like he’s imagining what else I might do with my tongue.

“So, Wes, what do you do for work?” I ask.

“I’m an art dealer. But I mainly function as an agent these days. Not modern art; otherwise, this big lump would never leave me alone. It's more classical, with some portraits. It keeps me busy. And I’ve always loved art. What about you?”

I laugh awkwardly. “I’m a nanny.”

“But what do you want to do? Have you always dreamed of being a nanny?”

The only dream I can ever remember having is wanting to be free, wanting to close my eyes without thinking that some weird cult ritual would start, hooting and hollering and bright lights and masks and wicked crap. But it’s not like I can tell him that.

“I’ve always wanted to be in a caring role,” I say honestly. “I enjoy being a nanny. It’s nice to feel useful. And getting paid to spend time with this cutie pie? That’s a dream come true right there.”

Emery grins at me.

But I’ve messed up again, I realize, mentioning pay. What does this man want? It’s like he thinks I shouldn’t ever mention money, as if he believes this should be more than my job. It’s driving me nuts, especially because, so far, with Gray, everything has felt weirdly natural.

I try not to let it get to me. Instead, I focus on my ice cream, allowing the conversation to move on as Gray and Wes talk about Gray’s most recent project. As Gray speaks, I sneak glances at him. His passion is infectious. He looks younger—not that he looks old; it’s more like his maturity blends with an enthusiasm that causes the years to melt away, making him supremely appealing.

After the ice cream, Wes says goodbye, and Emery, Gray, and I drive back to the house. Emery falls asleep in the back, breathing softly. I almost want to clap my hands to wake her up so that I don’t have to be ‘alone’ with Gray. I’m almost certain he picked up on some of the awkwardness between me and Wes.

“You seem really excited about work,” I murmur, preemptively keeping the topic on something manageable.

He grins over at me with that same boyish passion. “It’s just a plaza, but I love losing myself in a project. When I’m in my office, thinking about work, it’s like nothing else matters. Not the past. Not the future. Just that one thing. It’s addictive.” He looks at the road and then glances at me, the bright glint in his eye fading slightly.

What is he thinking ?

“I’m really grateful for this job,” I go on. “I’m helping my dad get back on his feet, helping with his rent. And after my last job…” I shrug. “I’m just grateful.”

No, what I’m doing is blabbing . I’m going overboard because I feel insecure about the way Wes was looking at me and the hints he was dropping. And now I’ve gone and mentioned money again . But it’s not as if Gray ever thought I was doing this out of the kindness of my heart.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Gray says. “Emery made the choice. She took to you right away.”

The rest of the car ride passes quietly. I bite my lip as the urge to speak bubbles up in me. People might think I’m good at restricting my speech due to my childhood, but sometimes, it feels like the opposite. It’s as if I spent so long being quiet, now I can’t stop trying to make noise.

I guess Gray is still thinking about my confession. As we drive between the Maplebrook pines, he says, “You mentioned you needed to work for Jorge Lopez so your dad could get out of the cult. How?”

I cringe at Jorge’s name but try not to let it show. “Josh has a fee you can pay the collective if you want to leave. The thing is, I call it a cult because he’s a controlling freak, but he’s been careful. He’s always just on the edge of cult-like behavior. Some people there like the structure, being told what to do, not having to think for themselves. Some people like knowing that if they walk the path, keep their heads down, they’ll get a two-bedroom on the property and have dinner with Josh.”

“But not you. You were too independent.” He says this with a pride that makes warmth swell in my chest.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I murmur.

“You don’t guess so,” he says fiercely. “I can tell just by the way you talk about it.”

“I always hated it—the rules. We could only wear beige pants and sweaters until we reached a certain level. We were home-schooled, but most of our time was spent talking about Josh’s adventures and charity work overseas. They wanted us dumb.”

“How have they not been shut down?”

“They’ve been investigated several times,” I tell him with a sigh. “One of these days, they will be shut down. But I couldn’t wait until that happened to get Dad free.”

“What about your mom?”

“I begged her to let me buy her out, too. But she’s been having an affair with Josh ever since I was born. She loves him—or thinks she does. I know how nuts this all sounds. So much baggage…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he replies, as we round the corner and our gorgeous house comes into view. Oh, jeez. Not our . His house… “You’re in Maplebrook now. All of that might as well be a million miles away.”

I smile at him, his husky tone, his strong build, his easy and yet somehow complicated smirk. He’s right. It does feel distant. “Thanks, Gray.”