Page 6 of Make You Mine

Amerie

We weren’t expecting anyone for another hour. Which is why I’m still in my robe, silk scarf wrapped around my head, with Emmett balanced on my hip and Willow following me like a shadow, when someone knocks on the front door.

“Who’s that?” Declan calls over the buzz of his electric shaver. He’s not even dressed for the office yet.

“No clue!” I yell back. “Solicitor? Milkman? Friendly British neighbor introducing themselves?”

“Doubt it. No one’s that bloody friendly before eight. Probably someone trying to sell us overpriced jam.”

I snort back a laugh as I head down the stairs with kids in tow. Willow’s much too nosy to stop shadowing me now and Emmett’s sucking on his pacifier as he clings to my hip. Through the glass cut outs on the door, I can see it’s a woman on our front step.

It takes me a whole other second to realize just which woman it is, like the fact that it’s the nanny we’ve hired on.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “She’s early.”

“Oooh, Mommy said a bad word!” Willow gasps scandalously, bouncing on her feet. She tugs at my robe. “Mommy, does that mean you have to put a quarter in the swear jar? Mommy? Mommy!”

“Willow, shhh. Not now.” I turn toward the door and draw it open, putting on a polite smile. “Chelsea? I thought that was you. You’re an hour early.”

The brunette is in another long cardigan, her eyes bright from behind her large glasses. She holds up a white box full of pastries and a drink carrier holding several coffees.

“Good morning!” she chirps. “I’m sorry, I know it’s early. But I thought it would be nice to start the week with a treat. I stopped by Frans Café and picked the family up some breakfast. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Oh… that was… very thoughtful of you.”

“Mmm, are those donuts?” Willow says nosily from my side, sniffing at the air.

Chelsea laughs softly. “I’m afraid not. Brits aren’t known for donuts, sweetheart. But I’ve brought some tasty scones and treacle tart! I’m sure you’ll love those just as well.”

“Treacle… tart?” Willow stammers, raising a brow.

“Come in,” I say, stepping aside. “And thank you for bringing us breakfast. You didn’t have to.”

“It was no problem at all. It was on the way, and I’m a caffeine addict myself.”

“Then you’re in the right household. Between Declan and me, we probably have a pot a day.

” I glance down at my robe and pajamas, still balancing an ever-fussy Emmett on my hip.

“Do you mind if I head up to change? I’ll be down in a few minutes.

Willow, why don’t you show Chelsea where the kitchen is? ”

“Okay!” Willow squeaks. She pivots at once and starts the opposite way down the hall. “It’s over here!”

Chelsea exchanges a smile with me, then follows in Willow’s wake, clutching the box of pastries and coffee carrier.

I head back upstairs to change. I’m not the only one—Declan is in the middle of buttoning up his dress shirt. He cocks a curious brow at me as I enter our bedroom and gently lay Emmett down on the bed.

“She’s here already?”

“She said she wanted to start the day with a treat. She brought us coffee and scones.”

“That’s… a bit much, isn’t it?” he thinks aloud, turning to the floor-length mirror. He reaches for his tie next, looping that around his neck and tying the front knot. “Still, fair play to her. Smart to butter us up early. We are her employers.”

I hum, coming up from behind him. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, but because of our significant height difference, I’m barely visible in the mirror.

It automatically brings a grin to his face as he watches our reflection—barely the top of my head until I stand on tip toe and rest my chin on his shoulder, then press a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Thanks, babe,” I mutter.

“For what, love?”

“For doing this for us. For me.”

He turns around to face me, cupping my chin to draw us even closer. “What have I always told you? It’s my job to make your life easier. That’s what she’s here for. To take some weight off. Maybe then you’ll get some bloody words down.”

I laugh before we come together for a sweet kiss on the lips. Declan finishes with his tie and I throw on some real clothes (ones I haven’t slept in).

We come downstairs as a family, with me carrying a freshly diapered Emmett and Declan clutching his satchel, ready for another day at the office.

Willow and Chelsea are in the kitchen halfway through some treacle tart, giggling and chatting away when we enter.

“Mommy! Daddy! Did you know Chelsea can balance a spoon on her nose for a whole minute?! Watch!”

Chelsea blushes, laughing softly. “Willow, I’m sure your mum and dad have more important things going on.”

