Page 9

Chapter Nine

Maggie

I drop another scoop of batter onto the parchment-lined baking sheet, watching as the chocolate chips glisten under the lights. The kitchen is quiet except for the gentle hum of the oven and Finn’s occasional sleepy mumbles as he carefully picks chocolate chips out of his cookie, popping them into his mouth one by one like he’s unearthing buried treasure.

When we came downstairs earlier, breakfast had already been set out for us—muffins and fresh fruit arranged under a glass dome, yogurt nestled in a bowl of ice like we were at some five-star hotel instead of an actual home. I still can’t get used to it, the way meals just… appear, the cooking staff always one step ahead, anticipating needs before anyone has to ask. It’s going to take some getting used to.

I'm not sure how late Finn would have slept in if I’d left him, but it was nearly ten-thirty when I finally woke him up. Hopefully, it means an easier bedtime tonight.

Because last night? Absolute hell.

Getting Finn into pajamas required full-scale negotiations. He claimed he wasn’t tired while simultaneously rubbing his eyes and yawning. Fifteen minutes later, he hit me with the mother of all tantrums—tears, screaming, stuffed dinosaur launched across the room like a prehistoric missile. And just when I thought he’d crashed? Jack-in-the-box mode activated. I thought I was going to lose my mind. He's used to going to bed whenever he wants, and it's going to be an uphill battle turning that ship around.

I slide the baking sheet into the oven and glance at Finn. "You doing okay there, buddy? "

Finn’s head droops dangerously close to his plate before he jerks upright, blinking like an owl. "M’awake."

"Sure you are." I nudge a plate of warm cookies toward him. "More milk?" I ask, eyeing the nearly empty glass beside him.

He nods, his curls still messy from sleep. "Yes, please."

I pour another splash. "Nice manners, Finny."

For all the spoiling he gets, the kid has surprisingly good manners—at least with pleases and thank-yous. I make a point to praise him for it as much as possible. Also, I’m a little curious about who taught him these manners. I guess it could be his revolving door of nannies, since it’s unlikely his absent parents had any part in it. Or maybe it was Xavier?

No. Manners require consideration for others. Which makes him about as qualified as a traffic cone. He probably thinks ‘thank you’ is what people say to him just for showing up—something he hasn’t done yet today. I'm pretty sure he went out right after Finn and I headed upstairs yesterday, and I didn't hear him come in, so he obviously spent the night somewhere else. In someone else's bed, most likely.

I set aside a separate plate of cookies. Maybe if I leave some for him, he’ll resent my presence a little less. Worth a shot.

My phone buzzes. It's Denise.

"Good morning, Maggie. Just checking in to see how everything's going," she says, her voice carrying that perfect blend of professional and warm that I'm starting to realize is her trademark.

"Everything’s fine." I glance at Finn, now attempting to extract another chocolate chip from his cookie with laser focus. "We slept in a bit, and we made cookies."

"Wonderful. And Xavier? Everything okay there?"

Crap. No way am I mentioning he’s been gone since yesterday. Although I'm not even sure that would be ratting him out; I still don't get how the whole thing works with Xavier—if he's accountable to anyone. But I do know he's got no accountability to me, so I'm not sticking my nose where it doesn' t belong.

"Things are good." I keep my tone neutral. "I haven’t seen him this morning." (Not a lie but also not enough to be incriminating.) "But I made extra cookies in case he wants some."

"That was nice of you. I'm sure he'll like that." She pauses. "Do you need anything? The Rockwell world can be… overwhelming at first."

Understatement. But nothing I can’t handle.

"No, I think I’m good. Although I did accidentally end up in a walk-in fridge yesterday."

Denise’s laugh is gentle. "Ah yes, that’s caught quite a few people off-guard. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the layout after a few days."

After we hang up, I turn back to Finn, whose lips and fingers are smeared in chocolate.

"What do you say we get bundled up and play in the snow?"

His grin widens and he pumps his sticky fist in the air. "Yes! Yes! Yesssss!"

