Chapter 10

The rumble of my SUV fades as I pull up to the garage. Although, I gave a hundred and ten of myself during the training session and while we watched old videos, my mind was still back at home with Myra. The image of my child stomping her feet because things weren't going well crossed my mind a few times.

Though she's not thrown a tantrum in awhile, I worry this disruption could cause a setback. She's a good kid. No, she's great. But transitions are hard at this age.

Stepping inside, I stop short. There, in the living room, Myra sits cross-legged on the floor, puzzle pieces spread out on the coffee table in front of her, brow furrowed in concentration. It's the stillest I've ever seen her.

My gaze drifts, almost of its own accord, to Indigo. She's right next to Myra. There's a grace about Indie, an ease that belies the complexity of simply being in this space, in this moment. She's beautiful, yes, but it's more than that. It's the way she interacts with Myra, with the space around her—she seems to weave a sense of calm into the very air.

Indigo's hair catches the light, framing her face in a way that highlights her features, soft yet striking. There's an intelligence in her eyes, a warmth that seems to invite conversation without a word being spoken. Watching her, I'm struck again by an intense attraction. An involuntary pull toward her that I hadn't anticipated.

She looks up, perhaps sensing my stare, and our eyes meet. There's a flicker of something—recognition, maybe, or the spark of something new and undefined. In that single glance, there's an entire conversation we haven't had yet, a depth of interaction that goes beyond the casual exchanges we've shared up to now.

My pulse quickens as I clear my throat. "Hey, how's it going here?"

Smooth, real smooth, asshole. Why must I sound like a bumbling fool whenever I address her? Something about this woman short-circuits my brain signals and scatters my thoughts.

"Daddy," Myra jumps up from the puzzle, bouncing over to me. I sweep her into my arms, twirling her as she giggles.

"How are you, pumpkin?"

"I had ice cream before lunch," she whispers loudly. "Well, it was fluffy clouds from unicorn dreams."

"So much for let's keep it between us." Indie chuckles.

"Oops." Myra's eyes go wide. "It's okay because Indie's my new best friend."

"I see." I glance toward Indigo."Looks like you've made quite the progress."

Indigo tucks a lock of hair behind her ears. "I think I need some notes, but overall, we've had a great day so far."

Oh, right, I promised I would forward Myra's schedule and meal plans. Before I can tell her that I'm still waiting for Gemma to email me that info, Myra says, "Indie's helping me with a big puzzle."

I nod, acknowledging my daughter, my eyes lingering on Indigo a second longer than necessary before shifting their focus to the puzzle. "I can see that. It seems like a difficult one."

Indigo's response is a nod and a smile that transforms her face into something even more captivating. It sends an unexpected flutter through my chest. I close my eyes briefly hoping it passes quickly. This attraction for her isn't something I should be experiencing.

"It's something I believe she could do," she says, as if justifying herself.

"Join us, Daddy," Myra says, tugging at my hand with a determination that allows no argument, guiding me toward the coffee table.

As I settle cross-legged on the floor to join them, I'm acutely aware of Indigo's presence. It's only been hours since she stepped foot into this house, but so far, she has brought a sense of balance and harmony I hadn't fully realized we were missing.

We work on the puzzle quietly, the silence warm and comfortable. I find myself hoping, perhaps foolishly, that this feeling, this unexpected rightness, is just some reaction to the Washington air and it leaves soon.

Just focus on the puzzle, Brynes.

And I do. The edges of the cardboard fit together with a satisfying click, and every time I get it right, my gaze instinctively flicks to Indigo.

This time though, she's hunched over, fingers moving gracefully, sorting through the colors and shapes strewn across the coffee table. Her focus is so intense, her brow furrowed in concentration as if the world outside this puzzle ceases to exist.

Myra pouts when the piece she's trying to set doesn't fit. "Maybe this is wrong," she mumbles, frustrated.

