Page 48 of Nine Week Nanny

I kneel beside Lennon on the walkway leading to Seabreeze, tucking in the back of his sea turtle t-shirt where it bunched up in the car.

"This is going to be such an adventure, Bud. I can't wait to hear all about your day when I pick you up later."

He gives me a faint smile but stays quiet, playing with the necklace around his neck. I want to pull him into a hug, but instead I rest my hands on his shoulders, keeping things easy, giving him room.

The glass entrance doors catch the midday sun, flashing our reflections back at us. Lennon’s eyes flick from the building to me, wide and searching.

"It's okay to be nervous," I tell him as we step inside. "First days always feel a little scary."

He twists the hem of his shorts, knuckles whitening. A girl bounces past with her father, her backpack thumping against her shoulders, their voices rising and falling like the surf outside.

"Dr. Serrano said they're studying tide pools today," I add, aiming for light and steady. "Remember how you told me sharks can get stuck in them when the tide goes out?"

His eyes focus on mine for a brief moment before sliding away. Progress. Two days ago, he wouldn't have made eye contact at all.

"You have a snack in your backpack, and a water bottle on the side. The blue one with the stars."

I stand up, offering my hand. He doesn't take it, but he stays close as we walk toward the entrance. The building smells of sea life and salt air when the doors slide open.

Lennon pauses at the threshold, his small shoulders rising with a deep breath. He glances back at me once, his expression unreadable but somehow determined. Then he takes a step forward, then another, without clinging to my leg or asking me to come with him.

A woman in a linen dress approaches him, her badge swinging gently from a lanyard. She smiles at me before crouching to speak to Lennon. “Hi. You must be Lennon. I’m Dr. Maya. We’re so glad you’re here today.”

He presses his lips together but nods, sliding his hands into his pockets. A little girl joins them and tells Lennon she wants to show him the shark's teeth. That gets his attention, and he's off.

The woman stands and walks the few steps to me with her hand extended. "Maya Serrano."

I extend mine. “Sloane Brennan. We spoke yesterday. I'm Lennon's nanny and will be picking him up this afternoon.”

“Wonderful.” Her handshake is warm, steady. “He’ll be in great hands. We’re starting with tide pools this morning.”

"How neat. He seems to love sifting and organizing."

She tips her head toward a table where two boys are already bent over a tray of shells and small plastic creatures. “Why don’t you join them?”

"Since he seems content, it might be best for me to slip out. Thank you, though. I might take you up on that after things settle a bit."

Something tight in my chest loosens, and I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

My heart squeezes with a strange mix of pride and protectiveness. I know this feeling, it's the same one I had with my therapy kids in Charleston. But somehow, now it's deeper and more personal.

It's dangerous territory for a temporary nanny.

After dropping off the paperwork at the intake office, I walk back to the dark gray SUV, the key fob heavy in my hand.

Instead of turning right toward the estate, I signal left. For the first time in five days, I'm going to my own apartment.

I need space to breathe, to remember this is just a job, not my life.

My apartment door sticks, resisting my key. I lean in with my shoulder, and it finally gives way with a groan. The rush of hot, stale air hits me first, followed by a faint sour smell that makes my nose wrinkle.

Home sweet temporary home.

The blinds are drawn exactly as I left them days ago, casting thin stripes of light across the living room floor. Dust particles dance in the sunbeams. Not even three full days away, and it already feels like a forgotten space.

"Well, this is depressing," I mutter to myself, dropping my purse on the counter.

I head straight to the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator door. The carton of milk I'd bought during my first grocery run sits half-full, now a day past it's sell-by date. I pour it down the drain, watching the thick white liquid disappear.