Page 151 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Somewhere beyond her realm of consciousness, a shaft of light blazed a hole in Wyn’s left temple. She knew it was there, she could feel it. Even though she couldn’t open her eyes quite yet, she was sure she could see it. It was yellow. Bright yellow. And very warm. Hot, even. Piercing hot. It lasered through her skin and scorched into her left frontal lobe. Like a brand. A brain brand. A damned vodka-induced brain brand.

She guessed she was too old for three consecutive nights of happy hour martinis.

“Ugh.”

Wyn turned over. Or tried to. It took a few agonizingly slow minutes to untangle her body from the mass of sheets and pillows. Finally, she flipped onto her back and opened her eyes.

“Ow!”

She pulled a pillow over her face. That damned shaft of light seared her eyeballs.

“Somebody please come close those stupid curtains,”

she whined. She didn’t even know if anyone was around. Then a little louder.

“Can’t a girl just get some sleep?”

Ouch. It hurt her brain brand to talk that loud.

Her bedroom door flew open. The thing about doors in old Victorian houses, they were fun to fling. The old hinges were worn and smooth and the heavy door swung back with a bang and hit the wall. Wyn bolted upright in her bed.

“Dammit, Lisa! Why did you do that?”

Ouch, again.

“Upandatem, Miss Holly. It’s show time.”

“Yeah, right.”

She plopped backward.

“Yep. I am right.”

Lisa moved closer to the bed.

“Here’s a huge mug of very strong coffee. Drink it. Take a shower. And then get out in the drawing room.”

Lisa insisted on calling their living room the drawing room. She said it sounded more Victorian.

“The gig is up. No more happy hour abuse for you, my dear.”

Before Wyn could protest, Lisa left the room more quietly than she came in, softly closing the door behind her. The coffee did smell good. A shower would be nice. She guessed she had no choice other than to do what she was told.

So she did. After she had downed the coffee and steamed up the bathroom with her shower, she entered the drawing room. They were all lined up on the couch there, all three of them—Lisa, Charla, Zach—waiting.

Uh-oh. “Hi guys.”

She gave them a little finger wave.

Her three best friends stared back with some sort of serious shit look on their faces. Zach, her one-time, long-ago, ex-high-school boyfriend gave her a smile-frown. One corner up, one corner down. Zach was so much better as a boy friend than he was as a boyfriend. Especially since he announced four years ago that he was gay. But he’d been her first, and she’d always love him because of it.

Lisa, her roommate, artiste extraordinaire, could also cook like a dream. Good thing for a starving actor to have a roommate who cooked like a dream. They’d met waiting tables at Dee’s Cafe Delight, a funky little eatery just off the beaten path in the Old Harbor Falls section of town. Old Harbor Falls attracted hipsters young and old to the older Victorian neighborhood, and it fit both hers and Lisa’s artsy side to a T. Dee’s was the kind of cafe that drew eclectic crowds of college students, bluehairs, and tattoo artists, alike. She and Lisa become fast friends and roommates within a couple of weeks.

Then there was Charla. She was, well, simply Charla. In fact, that is what they called her at times. Simply Charla. A minimalist, to be sure. She survived on the marginal of necessities. Wyn and Lisa sublet the coach house that came with their Victorian apartment to Charla, who claimed she couldn’t room with anyone and needed peace and quiet. You see, Charla was writing The Great American Novel, and she would shut herself up in her tiny house for days on end, pounding away at the keyboard, drinking only green tea and eating wheat crackers.

Wyn didn’t know how anyone could survive for days on end consuming nothing but green tea and wheat crackers.

She was one to talk. She’d pretty much existed on martinis the past few days. They all had their quirks and Wynter was no exception. Obviously.

Wynter Holly, er, Wyn Hall, starving actor, part-time server, and occasional happy hour partaker. Could one still classify oneself as an actor if one hadn’t, say, acted in nearly a year? Anything that actually paid a bill or two? The local television spot for the Humane Society and the brief fling she had pretending to be a mime for a show at the Asheville convention center notwithstanding. But she didn’t really call either of those jobs acting. Those gigs were simply carryover gigs. The ones you took to carry you over to the big gig. Like a Jerry Crews movie.

Thing was, she’d been carrying over now for about eight years, ever since college.

