3. Zara

The front door clicks shut, and Benjamin's parents' muffled voices fade away as they leave.

With a smile, I head to the kitchen, ready for something to eat. I gather up the ingredients for a couple of sandwiches. Not really sure if Benjamin expects me to cook him a big meal when I just got here after a long drive. The kitchen has that lived-in feel, everything right where you'd expect it to be. It's Benjamin's house, his space, but for now, it's mine too.

Benjamin appears like a ghost, silent and surveying, eyeing the sandwich ingredients scattered across the counter, he arches his eyebrow.

"Making sandwiches. If you want something proper, I'll make it a bit later, if that's okay," I say to him.

He glowers at me. "How did you know what I like? You've made quite the assumption with my sandwich there."

Glaring right back at him, I bite my tongue. "Well, it's your fridge and only your fridge," I point out, popping the cap off the mayo with a little more force than necessary. "So, I figure you like everything in it."

Can't fault that logic now, can you?

We lock gazes, and I can't help the small sense of triumph bubbling inside me as it looks like the top of his head is about to explode. It feels good to knock him down a peg or two from that high horse he lives on.

"Fair enough," he grumbles. "But combinations are key."

"If you like ham and you like cheese, you'll eat a ham and cheese sandwich, got it?" I give him a sugary smile that hardens his gaze, but not in a bad way. He is realising that he can't push me around with his stinky attitude. I get why he is so defensive, but don't bite the hand that feeds you, for fuck's sake.

The door opening and closing makes me frown.

"Boy-o. You ready for the footie?" A deep male voice calls out, and two alphas saunter into the kitchen.

"Oh, hello," one of them says, coming up short when he sees me. He is cute, with dark hair and green eyes. The other one appears more reserved, with blonde hair and blue eyes. "Zara, right?" Cutie asks.

"That's me."

"The nanny?" the other one asks with a lingering look at me before shooting his gaze to Benjamin with a look that speaks volumes, if you can understand the meaning behind it. Which, to be fair, I don't.

"Liam," Cutie offers. "This is Henry."

"Nice to meet you."

"Go and wait in the lounge," Benjamin mutters to the two guys, who disappear hastily, leaving me with one pissed-off alpha. "Make one for Henry and Liam, too."

Turning my back, I roll my eyes so hard I'm worried they might stick that way. We'll have a talk about manners at some point, but right now, I feel, is not that time. "Okay," I say instead and busy myself with the order. When I hear him leave, I turn to the fridge to grab two bottles of water. Then grimace and make it three. "You get one of those on account of being in pain. Rude to me again, asshole, and I'll make a sandwich with your meat and two veg."

He hasn't heard me, but I feel better muttering it out loud anyway. Plastering a smile on my face, I load up a tray that I find propped up behind the kettle and carry it into the lounge.

Sliding it onto the coffee table as the guys are riveted to some guy barrelling on about football stuff, I turn to sneak out.

"Thanks, Zara," Henry says without much fanfare, grabbing a half without looking away from the action.

Liam, on the other hand, breaks his gaze from the TV and gives me a smile that's got more charm than should be legal. "You're a lifesaver. I was about to eat the sofa cushions," he jokes, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I reply. "Think of the blockage."

He blinks.

I blink.

And then my cheeks feel like I stuffed my head into an oven.

Liam bursts out laughing, and I cringe inwardly. "Oh, fuck. You're quick, princess," he snorts as even Henry breaks away from the action to snicker. Benjamin, on the other hand, sinks further into his armchair with a dark look, stuffing his sandwich into his mouth.

"Enjoy," I mutter, before heading back to the kitchen.

"Don't call her that again," I hear Benjamin snap at Liam.

I narrow my eyes and feel somewhat delighted that the gruff alpha defended my honour. Not that I minded, or I'd have said so myself. I'm not shy in coming forward—not anymore, not after Eddie.

I leave the lads to their game, the shouting from the TV already a dull roar in the background as I make my way upstairs and to my new bedroom. The scent of fresh paint and a faint tang of polish from the furniture gives the room that ‘just-moved-in' vibe.

Unpacking, I start with the clothes, folding and organising them into the chest of drawers and wardrobe. It feels nice, this simple act of putting my things away, like I'm stitching myself into the fabric of this place. Each folded sweater, each neatly arranged sock drawer—it's like planting a flag, declaring a bit of this space mine.

With every piece of clothing I put away, the room starts to feel less like a guest room and more like mine. It's a comforting process, finding homes for my books, my sketchpad, and the handful of framed photos I've brought with me. I line them up on the dresser, a smiling picture of my parents waving from between two potted succulents days before they died in a car crash.

I hope they would be happy about this move. I know they would be glad for me to get away from Eddie. Although now that I think about it, that relationship was a crutch for losing them. He found me raw and vulnerable, and he manipulated me before trying to destroy me.

"Asshole," I mutter, but shake my head to forget about him again.

I glance over at the baby monitor perched on the bedside cabinet. The screen shows little Mia, peaceful in her crib, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Just seeing her there, safe and sound, eases the tension in my shoulders from her father's brusque and less-than-welcoming attitude.

I finish with the unpacking, only having my toiletries to organise, and step back to survey my handiwork. It's the kind of routine I've always found solace in—everything in its right place, a spot for every little thing.

Stuffing the suitcase into the top of the wardrobe, I start dismantling the boxes, hoping I'm not going to need them anytime soon if Benjamin changes his mind about me being here.

The baby monitor emits a soft crackle before the sound of stirring comes through. I'm on my feet in an instant, crossing to the nursery next door. Mia's awake, her little arms flailing, legs kicking at the blanket she is trying to get rid of. I scoop her up, and she coos, eyes blinking up at me.

"Hey there, munchkin," I murmur as I lay her down to change her nappy. Mia gurgles and kicks her legs, seemingly happy with the attention. I glance around and notice how Benjamin has laid out everything Mia needs within easy reach: nappies, wipes, and a stack of clean onesies on the changing table. Running down the side of the room is all the bottle-making stuff, and I'm glad to see he has one of those prep machines that gives you a ready-to-drink bottle in seconds.

Massive time saver.

"Your daddy's pretty great, really, isn't he," I tell Mia, even though she's more interested in trying to stuff her hand in her mouth than what I'm saying. But it's true—Benjamin's done well here. He's trying his best to be everything his daughter needs, and that's all anyone can do. I soften slightly towards the cantankerous alpha. It would've been worse if he couldn't wait for me to get here so he could take off, leaving me to take care of his daughter for him. So, I have to respect that.

Once Mia's all fresh and happy, I place her back in the crib to make up a fresh bottle, then I scoop her back up and cradle her close, settling into the armchair by the crib. She nestles against me, ready for her feed, and I feel a sense of contentment wash over me. This isn't just a job; it's my calling. I'm ready to dive in, to give it my all. After all, this little girl in my arms and the man doing his best for her, are worth it.

As Mia starts to suckle, I take in the nursery. It's a dream, with pastel hues and soft toys scattered around like clouds on a summer day. There's a sense of calm that I haven't felt in a long time.

I glance down at Mia, her tiny hand gripping my finger like she's holding onto the world. Her eyes flutter closed, the rhythm of her feeding steady and soothing. For a brief moment, it's just us, and the rest of the world fades away.

Benjamin has done more than create an oasis; he has made a safe harbour for his daughter, a place where she can grow, laugh, and be loved.

"It looks like we're going to get along just fine," I murmur, and even though Mia can't understand me, I feel like she agrees, which might go a long way toward getting Benjamin to warm up to me, too.