Page 34 of Nine Week Nanny

If I keep my wits about me, I’ll remember that tomorrow isn’t about him.

Even if my body hasn’t gotten the memo.

I takea deep breath and get out of the car. I'm over to the far right, ensuring that I'm not blocking anyone in.

Dawn breaks over the house in streaks of coral and gold, catching on dew-soaked hedges manicured to perfection. Landscaping like this probably has its own trust fund.

I shift my grip on my roller suitcase, grab my canvas bag of therapy games, and messenger bag as I follow the long curve of the driveway toward the front entrance. The ocean glitters beyond the house, the salt tang in the air faint but steady.

Seagulls caw overhead. Otherwise, it's blissfully quiet. There’s no traffic or neighbors immediately visible. Just waves in the distance and a soft breeze lifting my hair.

It’s not forever. I can do this. It could be a worse setting, so at least there's that.

The massive front door swings open before I can knock. Vanessa from the nanny agency stands framed in the entry, navy suit crisp, iPad in hand.

“Ms. Brennan. Thank you for being open to starting early. Lennon’s still asleep, so we can go over logistics before you meet with Mr. Carrigan.”

“Good morning.” I aim for professional warmth. “Beautiful place to start the day.”

“Indeed.” Her smile is efficient rather than friendly as she waves me inside. “We’ll get you settled and finalize the placement details. Then you can review Lennon’s routine with Mr. Carrigan.”

The entryway’s soaring ceiling makes my footsteps echo. Everything gleams in that museum-polished way that says it’s expensive and rarely touched. I take in more of it than I could yesterday, when my brain had short-circuited the second I realized my hookup was the hiring dad.

Vanessa pauses by a console table, pulling up a document on her tablet. “Before we start the tour, I’ll need you to sign the placement agreement.” She taps her iPad, stylus ready.

I set my bag down and focus.

“Nine-week term, confidentiality clauses here and here. Payment is weekly via direct deposit. Our office handles payroll, but Mr. Carrigan is your point of contact for any home concerns.”

I sign where she indicates, her manicured finger sliding down the screen to each clause.

“Great,” she says, tucking the iPad under her arm. “Let’s see your suite.”

I grab my bags as she leads me upstairs to the room Pope pointed out during yesterday’s whirlwind tour. “Full bath, deck access, and close to Lennon’s room if he needs you in the night.”

The space is larger than my entire apartment. There's a queen bed, crisp white linens, and French doors to a private patio.

“Bathroom through there, walk-in closet beside it.” She gestures. “You can leave your things here for now.”

I leave the suitcase to the side and put down my bags while my mind maps routes—how far to Lennon’s room, the layout he’ll be navigating, the empty feel of a house that hasn’t settled yet.

We pass through a living room that smells faintly of new leather. Beyond the glass doors, a play set rises beside the pool.

“Kitchen’s fully stocked,” Vanessa says. “His new pediatrician’s number is on the refrigerator, along with emergency contacts and dietary guidelines.”

I nod. “Did he sleep well last night? Any trouble settling?”

“Some distress, which is expected. We’ll check with Mr. Carrigan on how last night went, which was his first night here.” She glances at her watch. “Speaking of, he’ll review the daily schedule with you before leaving for work.”

My stomach tightens. Keep it professional.

“I’m available by phone any time,” she adds, steering us toward a set of double doors at the end of the hall. “Mr. Carriganshould be here shortly to go through specifics. A quick word of advice, he’ll need your guidance and initiative.”

The words land heavier than she means them to. I signed up to babysit this child, not his father.

I take a slow breath, therapy training smoothing the flutter in my chest, and follow her inside.

Vanessa leaves, and the silence swells until it feels like the whole house is holding its breath. She’d made it sound like Pope would appear any second, but the only sound is the faint roll of the waves outside. I check my phone out of habit.