Oh, she’d had some great parts in the local venue during her first years after graduation. The Harbor Falls Actor’s Playhouse had a super reputation for high-quality plays and generally attracted top-notch directors and visiting actors. It was the leading venue in Appalachia for plays focused on southern life and whimsy. Wyn was ecstatic to have been cast in several notable productions right out of college. Having a couple of leading roles in her portfolio was a huge plus—but those were older gigs now and she needed to add to her body of work. A new casting director had come in two years ago and for some reason, the woman wouldn’t cast her for love nor money. Wyn had also managed a couple of national commercials and a bit part on a network soap, but the big show had long eluded her. Then this week, the even newer casting director for Actor’s, Rob Black, who represented her last big hope to snag a leading role before turning thirty, had tossed her aside like so much chopped liver.

That scenario led her to frequent happy hour appearances at Rick’s.

Whatever.

She stared at her friends. The looks on their faces were a comical, sober mix. Wyn plopped down across from them in the Papasan chair with the big red pillow. The one she and Lisa had rescued from the dumpster down the alley. College students always left such interesting things behind. Drawing up her knees, she gave them a sober stare back.

“We’ve had about enough of this little drinking rampage you’ve been on,”

Charla began.

“It is,”

Wyn waved off the comment.

“harmless.”

Then she hiccupped.

Zach rolled his eyes.

“Thing is, Wynter, you’ve had your last martini binge.”

“And you’re not quitting.”

That was Lisa.

“Huh?”

“You’re not quitting acting.”

That was Zach.

“Oh. That.”

“Yes. That,”

repeated Charla.

“You’re on the verge. You’re too good, Wyn. You’re just in a bit of a...an actor’s trench right now. A little bit of a funk. You’ll pull out of it.”

An actor’s trench? Charla had a way of putting weird word combinations together. She guessed an actor’s trench was lower than low.

“Mighty hard scratching your way up and out of that trench all the time, Charla. You should know that. Hard to make a living out of anything in the arts. I’m through. The Cosmo binges were just to get me over the hump.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,”

mumbled Charla.

Zach rose and approached her.

“Look, Wyn. We know you. The arts is what we do. It’s what brought us all together. We know and understand each other through our artsy side. You can’t and won’t ever truly give up acting or you’ll give up yourself.”

Wyn stared at him. It was true. They had all gravitated to each other because of their creative sides. Charla’s writing, Lisa’s painting, Zach’s graphic design, and Wyn’s acting. How would she fit in with the group if she didn’t act?”

She shook her head.

“You’re not telling me that we’ll no longer be friends if I don’t act, are you?”

Her chest hurt a little at that thought.

“God no,”

Lisa said, stepping forward.

“That’s not even part of this discussion.”

Wyn exhaled, long.”

Good. Because y’all? I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s too painful.”

The three studied her for a moment.

“So, what are you going to do then, Wyn?”

Zach’s gaze was intense.

“Just concentrate on making your career out of waiting tables at Dee’s? Sounds like a solid career move to me,”

he added.

“I don’t get it, Wyn. You’ve worked so hard.”

She hadn’t thought about that. What would she do if she didn’t get carry over acting jobs? Waiting tables was supposed to be the thing she did while she was making it to the big time, not her lifetime profession. She guessed she hadn’t thought her quitting plan quite through. Zach was actually making a point.

Maybe she could dust off that preschool teaching certificate. She shivered and wrinkled her nose. The thought of three-year-olds, snotty noses, and toy wars was not appealing. She could barely stand children when she had to wait on them at Dee’s.

“I’m tired,”

she finally said, looking up at him in desperation.

“I’m not sure I can take one more, ‘Sorry, Ms. Hall. Please try again next time.’”

Zack sympathetically threaded his fingers through her hair and massaged her aching temple. How did he know just where she hurt.

“I know, honey. It’s hard work and the wait is agonizing. Remember, there are very few overnight sensations in this kind of work. Most actors work years to pay their dues.”

Wyn dropped her gaze. Zach crouched down in front of her and lifted her chin so her gaze met his.

“But you are good,”

he said more firmly.

“And you’re not going to quit. Now, look at me with those baby browns and seriously tell me you want to quit, because I don’t believe it.”

For a moment, she almost believed him and in herself. Then she shook it off and stood. She did want to quit. She did. She was weary of the whole scene. Slowly walking toward the center of the room, she paused and then whirled back.