“A whole minute, eh? Impressive. But it’ll have to wait ’til some other time, Widget. Dad’s got a train to catch. I will help myself to one of these coffees and scones if you don’t mind, Chelsea.”

“Oh no, please do. All yours, Mr. Keating. I brought them for the whole family.”

“It’s Declan, Chelsea. No need for formalities.” He grabs a coffee and turns to kiss Willow on top of the head, then moves to do the same to Emmett. I’m last, receiving one on the lips. “Alright, I’m out. See you for dinner.”

I watch his retreating form disappear through the kitchen doorway, then turn back to the breakfast table. Chelsea’s gaze is already on me, a smile coming to her face.

“Sweet you all wake up together,” she observes.

“You’d think that. But this one is on his own schedule.” I stroke gentle fingers over Emmett’s tight coils and he releases a fussy breath as if in offense.

“Let me guess, he’s a hungry one.”

“You guessed correctly. But I don’t mind. He’s out right after.”

“He’s breastfed, then?”

My brows knit slightly as I scoop Emmett out of the highchair, back into my arms. “He is. That obvious?”

“There’s something about the way they settle after. They’re just so calm, like they’ve been drugged with love,” she says with a soft laugh. “I’ve done a few lactation courses in college and helped some young mums at a clinic. You start to notice the signs.”

“Right… well, he’s definitely got an appetite.”

“It’s not easy. But you seem to make it look effortless.”

It’s my turn to laugh as I check the time on the stove and realize Willow needs to get ready for school. “I appreciate the praise, Chelsea, but you’ve been here all of five minutes. Trust me when I say there’s a reason we hired you. Effortless is probably the last word I’d use.”

“Well, I’m happy to help take the load off. Why don’t you have a scone?” She reaches for the bakery box and lifts the lid to show off the blueberry scones glossed in delicious looking vanilla icing.

“Mommy can’t eat those!” Willow says in that candid way five-year-olds tend to divulge info.

A crease forms between Chelsea’s brows as she glances at me. “Not a scone fan, are you?”

“Not exactly. More like I’m diabetic. Type one.”

“Oh…. Oh! I had no clue. But I understand how that is. My mum’s gluten intolerant. I’m no stranger to dietary tweaks. Next time, I’ll ask for a sugar-free option.”

“No need, I got most cravings for sweets out of my system a long time ago,” I say. “Anyway, Willow, finish your tart and head upstairs to change, okay? We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

The five-year-old nods, picking at the buttery pastry like a little bird. She has a few more bites before she decides she’s satisfied and scoots her chair back to dash upstairs and put on the outfit we’ve picked out for school.

“She’s so well behaved,” Chelsea observes warmly.

“She is,” I say, nodding. “She’s very smart. She reads and writes at the first-grade level. The same for math. It’s been a little difficult for her adjusting to school here, meeting new kids and making friends, but I’ve set up a few playdates.”

Chelsea hums. “I’d be happy to take her to the park and the library in the afternoons. They’ve got a Storytime Hour she might enjoy. Loads of littlies turn up.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“And it’d give you a bit of quiet to write, wouldn’t it?”

I pause with Emmett tugging at my hair, thrown for a second. “Um, sorry… but how did you know I’m planning to write?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to pry. I just assumed.

You’re Amerie Keating, right? The author, I mean?

” At the incredulous look I give, she quickly adds, “I only realized it when I googled you and Declan after the interview—just to see who I’d be working for, of course.

You both came up on LinkedIn. And your books came up on the search results.

Then I saw the cover of What She Left Sleeping and realized I read it a few years ago. ”

My brows lift. “You read What She Left Sleeping ?”

“I did! It was brilliant. Creeped me out for days.”

“That was the idea,” I say, huffing out a surprised laugh. “But, um, thanks. It’s been a while since I’ve run into anyone who’s read one of my books.”

“That was your last one, wasn’t it?”

“Hopefully, with your help, I’ll be able to meet my deadline and actually finish my next one.” I step out of the kitchen, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs. “Willow, are you ready? We have to go!”

“Coming!” she squeaks from the second floor.

Chelsea has followed me into the hall. “So, erm, about my daily duties. What will I be taking on?”

I clear my throat and shift Emmett a little higher on my hip. “Right, now’s a good time to go over that. I really just need an extra set of hands.”

