Page 122 of Nine Week Nanny

Pope

The café hums with low conversation, the hiss of the espresso machine cutting through it now and then. I keep tapping my finger against the mug, watching ripples fan across the black coffee I haven’t touched.

Across from me, Camila pulls apart her croissant into smaller and smaller bits. She’s not eating, just dismantling.

“So that’s where we are.” She pushes the plate away. “Every time we get close to settling, my ex files another motion. This time about retirement accounts.”

My stomach knots. “And housing? Last time you said you needed an extra week or two. It’s looking longer?”

Her mouth twists. “The house I found failed inspection. Black mold. I’m back to square one.” She presses her fingertips into her temple like she can hold the stress in place.

I set the mug down too hard. Coffee sloshes over the rim. “So what are we really talking about here, Camila?”

Her eyes meet mine without flinching. “At least another month before I can even file the adoption petition. Maybe longer. I can’t promise you a date.”

The words hit like a punch. Another month. Maybe longer. Meanwhile, Chris circles, sniffing for weakness.

“What about temporary custody?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean. “Even as a stopgap?—”

She shakes her head. “No judge would give me custody in a one-bedroom with my own kids bouncing between households. I need time, Pope. I know it’s asking a lot. But I am trying.”

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration prickling under my skin. Not at her, but at this whole mess. At Chris. At myself for ever thinking this would be clean.

“Let me help. I’ll buy the house. Put it in your name?—”

Her gaze softens, but her answer is firm. “If I can’t stand on my own, they’ll say I’m not really providing for Lennon. I need to do this on my own, Pope, but thank you for that generous offer.”

I lean back, swallowing my retort. She’s right, but it doesn’t make it easier.

She changes the subject. “How was Jacksonville? You never told me how the second emergency hearing went.”

The café noise swells between us while I collect my thoughts. I’m still digesting what she just told me. I finally answer. “For the second time, we shut him down.”

Relief flickers in her eyes. “So…a win?”

“On paper,” I say, jaw tight.

She waits.

“On paper, anyway.” I don't tell her that Chris knew exactly where to hit me. I may have kept Lennon from him, but he made sure I lost her.

Camila leans forward.

“What do you mean?”

“Chris showed up with that Tampa attorney, all about ‘biological rights.’ He tried to slip in the PI photos.”

Her breath catches. “The ones of you and Sloane?”

I nod once. “Warren shut it down. He had my affidavit ready. Sloane doesn’t live there anymore, nor is she Lennon’s nanny anymore. The judge sealed the photos, called them prejudicial. He limited everything to Lennon’s day-to-day.”

Camila exhales, shoulders sinking. “That’s how it should be.”

“Yeah. Chris couldn’t answer basic questions. He didn’t have a clue about his allergies, his bedtime. The judge reaffirmed my guardianship and set the next hearing for sixty days. I thought Lennon would be with you by then…” My voice trails off. “Guess that’s not happening.”

“It still could.” She says it quickly, almost too quickly.

I rub at the tension blooming in my forehead. Sixty days suddenly doesn't even matter. Hell, I could do this for another six months. Lennon and I are in a groove. I like him there. More than I ever thought I would.