“And you’re the people who are going to stop me? Ha!”

She threw back her head, long hair flinging, perhaps a tad too dramatically. Her head spun a little.

“Yes,”

all three chimed.

Wyn laughed.

“Don’t be so amused, Wyn,”

said Lisa.

“Tell her the deal, Charla.”

Slowly, Charla got up, stepped toward her, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Here’s the deal.”

She pointed to the Papasan chair.

“Sit down.”

Puzzled, Wyn knit her brows, crossed her arms, and looked sideways at her motley crew. Then in two steps, she was back in the chair with Charla hovering over her. Suddenly the red pillow in the Papasan chair seemed very appropriate. It felt sorely like she was sitting in the hot seat.

“The paper, Zach.”

Zach handed Charla a piece of the Saturday paper. It looked like the Classified Ads. Charla took the paper into her hands, but before turning it over to Wyn, pulled herself straight upright.

“You see, Wyn, the thing with you is that you don’t believe in yourself. You lack confidence. You’ve lost the passion. You don’t think you can make it so you are paralyzing yourself. You’re in a deep funk and only you can pull yourself out.”

She paused, glanced at Lisa and Zach, and motioned them closer. Wyn thought that quite a mouthful for a minimalist. Charla hooked arms with each of her friends, one on each side.

“Well, only you, along with the help of your three best friends.”

Wyn took a deep breath and sighed.

“Charla, this is bullshit.”

Zach snapped the paper from Charla’s hands.

“It’s time for an intervention, Wynter Holly. We’re taking matters into our hands where you and your acting are concerned.”

Wyn jumped up. Zach put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back in the chair.

“Listen to me. We’ll not force this on you. We want you to agree. But Wynnie, we sincerely believe this intervention is the only way out for you. It’s the thing you need to do.”

Ah hell. Wynnie? He didn’t really go there... Her drinking had not been that bad.

Wyn snatched the paper from Zach’s hands and glanced over the listings.

“These are job ads. I don’t get it.”

“It’s the intervention,”

said Lisa.

“What?”

She clearly didn’t understand.

“Look here.”

Charla turned the paper over and pointed to an ad with a big, red circle around it.

“Read it. Out loud.”

So Wynter read.

“Full time nanny wanted.”

She dropped the paper and looked at the three. “What?”

“Keep reading.”

She cleared her throat and continued.

“One week position for a full-time nanny. Potential for longer term. Four children. Live in accommodations. Competitive salary. Must love children.”

She looked up.

“Okay, I read it. So what?”

“Finish reading,”

Zach told her.

Reluctantly, she continued.

“Needed immediately. Experienced nannies only need apply.”

She paused.

“And then there is a phone number. That’s it.”

“Yes, Wynter you’re right. That’s it,”

repeated Zach.

“I don’t understand.”

“This is it, Wyn,”

Charla interceded.

“This is your intervention. The ultimate acting job.”

“You all are not making a lick of sense.”

Wyn plopped back down into the chair.

The women sat back down, too. Zach stood.

“We think you need a stimulating acting experience—a real life acting experience to get you over this hump. We think this will work.”

She felt a little sick to her stomach—unsure whether the queasiness was hangover, vodka brain brand, or the words coming out of Zach’s mouth. Her eyes closed and a hand went to her tummy.

“I don’t like children, Zach.”

Her head whipped toward the women and she shook her finger at them.

“You know I don’t like children. And worse, children don’t like me.”

“All the better,”

Zach said.

“I’m feeling sick.”

“It will pass. Wyn listen. Here’s the challenge. We think you can convince the people who put this ad in the paper that you are an experienced, full-time nanny with all the bells and whistles and qualifications that come with it, including loving children. It is the ultimate acting experience. Real life drama. Think reality show.”

“I hate children.”

“You’re an actress. You’ll love the children.”

“But there are four of them.”

“Piece of cake,”

commented Charla.

“I’m the oldest of six. My Mama always said six was as easy as two.”

Wyn ignored her.

“I can’t do this.”

“You have to Wyn,”

Lisa told her.

“Because if you can pull this off, get the job and stay the week, totally snowing kids, mom, dad and everyone, we know you can get any acting gig you go after. And better yet, you’ll know it too.”

“But, I...”

“It will boost your confidence.”

All three glared straight at her.

Wyn slumped. She picked up the ad again and read it over.

