Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
I lower my hand. Stay in my lane.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice quiet. Stoic.
Is it though?
I don’t know. But that’s the problem. I don’t know a damn thing. Don’t know if she wants comfort or space. A shoulder to lean on or just a good time for a little while. A secret or something all too complicated.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asks, her voice stripped bare of emotion.
She deserves better than me.
I’m not a safe, easy place for her to land after a terrible ex and a shitty father. I’m the worst next thing for her.
She needs a laid-back guy, with an easy life and zero baggage.
“I don’t want to add to the stress in your life, Sabrina,” I say. “You deserve to be happy, and if I’m making things harder for you, we should stop now.”
Her brow pinches. Her lips part, like she’s about to say something.
For a second, I see everything flicker across her face—pain, hurt, disappointment.
But just as quickly, it vanishes. And she’s poised again.
The skater.
I want to grab her. Hold her. Tell her that we can figure it out.
But her dad thinks she’s screwing up. My kids put her on the spot. And she does not need another person adding to the shit she has to sort through.
She needs a job, steady and dependable. She needs to build her business. She needs to move on from the assholes in her life.
And I’ve given her zero fucking space to do that.
“Okay,” she says, even, toneless.
And the dead sound of her voice breaks my heart.
I press on, like I need to convince her. “You just got out of something serious. You shouldn’t want something serious right now.” I tap my chest—no, I stab it. “I’m nothing but serious. I’m a dad with two kids who travels half the time. You deserve to have fun, not be tied to a life like mine that you didn’t sign up for.”
She nods, crisp and businesslike. “Got it. I’m one hundred percent clear.” She pauses. “Do you want me to quit?”
What? “No! You’re an amazing nanny. I want you to keep your job.”
“That’s fair,” she says, her voice unreadable. Then, firmer, steadier, she adds, “It makes sense. We can pretend nothing happened.”
My chest caves in. But I’m the one who drove the bulldozer straight through us. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s the right thing to do.”
I don’t believe it. Not one bit. But that’s what I tell myself the rest of the night, because I have to do this—for her.
46
BUNNY HOPS
Sabrina
If I got through my un-marriage, I can handle this.
Wait—let me revise that.
I did survive not only being jilted, but running away, embarrassing myself in front of a hot hockey stud, getting fired, and being disowned. And after that, I lived in a garlic palace.
This heartbreak? It’s nothing.
This ache in my chest is easy.
This hollow feeling is cake.
I tell myself that the next day over and over when the kids are back at school and Tyler’s off doing…hockey things. Pumping iron. Grunting with the guys. Stalking around with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Whatever.
I go to Sunnyside Rink, say hi to Hank and Marla at the front, then meet Jasmine for a lesson. And holy hell, this girl is fire. Her loops and axels are next level.
“I can feel it, Jasmine. The way you want this,” I tell her. I never promise medals or glory. But I do want to encourage passion.
“Thank you, Sabrina. I’ve got a plan. I know what I want,” she says, skating off the ice.
Her mom looks on knowingly. “She sure does.”
“A plan is good,” I say.
And I have one too—to build and grow this business. That is what I’m going to do. And I don’t need the distraction of a man getting in the way.
And he, clearly, doesn’t need or want the distraction of me.
So I don’t give that to him.
I take care of the kids. I pick them up. I chauffeur them to their activities. I coach Luna on her single axel at the rink. I visit High Kick Coffee with them, say hi to their great-grandmother while they do homework and try out her newest treats.
If I were keeping a list of all my nanny accomplishments, I’d be acing it. Because I am excellent at this.
And really, that has to be good enough.
Tiffany is working on her bunny hop, making progress faster than I’d expected.
“Go you! You’re acing it already,” I say as she shows me her moves at our next lesson.
“I told you I could do it,” she says.
“You were right.”
When the lesson ends, her mom beckons me over to her spot on the bench.
“So…I’ve been thinking.”
My heart skips faster. I have a feeling. “Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about lessons,” she says.
I want to squeal, but I keep my composure. “And?”