"My fingers are ice cubes," Finn announces as we stumble into the Rockwell equivalent of a mudroom, tracking snow and slush everywhere.

"That’s because you refused to keep your mittens on, you little polar bear." I tug off his snow-caked boots.

"Mittens are for babies."

"Oh really? Then why do I wear them?"

"Because…" He scrunches his face. "Because you’re a girl."

I ruffle his damp curls. "Nice try, buddy."

We spent over two hours outside, and only came in because Finn’s lips were turning blue and I was losing feeling in my toes. After getting him settled with hot chocolate and a movie, I trudge upstairs to change, leaving damp footprints on the pristine marble.

Music drifts down the hallway. Xavier is home .

I pause outside his door, debating whether to knock and let him know about the cookies I put aside for him. My knuckles hit wood before second thoughts can kick in.

A beat of silence, then, "Who is it?"

"It’s Maggie."

Silence stretches out, broken only by muffled movement behind the door. My feet do an awkward dance, wet socks making gross squishing sounds on the hardwood. And just as I'm ready to bail and head to my room, the door creaks open a few inches. My words catch in my throat.

Xavier's frame fills the narrow gap, bare-chested in threadbare jeans riding south of decent. My gaze snaps north to his face after an embarrassing detour across those abs. His hair is messier than usual, like he's been running his hands through it, and his cheeks are flushed. Pretty sure mine are too now.

"I, uh, made cookies earlier. They're in the warming drawer if you want some."

Xavier's expression remains unreadable as he leans against the doorframe, one muscled shoulder pressing into the wood. "Great. Thanks."

I hate that even his casual slouch somehow manages to look graceful, all long lines and easy confidence.

A female voice floats from behind him. "Who is it, Xave?"

My eyes flick past his shoulder before I can stop myself.

Blonde. Gorgeous. Shirt… optional.

I drag my gaze back mid-eye-roll.

"Just Finn’s latest nanny," Xavier tosses over his shoulder.

"Latest? Wow. That much of a revolving door, huh?" Pretty sure he catches on that I'm not just referring to childcare here. I adjust my water-logged sweater. "Anyway, just wanted to let you know I made extra cookies. That's it. I'll let you get back to your... mid-afternoon pursuits."

Xavier's face doesn't even twitch. "Sounds good." The door clicks shut in my face. Everything about the past two minutes so predictably on brand.

I spend the rest of the day with Finn, determined to focus on the reason I'm here. We build an epic blanket fort, complete with cute little car fairylights that cast rainbow shadows across our faces, and play Go Fish between rounds of practicing his letters.

"Can we have pizza for dinner?" Finn asks, coloring way outside the lines of his dinosaur picture.

"Sure, but you need to eat some veggies too."

"Brenda didn’t make me eat vegetables."

I shrug. "New nanny, new rules."

He watches me for a second with his big brown eyes. "Xavier lets me have pizza and no vegetables. With chocolate milk."

"Well, I’m not Xavier." The words come out sharper than intended. I soften my tone. "How about we make it fun? We can pretend the broccoli are tiny trees, and you're a giant dinosaur eating them."

In the kitchen, I realize Candice, one of the Rockwell cooks, already took care of dinner—three homemade chicken pot pies warming in the oversized drawer, turtle cheesecake in the fridge. Still, I promised Finn pizza, so I stash his portion for my lunch tomorrow while Finn demolishes his "forest."

Xavier’s portion stays in the drawer. No idea if he plans to eat here. No idea if he’s even still home.

Turns out he is. I know this because after getting Finn into his pajamas, he darts down the hall and pounds on his brother's door before I can intervene.

" Xaaaaaaave! "

"What’s up?" Xavier’s voice is warm—reserved for Finn and, apparently, everyone but the nannies, as far as I can tell. I've been bumped from "annoying but intriguing quirky girl" to "she-who-must-not-be-allowed-to-stay".