“I know nothing about being a nanny.”

She scanned the paper.

“Oh look! Here is a job for a Santa Elf. I like the idea of that one. I’ll do that.”

“You hate children, remember?”

She nodded.

“Of course but these children will be temporary. On and off Santa’s knee in no time. This one is better.”

“No Wyn. It’s the nanny job. That’s the one that you’ll get an Academy Award for best performance of your life. Not the elf job.

“But I know nothing about being a nanny!”

“Like you know anything about being an elf?”

Lisa rose.

“My God, Wyn. Why did you get a degree in early childhood if you don’t like kids?”

Bristling, and flexing her fists nervously at her side, Wyn replied.

“I thought I liked kids back then. I didn’t realize I didn’t like them until after I did my stupid student teaching! It didn’t go well—a horrible experience for me—and by then I was stuck. I was sure all of my college work in the Drama Department would lead me to an acting career, but…”

“But it did,”

Zach said.

“And you can’t give up now, Wynnie.”

She paused, thinking, and then turned to Lisa.

“I’m sure I can’t work this nanny business around my shift at Dee’s.”

She shoved the paper toward her.

“You guys quit worrying about me. I promise I’ll lay off happy hour and I’ll concentrate more on getting a big acting job.”

But Lisa didn’t take the paper. Instead, she glanced from Zach to Charla, and then to Wyn.

“You don’t have a job at Dee’s any longer, Wyn. Sorry.”

Wyn sat up straight.

“What? But I need that job for the rent money. What are you talking about?”

“Dee let you go. She told me to tell you to come in for your last check if you want to get paid, and she’ll tell you herself. You didn’t show up to work last night and we were busy as hell. Dee was livid. You lost your job due to the happy hour escapades.”

“No! That’s not true. I was not on the schedule last night!”

“Very true. The schedule changed the night before and you didn’t check it because you were at Rick’s. Wyn, you don’t have a job and the rent is due in a week.”

Lisa flicked the classified ads once more.

“You need the nanny gig so go start getting nanny-like.”

Shit. How in the hell was she going to pay her half of the rent this month?

“But it’s kids. I just… Can’t.”

Zach interjected.

“Do the research. Be the nanny.”

“Yes. Research,”

she agreed, biting her lip.

“Be the nanny.”

She paused.

“But I have no real experience or qualifications. Why would they hire me?”

Charla huffed.

“Heck, your degree will get you in the door. You’ll figure it out. Think of it as the role you always wanted with a leading man to die for. What would you do then? You’d research and become the character and you’d be the best leading lady there ever was.”

“Think Julie Andrews, for goodness sake,”

chimed in Lisa. She sighed.

“I always loved Maria von Trapp…”

Wyn wrinkled her nose and looked at her best of best friends.

“You think I can do it?”

“I know you can do it,”

Lisa replied.

“But I ha...dislike kids...sometimes.”

She grinned, just a little. The challenge of it was rather appealing. And it could be just the thing.

Maybe.

“Oh hell. What do I have to lose?”

Well, a lot. Sheesh, she had to do this.

****

Rob relished his Sunday ritual. Sleep until ten. Coffee. Paper. Ponder the pundits. Jog. Shower. Followed by whatever sport of the season was airing on Sunday afternoon.

But if that was his ritual, then why was his right eye being manually pried open by small sticky fingers that smelled like peanut butter and why, through the vision of that one eye, did the red digital numbers of his alarm clock read eight-twenty-three in the morning?

Ouch.

“Justin! Let go of my eye!”

Rob rolled away from the child about the time he heard him wail. “Damn,”

he muttered under his breath.

“Come here Justin. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Rob reached across the bed and pulled the toddler toward him. Sometimes he forgot how sensitive the kid was, unlike his two older brothers who were tough as nails. He cradled him close and his sobs subsided. Having just turned three, Justin had a lot of growing to do to catch up with eight-year-old twins, Hamilton and Charles. They, of course, had carved out quite a path for their little brother to follow.

“You okay, Buddy?”

he said softly, looking into the child’s eyes through a peanut butter haze.

“I didn’t mean to yell.”

“‘Sokay,”

Justin replied, and then smiled up at his Uncle Rob.

“Hungry, aren’t you?”

The boy nodded.

Rob picked up a small hand and examined the fingers.

“Been eating out of the peanut butter jar again?”

