Page 26

“It has pumpkin in it,” I say. “It’s a superfood, basically.”

“You’re so right,” she says, helping herself to another bite before opening the cabinet to choose a coffee mug. “Coffee?”

“No, it’s okay. I should?—”

“I insist,” she says, pressing the button for a cappuccino on the coffee maker.

As the aroma of coffee fills the room, I realize I haven’t had anything to eat all day. Maybe that’s the reason I was feeling all paranoid earlier.

“You kind of scared me with what you said earlier,” she says. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

I take a long sip of the coffee. I feel my mood brightening already.

“Thank you for asking, but everything’s fine,” I say.

“Okay, but if there’s literally anything you want to talk about, I’m here for you,” she says.

I smile at her. “I know.”

By the time I leave the hospital, the sun is higher in the sky. I’m not sure if it’s the caffeine or the conversation, but I’m in much better spirits than I was earlier.

I get inside my car and lock it after me.

Maybe I imagined it all.

I’m running low on sleep, so it’s possible that my anxiety just manifested in scary ways this morning.

There’s a new message on my phone. It’s Mrs. Hendricks. She wants me to drop by her office. She doesn’t mention why, but I assume it has to do with paperwork.

As I drive to the agency, I hum to a pop song on the radio.

When I walk inside the building, thereceptionist greets me with a bright smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Turner,” she says, standing. “Mrs. Hendricks is expecting you.”

She escorts me toward the office door, knocking once before opening it for me.

“Hey, sweetie.” Mrs. Hendricks, like always, looks like a million bucks this morning. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hendricks,” I say. “I came as soon as I saw your message.”

Her office smells like peppermint chocolate. Sunlight falls on the wooden bookshelves, making the space look even more cozy.

“Take a seat, Emma. I have some good news for you.”

She pours hibiscus tea into a porcelain cup and slides it toward me.

“Thank you,” I say, wrapping my hand around the warm beverage. “What’s the good news?”

“The nanny job,” she says. “It’s yours.”

My breath hitches in my throat.

“I don’t understand,” I say. “Mr. Sinclair made it very clear that he didn’t want me there.”

Just saying his name out loud makes hot lava run down my spine.

“He had a change of heart,” she says.