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“Daddy, if you’re just gonna stand and stare at Island, can you move out of the way so I can push myself?” Regan pipes up with a hint of annoyance.
I sheepishly back out of my outspoken six-year-old’s way while Island laughs at me.
* * *
Over the next few weeks,Island and I fall into a strange mash-up of friendship, partnership and the hint ofsomethingmore.
Tension permeates even the most innocent touch.
Whether it’s our hands brushing when we’re transferring Regan from her arms to mine, whether it’s bumping into each other as we strap Regan into her car seat, or whether our hands gravitate to each other for no reason at all, the physical connection refuses to be ignored.
Plus, we’re spending a lot more time together.
Sometimes, I’ll hang out at her salon, waiting for Regan to be finished with whatever activity she’s doing—whether it’s playing games with a client, watching a nature documentary with Amy, or braiding a mannequins’ hair.
I’ve gotten to know her technicians by name. I’ve gotten to see how she works with Amy, and I also get to hear all the comments about my muscles, my eyes and my ‘juicy pink lips’ from her more… ehem… outspoken clients.
We also meet more often to vet other nannies and while I’ve found some promising replacements, Island isn’t satisfied with any of them.
‘She’s too old. She won’t be able to keep up with Regan.’
‘She’s too young. She’ll be on her phone instead of watching Regan.’
The explanations for her disapproval have gotten more and more vague too.
‘I just get a bad feeling from her.’
‘She doesn’t strike me as the caring type.’
I could easily put my foot down and make my own decision, but I’m not ready to break the link between me and Island yet.
Besides, I want the perfect nanny for Regan too.
“She’s perfect,” I say, glancing over Imena’s resume. “She speaks three languages, is highly educated. She’s not too old. Not too young. And she’s very caring.”
“How do you know that?” Island huffs.
I point to where Imena and Regan are holding hands and balancing on colorful tires half-buried in the ground.
“Be careful, Regan,” Imena says, gripping my daughter firmly. “I don’t want you to fall.”
“Okay,” Regan chirps.
I return my attention to Island’s face and give her a pointed look.
She sticks her nose in the air. “Anyone can act like that when they’re being watched.”
“She’s got some amazing references,” I add, handing over the folders filled with glowing praise from former clients.
“If she’s so amazing, why isn’t she watchingtheirkids?”
“She left everything behind and moved here to be closer to her ailing mother.”
“Okay, so she has a sob story. Big whup.”
“She’s also a registered nurse.”
Island chews down on her bottom lip, unable to find a comeback.