Page 162 of Nine Week Nanny

“You think so?”

“I know so. He asks about you all the time.” His thumb brushes my skin again, gentler this time.

A laugh breaks from me, unsteady, half-sob. Nothing’s funny, per se, but my body does it involuntarily.

I want to believe him, but the scar runs deep. “It sounds perfect. Which is why it terrifies me.”

His eyes hold mine, unwavering. “There’s only one way to know I’m not ever going anywhere. One weekend at a time.”

The crashof waves is muted from the pool deck, but I can still smell the salt in the air. Lennon’s finally asleep upstairs, worn out from chasing gulls and climbing the dunes, and Pope and Isit side by side in lounge chairs, bare feet stretched toward the pool lights.

“I can’t believe you signed a six-month lease.” I shake my head, still reeling. “You rented a whole house on Sullivan’s Island?”

Pope’s mouth curves, unapologetic. “Seemed easier than checking in and out of hotels every weekend. Lennon needs consistency. And this way, we have a place.” His hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “A home base here. For all of us.”

I swallow hard, looking at the dark outline of the dunes. “I’m keeping my apartment.”

“Of course.” His thumb brushes my palm, steady and sure. “But the offer stands. Anytime you want a break from downtown, you and your bike can escape out here. Swim in the pool, walk the beach. It’s yours too.”

I nudge his shoulder with mine, the glow of the pool lights flickering across the water. “I still can’t believe you signed a six-month lease for this house. You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

He smirks, but the look in his eyes is steadier than teasing. “That call I just took from Caleb? It was good news. I’ve been waiting on their board to vote before I said anything.”

My stomach tightens. “Said anything about what?”

“Mount Pleasant.” He turns his head to meet my gaze. “The hospital deal was approved by the board. We don’t take over until August. You know, contracts, board transitions, all the boring parts. But once it’s official, it means I’ll be here. Permanently.”

The words ripple through me, sharp and dizzying. Charleston isn’t just a stop for him now.

“Pope…” My voice is cautious, but softer than I intend. “Are you saying you’re moving here?”

“I’m saying I want Lennon’s home base to be here. And mine, too. I don’t expect you to change anything. Keep your apartment,keep your life. I just want you to know I’m not flying in and out forever.” His thumb brushes my palm, slow and certain. “I’m building something here. I’m proving to you that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

The ache in my chest shifts, something warm threading through the fear.

For weeks, I’ve convinced myself I was temporary, a mistake he’d sweep away when the dust settled. But now, sitting here with his hand covering mine, it feels like the ground under us might finally hold.

He squeezes my hand, eyes steady on mine. “One weekend at a time, Sloane. Until it’s every weekend. Until it’s every day.”

And for the first time, I don’t flinch at the thought. I lean into him instead.

FORTY-FOUR

Epilogue

Three Months Later

The faint scentof lemon polish, mingling with the musk of old books, lingers in the oak-paneled courtroom. The smell is burned into my memory. It will always belong to this day.

Sunlight filters through tall windows, spilling uneven rectangles across the benches.

Lennon swings his legs beside me, his black dress shoes a little too stiff for his taste, but he's being a trooper. His thumb and forefinger worry the azabache so intently I half expect it to grind down to dust.

The morning has already stretched with formalities. Warren confirmed the petition, Dana Black delivered her report, and I answered every question about Lennon’s school, his doctor visits, and his nightmares.

The judge thanked us, shuffled the files, and now, finally, he looks down from the bench, glasses slipping lower on his nose.

“One more question before I issue my ruling. Where do you intend to make your permanent residence with Lennon?”