Indie picks up a piece. "Look at this one, Myra," she murmurs, her soft voice sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "See how this shade of blue in the corner matches our piece?"

Myra nods.

Indie hands it to her. "Also, the edges are very similar. Try to set it there."

"Got it, Indie." My daughter's enthusiasm bubbles over as she slams the piece into place, not quite as gently as Indigo would have done but with a gusto that makes both of us smile.

There's something about the way Indigo interacts with Myra, a natural ease that comes from somewhere deep within her. It's as if she radiates a warmth that reaches out, wrapping around my little girl, comforting both of us in ways I hadn't anticipated.

I lean back against the couch, arms crossed as I try to calm my body's reaction. This shouldn't be happening. Not now, not with her. The fluttering in my chest disagrees vehemently with the logic in my head. And my fucking dick . . . Well, it's ready for a lot more than just looking at the beautiful woman in my living room.

Indigo is a breath of fresh air, but she's not mine to breathe in—not permanently. Not as close as I wish.

"Dad look, we got another piece in."

"Myra, you're like a wizard of puzzles," I comment, trying to keep my tone light, casual.

Indie flashes me a grin, and I swear the room brightens a fraction. "Keep practicing and you'll be able to do those thousand-piece puzzles we saw at the bookstore."

"Are you an expert?" I ask.

She shrugs one shoulder. "My siblings and I spent rainy days lost in jigsaw worlds."

"Rainy days, huh?" I repeat.

"Yep, it was either puzzles, getting lost in books, or the music studio," she replies, turning her attention back to the task at hand.

Books and puzzles—safe topics. Though a music studio . . . who has that at home? Should I ask her more about it? No. Even discussing that feels like treading into dangerous territory. It'll mean getting to know more about her. That's not what you do with an employee. You keep things professional, so the lines are never blurred.

You, fucking liar. Gemma shared a lot about her and not once did you think about kissing her.

Kissing Indie isn't the only thing I would want to do. With Indie . . .

I want to taste a lot more than her lips.

I want to taste her all.

I want to immerse myself in the essence of her being, to explore every nuance that makes her uniquely herself. To understand her not just through words, but through the silent language of touch, the exchange of breaths, the meeting of souls.

Whoa, where did that come from? Just stop. Stop that train of thought and just make casual talk. Keep it simple and pray that she's here for only a few days.

"Books are good," I say, my voice betraying a hint of the tension knotting my shoulders. "They say they can take you anywhere." Indigo adds.

"Anywhere but here," I mutter, thinking that's exactly what I need right now.

I have no business looking at this beautiful woman. She's too young, and I . . . I am a man with many responsibilities, by a past that threatens to overshadow any chance of a future that includes laughter and lightness.

Indie nibbles on her lip, an action seemingly pure yet charged with implications that whirl my mind into a frenzy. The way in which her hair cascades over a shoulder, revealing the gentle arc of her neck as though daring me to explore its contour with a touch, with my mouth—it drives me to . . . Fuck.

I just can't seem to control my thoughts. What's the matter with me?

She's only temporary, I remind myself, a mantra meant to shield me from an inevitable crash. I can't just proposition the . . . Wait, what does she exactly do for the team?

It doesn't matter. She's the nanny and I work for her. That's plenty of reasons for me to keep myself in check.

But the more I repeat myself to behave, the less convincing it becomes.

Temporary. The word thrums in my mind.

Indigo is here only for a few days.

She's too young and I don't have time.

She's only temporary, I tell myself once more, willing my body to believe it.

Fuck, Brynes, pull yourself together.

Remember that saying of not eating where . . . I can't remember the rest, but it means don't fuck where you work or you might lose your livelihood.

I watch as she shifts, her movements graceful, purposeful, yet innocent. She doesn't know she's weaving herself into our lives. The very thought should terrify me—does terrify me. Yet there's a part of me—a reckless, hungry part—that yearns to see just how close we can get before the threads unravel.

