Page 104 of Nine Week Nanny

"That's the thing, nothing happened. We had an amazing night the night before last, when Lennon spent the night. I woke up in his bed, and I overheard him on the phone."

"On the phone doing what? Another woman?"

"I don't know who. He was outside. I heard him refer to me as 'the goddamned nanny' and he talked about 'who I fuck.' Like I'm just that, a f—." I stop myself when I remember Tyler. He can't understand what I'm saying, but still.

Angela's eyes widen. "Oh, honey."

"I'm so stupid." The quinoa sticks in my throat as I try to swallow. "I actually thought we were building something. How dumb could I have been?"

Angela wipes Tyler's chin, her movements thoughtful. "I have to say, I'm surprised."

"Not as surprised as me. It came out of nowhere."

"Have you considered that there might be someone else? Didn't you say he's from Denver? Maybe there's someone back there."

My stomach drops. The possibility hasn't crossed my mind.

"I don't think so. He doesn't seem like—" But what do I know about Pope Carrigan, really? A few intense weeks, a handful of nights. "I never actually asked if he was single."

"Men." Angela rolls her eyes. "They'll happily take what's offered without mentioning the girlfriend in another city."

Tyler bangs his spoon against the tray, demanding attention. Angela catches it before it hits the floor.

"You deserve clarity, Sloane." She reaches across to squeeze my hand. "At minimum."

The conversation shifts as Tyler starts fussing. Angela entertains him with peek-a-boo while I push vegetables around my bowl, my appetite gone. We chat about the boys' progress at Seabreeze, the curriculum for next week, normal things that seem like they're happening to someone else.

I'm both relieved to have spoken the words aloud and devastated by the new possibilities Angela has raised. What if there is someone? What if I've been nothing but a convenient distraction?

When we part with hugs in the parking lot, I'm more unsure than when I arrived.

Darkness softensthe edges of the kitchen as I wipe down the last of the dinner plates. Lennon went down twenty minutes ago, worn out from a long day. The monitor on the counter catches his gentle breathing, the slight whistling sound he makes when he's in deep sleep.

My fingers trace the cool marble countertop. The house is empty without Pope's presence filling the rooms. But it's easier this way. Easier to breathe when he's not here, when I don't have to pretend his words didn't slice me open.

The front door opens with a soft click. Keys jingle in the foyer. Fuck. I should have snuck upstairs when I had the chance. Hopefully, he will retreat to his office and give me the chance to disappear.

I hear his footsteps coming my way.

My pulse quickens, betraying me. I grab the dish towel, focusing on drying the pot I just washed.

Pope appears in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. His tie is loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks tired.

"Hi." His voice is rough, uncertain.

"Hi."

The silence stretches between us, elastic and dangerous. I can't keep drying this pot, so I switch to folding the dish towel, draping it over the oven handle with unnecessary precision.

Pope takes a step into the kitchen. Then another. "How was Lennon today?"

Our safe conversation. I'm just the nanny, this is my job. I repeat this over and over like a mantra.

"Good. He built a whole city in the sand with Micah. They named it Shark Town."

A small smile touches his lips. He moves closer, his fingertips brushing the counter's edge.

"Sloane, I?—"