Xavier's door swings open and Finn disappears inside. I hover awkwardly in the hallway, caught between wanting to respect their time together and needing to keep an eye on my charge. Through the partially open door, their laughter drifts out—genuine and unguarded. No signs of his lady friend any more.

"Look what I made today!" Finn chirps. "It’s a giant, fat T! And I filled it with T words!"

My heart swells. He fought me on practicing letters but caved once I started drawing tadpoles in top hats and tiaras, twirling tambourines, and any other T words we could think of, inside a giant T I cut out.

"Whoa, that is a totally tubular T ," Xavier's deep voice praises.

"Is tubular good or bad?"

"Definitely good. You’re an expert T drawer, dude."

"I know. I’m really good at T s."

"So good we should throw a T party."

Finn giggles. "Like a tea party you drink? Or like the letter T "?

"I say we just do an all-encompassing T party."

"Okay. Let's do a compass T -party! It means we have to shout out T words, 'kay?"

"Terrific."

"No, I go first, Xave! I get to start."

"Totally."

"T-t-t-table!" Finn belts out, and I beam silently. He's nailing the "T" sound we worked on today. "T-t-t-tiger! T-t-t-tree!"

Then Xavier fires back with, "T-t-t-Tempestuous Turtle!"

Okay, ten points to Rockwell. Begrudgingly, but still—it's a good one. Way better than my lame "tadpole".

Finn giggles. "What does 'tempestamus' even mean?"

"It's like… a turtle with a lot going on inside his shell."

"Huh?"

Xavier chuckles. "Imagine a little turtle with big feelings," he explains. "So, instead of being chill, he's going around flapping his little flipper arms yelling, 'I demand a bigger shell, STAT! "

"I demand a bigger shell, STAT!" Finn repeats at the top of his lungs.

"Tremble, tiny tadpoles! This turtle is tired of tolerating your terrible tomfoolery!" Xavier roars. More squeals. A few soft thumps—probably pillows flying.

"Take that, treacherous terrapins! I’ll trounce you tenfold before tea time!" Xavier continues, and color me impressed—did the boy seriously just use the words "terrapin" and "trounce"?

There's a sudden escalation in the high pitch of Finn's squeals that makes me think Xavier just scooped him up or is wrestling with him.

"Yeah, take that! " Finn yells.

"Turn back, you timid twerps, before I transform you into tadpole tapas! " Xavier bellows. And now they're both laughing, and my hatred for Xavier just melted a tiny bit.

Which, in itself, I hate. I don't want to like him. He's a total jerk to me. A tremendously tyrannical twerp. And entitled and arrogant and self-centred.

But also, really sweet with his little brother. When he isn't spoiling him rotten.

Their easy banter continues as I sort through Finn's winter gear, making sure everything's dry for tomorrow. About thirty minutes later, Finn comes bounding down the hall, looking for me. Solo, thankfully. He wants to do his bedtime stories in the blanket fort we built, so I read him three chapters of Captain Underpants under swaths of silky sheets and fluffy blankets while he giggles and points at all the pictures.

When it's bedtime, he pouts but doesn't argue, which tells me he's extra tired. Either that, or not tired enough for his emotions to disintegrate into a full-on meltdown. Either way, it still takes me almost an hour before he stays in his bed and finally falls asleep. By this time, there's no sign of Xavier. His bedroom door's open now. He’s somewhere in this palatial estate. Or maybe out at another party. Or a salacious brothel. Or whatever rich kids do on the last night of winter break.

Whatever.

The important thing is he’s not here to make me feel like I’m overstepping or invading his space or privacy or being a general thorn in his aristocratic side.

Which means I get to spend the rest of my evening setting up my diorama supplies on a sturdy puzzle table tucked into a semi-private turret nook off the upstairs sitting room .

I settle in, carefully painting rust effects onto a tiny Ferris wheel in my crumbling dystopian amusement park overtaken by nature. And I let the details—tiny cracks, streaks of age, the slow takeover of vines—push away thoughts of shirtless rich boys and their stunning companions.

And the way they make their little brother laugh when they think no one’s listening.