Justin nodded again and grinned. Rob smoothed a tear away from the kid’s eye, then wiped a clump of peanut butter out of his own, and grinned back. At least it wasn’t chunky.

That impish smile got him in the gut every time. These were the times he loved being an uncle. Making the move to Harbor Falls six weeks earlier had definitely been worth it—he’d reconnected with his family and learned just what he’d missed over the past ten years. All those years of living in L.A. had taken their toll in ways he didn’t want to count, and he’d decided he needed a break from that lifestyle. Besides, he could conduct business from anywhere as long as he had cell phone and Wi-Fi and a plane ticket. So he’d made the transition.

“Let’s go see what we can cook up. Those brothers of yours will be up soon and Mia will be crying for a change and a bottle before long. Ready?”

“Weddy.”

His head bobbled up and down.

Rob knew he was way out of his element with the kids. He’d realized that two days earlier—a day after his brother and sister-in-law left for Europe for their second honeymoon. As he and Justin stumbled out of the bedroom, down the hall, through the great room and into the kitchen, he acknowledged just that fact. His older brother had warned him they were a handful. Rob had waved him off, telling Sam that keeping four children for two weeks would be a piece of cake. After all, he could handle hordes of bigger-than-life actors during casting calls, he surely could handle the four small children he loved most in the world.

He was sorely mistaken. He hadn’t been handling it. Even with his mom’s occasional help, juggling kids and work was a hassle. When the call from Jack came earlier in the week, with news of casting a Jerry Crews movie, he knew he needed help.

Thank God for Gina. She continued to be a godsend, both in his professional and personal life.

They’d been waiting for this big chance. Their casting company had done well, very well in fact, over the past few years. They had cast Broadway and local theater, commercials, prime time television, a reality TV show, and a major network talent competition. But the big one had eluded them—until now. They couldn’t let a Jerry Crews movie slip through their fingers.

The toast popped up and jarred Rob out of his musing. He glanced at Justin sitting at the bar, drinking orange juice and waiting patiently for his breakfast. Damn, he loved that little guy. The others too. How was he going to turn over the care of these innocent kids, who trusted him to the core, to a perfect stranger?

A perfect stranger whom he’d not yet found and today was Sunday. His mother left yesterday for the Caribbean so he was totally on his own here. Gina had secured a very early flight out Tuesday morning for him, giving them as much time as possible to get the nanny hired and settled into the routine. Luckily, the time zones were working in his favor and he would land before noon. Gina had booked a short hop from Asheville to Atlanta, and then direct from Atlanta to Los Angeles.

He had to hire a nanny today.

His last hope was the interview early this afternoon. The other two candidates he and Gina interviewed yesterday just wouldn’t do. He hated to pin his hopes on this last one, though Gina said she sounded heaven-sent on the phone. He’d know for certain when he met her.

Too bad Gina had plans for this afternoon but he could handle this one solo. Couldn’t he?

It had to work out. He didn’t know what he would do if it didn’t, short of putting all four kids on the plane with him and hiring someone in California.

“Mia cwy.”

Rob put Justin’s toast in front of him.

“What, Bud?”

“Mia cwy.”

Mia! Rob jerked his head toward the bedroom, listening. Dammit. The baby was crying. How long had she been doing that?

“Sit still, Justin. I’ll be right back.”

Rob loped toward Mia’s room, which was luckily on the ground level floor and next to the master bedroom. The wailing grew louder. The boys’ rooms were upstairs.

“Mia’s crying, Uncle Rob!”

Ham came running down the stairs.

“And I’m hungry!”

“I’m fixing it. Get some toast. I’ll be there in a sec,”

he called after the boy, still on his way to Mia’s room.

“Don’t eat all the toast, Justin!”

Ham yelled.

“Where’s the peanut butter?”

“Uncle Rob! There is water and stuff all over the upstairs bathroom floor!”

That was Chaz.

“What? Why?”

“The toilet’s leaking.”

Rob stopped in his tracks in the hallway. Shit. He hoped not literally. Mia continued to wail.

“Put a towel on the floor, Chaz. I’ll be right there!”

“It’s gross!”

“I know. Just do it!”

He tried to block out the sudden mayhem behind and above him as he entered Mia’s room. The nine-month-old baby girl looked up at him with the bluest, moistest eyes ever. She stopped wailing and only whimpered when she saw him.