She nods attentively, the same warm and eager expression on her face that she’s worn all morning long. I’ve opened the cupboard under the stairs where we keep Emmett’s stroller. Before I can even reach for it, she’s grabbed it for me, pulling it out so I can lay him down inside.

I smile in gratitude. “You’ll be here four days a week, Monday through Thursday.

Most mornings, I’ll need help getting Willow to school.

After that, maybe a few errands here and there, like stopping by the shops to pick up some groceries or the dry cleaners to drop off some clothes.

That sort of thing. Then just some help keeping the house in order.

Nothing heavy. Just staying on top of everything. ”

She gives a hum of agreement, nodding along to every word.

“I’ll be home the whole time. Mostly upstairs trying to write, so you’d still be watching Emmett during the day. He’s a good baby and naps most of the time. I’ll obviously handle the feeding.”

Her eyes briefly flick to Emmett, who is gnawing sleepily at his fist. “Of course.”

“And then in the afternoons, once Willow’s back from school, your suggestions sounded great.

She would love the park or library sometimes.

Just something light to keep her entertained while I finish up work.

Honestly, I want this to feel manageable for you.

I’d like it to be a good experience for all of us. ”

Chelsea’s smile deepens. “It sounds more than doable, Amerie. I’m honored to be here helping your family.”

Willow comes rushing down the steps in her pinafore dress uniform and tights. Her backpack is already strapped to her back, almost as big as she is.

“Ready!” she squeaks proudly.

We depart the house with Willow skipping a few paces ahead and Emmett dozing off in the stroller. Chelsea tells me about how she biked all the way over from Ashwick because she doesn’t have a car.

“Will that be your daily commute?” I ask.

“I don’t mind,” she says breezily. “Bit of exercise never hurt, did it?”

As we stroll through the neighborhood, she points out the clematis blooms in some of the front lawns.

“Lovely, aren’t they? But not nearly as striking as the ones in your garden.”

I glance over, surprised. “You noticed them?”

“In passing. They were hard to miss. You must have quite the green thumb.”

“More like the previous owner did. I’ve been letting them die.”

“Shame. Maybe that’s another thing I’ll have to give you a hand with,” she says. “Summer is around the corner. We’ll have all the time in the world.”

I can’t help smiling in response as we reach Willow’s school. I’ve had my reservations about hiring a nanny, and even about Chelsea and how overeager she has come across, but she’s been so easy to get along with that it seems silly to fight what could be a good thing.

She’s here to help, and so far she’s done nothing but be gracious and sweet. Willow seems to love her already, and she’s come up with plenty of ideas for how she can help, from taking Willow to the library to tending to the garden.

Can I really even complain?

Once we drop Willow off at school, we head back to the house.

I give Chelsea a tour of the rest of the place, including the second and third floors and then the garden and backyard. I show her the small gardener’s cottage tucked between the hedges.

“This is a lovely little spot,” she says. “You could let this to someone.”

“The last owner did. Declan and I haven’t really talked about it.”

After the tour, I announce I’m going to make my first real attempt to write. Chelsea smiles and then shoos me away.

“Go on! I’ll hold the fort,” she says. “Emmett’s down for his nap, isn’t he? You said he’d be out for another hour or two. I’ll have a tidy downstairs, maybe do a bit of dusting. I’ll take a look at the garden as well, see what needs to be done. Might even get started on lunch…”

It’s amazing the difference some help can have.

Over the next few hours, I’m locked away in my private office, tapping away at my laptop. I get down more words than I’ve managed in years, with only the occasional break to emerge for lunch or to feed and check on Emmett.

Chelsea is busy around the house. She does all the things she mentions she will, from tidying up around the house, dusting in the living and dining rooms, to heading out into the garden to tend to the flowers and plants.

By the time the clock’s striking two p.m. and my alarm’s going off, I’ve written two whole chapters. I stretch in the leather chair, arms high in the air, and crack my neck. My heart beats fast from the sense of deep accomplishment and exhilaration.

The same reflects on my face even hours later when Declan comes home.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my lips.

I’m coy as I draw back in his arms and shrug. “Let’s just say I’ve officially had a change of heart.”

“Have you now? Go on then, spill. I take it day one went well?”

“Better than well. It was amazing.”

“Let’s hear it. Tell me how right I was.”

I laugh and swat him on the shoulder as he tightens his hold around my waist. “I hate when you gloat! But fine. You were right! This was a good call. Chelsea is a godsend .”