Page 90 of Nine Week Nanny

I settle the chair on a patch of soft sand and glance around. A few walkers move along the shoreline, their footprints trailing and washing away as the tide curls in.

With the beach nearly empty, I drop into the chair, spine sinking into the fabric. The book rests in my lap, the cover familiar against my palm. I flip it open, pages fluttering in the wind, but the words blur almost immediately.

Minutes slide by. Then an hour.

The waves roll and crash, steady as a heartbeat. I keep turning pages, but none of it sticks. My mind drifts back, again and again, to Pope and Lennon. I guess a part of me was hoping he would touch base after they left.

My phone buzzes against my thigh. Pope's name flashes on the screen as if my thinking about him summoned a text.

Don't worry about making dinner tonight. We'll be home around 4:45.

I squint at the message, then type back.

What do you have up your sleeve? Looks like a drive-in theater is opening in your backyard.

His response comes quickly.

Surprise for Lennon. Outdoor movie night. He was a trooper today, doing all of this. Thought he could use something special.

My heart squeezes against my ribcage. I hold the phone to my chest, feeling something bloom there. Every single thing this man does makes me fall deeper.

There's no stopping this now, even if I wanted to.

He'll love it.

So will I.

The breeze picks up, rustling the pages of my forgotten novel. I check the time. It's somehow already 4:15. They'll be home soon.

I fold my chair and gather my sandals, wanting to greet them when they get home.

As I approach the driveway, a white van with "Coastal Catering" emblazoned on the side pulls in ahead of me. A young woman in crisp black pants hops out, hauling four large paper bags.

"Delivery for Carrigan?" She checks her phone.

"I can take those." I reach for the bags, peeking inside to find neatly packaged containers of what appears to be a healthy picnic spread.

After signing for the delivery, I'm arranging everything in the kitchen when I hear the garage door rumble open. Lennon's voice carries through the house, more animated than I've heard in days.

"And they had this playground inside! With tubes you could climb through!" Lennon bursts into the kitchen, eyes bright. "Sloane! We flew in an airplane! And we had chicken nuggets with orange-pink sauce that's really, really good!"

Pope follows behind, suit jacket folded over one arm, looking both exhausted and relieved. Our eyes meet over Lennon's head.

"Sounds delicious," I say, raising an eyebrow at Pope, the one who claims to be "Mr. Healthy Eater."

Pope shrugs, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Who can resist Chick-fil-A? Kids have to be kids sometimes."

"What's all this?" Lennon points to the bags on the counter.

"Dinner and a movie," Pope answers. "Outside for our special night."

Lennon's eyes widen. "Really? Can we go now?"

"Let's wind down a little, maybe you could take a bath. We want to wait until it gets dark."

With that, he's off to the playroom.

I watch Lennon's feet disappear into the room adjacent to us, his energy a stark contrast to Pope's controlled exhaustion. His shoulders drop slightly once Lennon is out of sight, the careful composure he maintains slipping just enough for me to notice.