Page 26 of Nine Week Nanny

The words hang in the air for a moment. No one responds, but I catch the flicker of something cross Pope's face.

We move through a wide hallway lined with abstract paintings in blues and grays. I wonder if Pope chose them or if he paid someone to do it. They seem too impersonal for the man who'd whispered heated words against my skin last week.

Pope slides open a set of glass doors at the end of the hall. "The backyard."

For the first time, Lennon perks up. The space is stunning. There's a large wooden deck that transitions to a manicured lawn with a professional-grade swing set on one side. Beyond that, steps lead down to what appears to be a private beach access.

I walk with Lennon toward the swings, careful not to crowd him. "Do you like the ocean?"

Another small nod, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, the necklace clenched between his lips. I've watched him fidget with the necklace the entire time I’ve been here. This must be what he does to calm himself.

"Lennon's grandparents are from Cuba," Camila explains, following us. "We used to travel to see them and spend the summers on the beach there."

"How neat, Lennon. I've always wanted to go to Cuba."

He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I can tell he’s listening.

"This property is quite substantial," Dana remarks, looking around with an appraising eye. "When did you purchase it, Mr. Carrigan? It seems well-suited for a child already."

Pope's posture straightens almost imperceptibly. "My realtor located this furnished property a few days ago. The seller agreed to let me rent and move in before closing, which will be in two weeks. I only moved to Palm Beach a little over a week ago, so all of it is new."

Ah, so maybe it wasn’talla pick-up line.

I keep my expression neutral, even as my mind races with questions.

"I see," Dana says, making a note in her portfolio. "Perhaps we should check the upstairs where Lennon and the nanny would be staying?"

We walk back inside while Camila stays with Lennon.

Upstairs, the wood floors gleam beneath our feet as Pope leads us down a hallway. I keep my distance, hyperaware of how small this space is with him in it. The air carries a faint scent of paint, newly finished, just like everything else.

Pope stops at the first door, pushing it open with a careful gesture. "This will be Lennon's room."

Inside, a bedroom twice the size of my childhood one spreads out in shades of navy blue and forest green. A wooden bed with a rocket ship comforter sits against one wall. A bookshelf holds a few pristine picture books and a small collection of toys.

Everything appears new. Most of the things in the bedroom still have the tags attached.

If he just moved in yesterday, how did he already do this?

Lennon hovers at the threshold, his wide eyes scanning everything without stepping inside.

"It's quite comfortable," Ms. Black notes, jotting something in her portfolio. "And I presume it's close to the nanny's room for nighttime concerns."

Pope nods yes, but doesn't speak while Ms. Black continues writing.

Pope clears his throat. "This way."

Three doors down, he pushes open another door. "This would be your space."

The low timbre of his voice sends an unwelcome pulse through my body. I hate that he affects me this way. I need to rein it in since we will be working together for the next nine weeks.

I focus on the guest suite instead. There's a queen bed with crisp white linens, a private bathroom, and a small sitting area by a window overlooking the ocean.

"Do you have reliable transportation, Ms. Brennan?" The guardian asks.

"Yes, I have my own car."

“I will also provide a sport utility vehicle for Ms. Brennan to use whenever she takes Lennon anywhere.”