"Indigo," I start, but freeze when she looks up. Those brown eyes wide and expectant struck me with the sudden urge to close the distance between us, to savor the unspoken words on her lips.

I clear my throat, pulling back as if scorched by the mere idea. Making an attempt to calm the sudden flare of desire. It takes more than a few beats before I manage to find my voice again. "Any luck with finding a replacement for Gemma yet?" I'm impressed at how casual I sound.

No one would know I'm having trouble controlling my body. That I need to run to the ice rink and cool the fuck down.

Indigo's brow furrows slightly in confusion. "Who's Gemma?"

"Our former nanny."

"Ah." Her reaction is subtle—a slight tilt of her head, a momentary tightening around her eyes—as she processes the information.

Since she doesn't add more to the conversation, I ask, "Were you able to interview any candidates?"

"We made several calls and searched through some of our known channels," she states, glancing at Myra. "Unfortunately, live-in nannies are hard to come by. As of right now, we have just one candidate who could cover during the day, but she wouldn't be available at night."

"If it helps, I don't expect them to actually live here," I say, keeping my tone light with some effort. "Just to be around when I can't be."

"Which means during those away games too," she states. "And that's when she wouldn't be able to be here."

I open my mouth but close it and nod.

"You sort of need a live-in nanny," Indigo states and her statement grates on my already frayed nerves, even if she's right. "As I was saying, we haven't found anyone, but I've got a lot of people on the lookout. We'll locate someone soon. I promise."

Panic spikes, hot and sharp. "I'm heading out again next week and have a game tomorrow," I say tightly, unable to keep the tension from my voice.

"Don't worry, I'll be here for her," Indie assures me gently. "But there are a few things we should probably discuss first . . . in private." Her eyes flit briefly to Myra, as if saying this isn't a conversation for young ears.

I feel my brow furrow slightly. Does she want to discuss her living accommodations here? Could this be about a significant other? In a fleeting moment of curiosity, my gaze drifts to her left hand. The absence of a ring confirms she's not engaged or married—at least, not that I can see. A surprising sense of relief washes over me.

I mentally scold myself, Stop it, Brynes. This isn't the time for such thoughts. Focus on what's important—figuring out what's best for your child.

Attempting to steer the conversation back to neutral territory, I adopt a lighter tone. "If it's about choosing one of the empty rooms or deciding how to decorate it, just say the word. I'll have the relocation team get it furnished for you," I offer, paired with a playful wink. "They seem to be very responsive."

One eyebrow arches up in a sassy retort to my failed attempt at humor. "Ha, ha. Aren't you hilarious?" Indigo's response is immediate and dry, her voice devoid of amusement. "Though, I would check on that, the other thing can wait until tomorrow, during your day off."

"Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, why don't we go and get a snack?" I suggest, trying to keep the atmosphere light and friendly.

Indie's gaze shifts to her watch, a slight crease forming between her brows as she checks the time. "If it's okay with you, I have to leave."

"Why? Do you have something to do?"

She nods. "I have to pick up David and Rigby from my parents' place."

I give her a blank look, clearly not following. Does she have children? No wonder she's great with my daughter, but she's so young. And also, I wouldn't want her to leave them with someone else to care for my daughter.

Is she going to suggest bringing them? Can she take care of three children?

"You lost me—who exactly?" I admit, feeling a bit out of the loop.

"David Meowie and Rigby Barks," Indigo clarifies matter-of-factly, as if the names should ring a bell. "Though everyone in my family adores them, I think they've overstayed for today."

It takes me a few seconds to understand and actually laugh at the ingenious names of her pets. "So your dog is named after Eleonor Rigby?" I confirm since the cat is obvious.

Indie nods proudly and Myra perks up instantly. "You have pets?"

"They're more than just pets. They're my family," Indigo replies, her voice softening. She shows me her phone. "I'll text you later so we can discuss them."

And with those parting words the puzzling, beautiful woman walks away.