Chapter 5

As I lead Indigo upstairs to introduce her to Myra, I can't shake the odd feeling that Jude might have just saved more than my day. He may have brought an unstoppable force named Indigo Walker crashing into our lives, and suddenly, the future seems less daunting.

We reach Myra's door and I brace myself, unsure of what to expect. I push the door open wider, and unsurprisingly there it is, the aftermath of Myra's attempt to dress herself. Nearly her entire wardrobe lies scattered across the carpet.

This is one of the things Gemma did for us. She would pick out her clothes first thing in the morning before breakfast. We had no debates and no second guesses. Now . . . she might spend the entire day just trying to decide if it's a dress or a leggings kind of day.

Myra looks up, her gaze shifting from me to Indigo, and for a moment, there's a silence filled with appraisal.

"Hi, I'm Myra Brynes. Who are you?" Myra's voice cuts through the room, her tone as if she's interviewing a new candidate for a very important position in her almost six-year-old life.

"This is Indigo," I start, glancing at Indigo, hoping she picks up on the cue. "She's going to hang out with you while we find you a new nanny."

Indigo steps forward, a smile playing on her lips. "Hey, there, Myra. I'm Indie. I'm here to make sure we have a fun day together. How does that sound?"

Myra scrutinizes Indigo for a moment longer. "Do you like My Little Ponies?" she finally asks. "They're my favorite, except for baby unicorns. Those are the bestesests."

"The best," I correct her while Indigo pretends to debate her answer.

"I used to watch the show while growing up, but I've lost track of the new ones," she admits. "Baby unicorns are super cute just like Pegasi. My personal favorites are axolotls."

Myra gives her a sharp nod and smiles then asks, "Can you help me pick what to wear? I can't decide if I want to dress for the ice rink . . . or maybe we can just skip all that and go to Grandma's house in Florida."

Indigo laughs easily, picking her way through the tornado of clothes. "Well, Florida sounds fun, but how about we just focus on school today?" she suggests diplomatically. "I happen to be great at outfit picking. Sometimes I even design dresses with my sister—she's a fashion designer."

Myra's eyes light up. "Can she make me a dress for my birthday?" she requests, then glances at me. "That could be my present, and then we'll move back to Florida, Daddy."

Indigo glances at me, as if looking for a clue about Florida. I shrug because she just came up with that earlier today.

"I'm pretty sure Lyric, my sister, can help us with your birthday dress," Indie states. "Why don't we focus on today, though?" Indigo replies, winking at Myra.

They dive back into the piles of clothing, and I watch amazed as Indigo expertly engages Myra, navigating her strong will rather than dictating. Before long, they've compromised on the perfect outfit—a sparkly purple tulle skirt paired with Myra's favorite hockey jersey, rainbow leggings peeking out the bottom. Mismatched unicorn socks climb her calves.

And for the first time since the nanny quit, I feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

"All set," Indigo announces, standing with a grin. Myra twirls happily, giggling as her skirt spins out.

Indigo winks at me over Myra's head. "Now, who wants my world-famous celebration pancakes?"

"World famous, huh?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'll be the judge of that."

As we head to the kitchen, I can't take my eyes off Indigo—the confident sway of her hips, the sleek dark cascade of hair spilling down her back. She moves with innate grace, and I feel an unwanted spark of attraction.

Indigo takes charge of the kitchen, her movements confident and graceful, with Myra eagerly following. I lean against the doorway, arms folded, watching them interact and making sure this arrangement will work—even when it might only last a few days.

The kitchen transforms under Indigo's touch into an almost magical place. Ingredients appear on the countertop as if by magic—flour, eggs, milk, a bottle of maple syrup—all neatly arranged.

"May I crack the eggs?" Myra's voice is hopeful, her eyes wide with anticipation. It's a simple task, yet the fact that she's requesting and not just demanding is a huge change from her usual behavior.

"Of course," Indigo responds, handing over an egg with a gentle smile. "Just tap it on the edge of this bowl."

Holding my breath, I watch as Myra carefully taps the egg, her little face scrunched in concentration. When it cracks successfully into the bowl, she lights up with a brilliant grin.

"Great job, Myra," Indigo exclaims, holding up her hand. Myra enthusiastically high-fives her, bursting with pride at this accomplishment. "Cracking eggs can be tricky, but you nailed it. We'll make an expert chef of you in no time."

Myra beams under the effusive praise, and my heart swells at her unbridled joy.

Under Indigo's patient guidance, Myra carefully measures flour and adds a dash of cinnamon, face adorably concentrated with her effort. Their interaction flows seamlessly and naturally—Indigo's instructions clear yet gentle, Myra following each step precisely with obvious pride.

Soon, the aroma of cooking pancakes fills the warm kitchen, sweet and celebratory, drawing me fully into this domestic scene playing out before me. Indigo dexterously flips a pancake as Myra applauds enthusiastically, her utter delight infectious.

"These are going to be delicious." Indigo winks down at her tiny sous-chef. "All thanks to your help." Myra glows under the praise, then insists on getting the syrup from the counter herself while Indigo transfers the last golden-brown pancake to the serving plate.

"Think we're ready to sample these world-famous pancakes?" Indigo asks playfully, glancing my way.

"If they taste the way they smell, I'm sure they're probably the best in the world," I admit.

Indigo grabs the plate as Myra holds the syrup while leading our procession to the kitchen island where the other two plates are set. At the first bite, I'm struck by their perfection—fluffy, lightly sweet, utterly delicious.

"World-famous could actually be selling them short," I admit, earning a satisfied smile from Indigo and laughter from Myra.

"I think I like you," Myra looks at Indigo.

"The feeling is mutual," Indigo responds. "Glad we'll be able to hang out for a few days."

But what will happen in a few days? What if I can't find anyone to look after Myra and she has to go and take care of the rest of the team?

I try not to panic, but the tension is back, and how am I supposed to play tomorrow when my life is a clusterfuck again.