“Come here, sweetheart. How’s my girl?”

he said softly, and lifted her out of the crib. It was then he realized she was soaking. So was the crib sheet. And the blanket. No wonder she was crying.

“Let’s get those wet clothes off, baby girl.”

Chaz slid down the hardwood floors of the hallway on his sock-feet and stopped with a bang at Mia’s door.

“Uncle Rob, does Marshmallow Crème go good on peanut butter toast? I told Justin it wouldn’t be good, but....”

“Get it from him, Chaz. Now.”

He hoped he’d washed his hands.

“Okay.”

Then he was gone, and Mia was naked. As Rob reached for a dry diaper, Justin shrieked in the kitchen.

“Chaz! What did you do?”

Rob shouted.

Mia squealed again.

“Shit.”

He picked her up, sans diaper. “Chaz!”

He reached for the baby wipes and made a half-assed swipe over her baby ass.

Justin wailed again from the kitchen. Mia in arms, Rob took off in that direction. The baby whimpered as he jogged.

“Chaz, stop it!”

Ham joined Justin in the cacophony.

“Chocolate sauce doesn’t go on peanut butter toast!”

Rob rushed into the kitchen in just enough time to see Chaz aim a squirt of chocolate sauce across the kitchen and hit Ham square in the forehead. Hell. In another split second, he got Justin in his left ear. Then he turned toward Rob and Mia.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Rob gave his nephew the sternest look he could muster and after a stare-down of what seemed eons, Chaz put down the chocolate sauce.

“Thank you, Chaz. Now—”

The three boys stared at their uncle with a look that said they knew they were in for it. The doorbell rang sharply. Rob broke his stare and glanced toward the entry. In the next instant, Chaz lifted his weapon, aimed accurately at his uncle’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. Splat! Chocolate sauce ran down Rob’s white t-shirt. As if on cue, the boys scattered.

“Damn it!”

The doorbell rang again.

Rob inhaled deeply and then let it out long. He really shouldn’t be cursing around the kids. Mia on his hip, he moved slowly toward the door in a fuzzy haze. He was a bachelor. A single guy who liked to have a little fun. Maybe too much fun in the past. It was Sunday morning. Why wasn’t he sleeping? Who was at the door? What the hell happened to his life?

At this point, it didn’t matter. What else could go wrong?

Rob pulled back the inside door and took in the woman standing on the stoop. Her eyes grew big. Very big. She stepped backward just a little—probably to steady herself at the sight behind the open door.

“Hello?”

A brunette with deep chocolate eyes stared into the house through the glass storm door. He could see their unusually dark brownness even through the door and behind a pair of ridiculous horn-rimmed glasses.

“I’m Wynter Holly.”

Her voice was muffled through the glass. Finally, Rob got some sense about him and opened the outer door. She hesitantly stuck out her hand through the opening.

“I’m here about the nanny position? I talked with Gina.”

It sure sounded like a question more than a statement. Like she wasn’t sure she really wanted to be standing there. Rob gave his brain a mental smack and opened the door wider. She stepped over the threshold and he closed the storm door behind her.

“Your name again?”

“Wynter Holly. We have an appointment.”

Rob glanced behind her at the footprints in the snow on the sidewalk—the snow he had not yet shoveled.

“Wynter Holly? You’re kidding, right?”

Her eyes remained wide and she shook her head.

“No. No I’m not. That’s my name. My mother loves Christmas and I was born in December so—”

She stopped talking abruptly and stared.

Hell, should he apologize? But seriously….

“I’m a few minutes early,”

she babbled on.

“I wanted to make sure I could find your house. A friend dropped me off—my car is in the shop—and I found myself wandering the neighborhood, in the snow…”

She glanced at her boots.

“I thought, maybe, you wouldn’t mind if I’m early since it’s kind of cold outside and....”

“Your appointment is at one o’clock.”

“Oh, no. Your assistant—Gina is her name?—said to be her at nine o’clock in the morning. We made the appointment earlier due to the fact that you needed to hire as soon as possible and—”

She stared at his right shoulder. Or maybe she was staring at Mia. Rob glanced down. Chocolate. A big stripe of it, right across her face. Mia’s little tongue was going after a glob that had landed in the corner of her mouth.

He jerked his gaze back to the woman. Stunning. She really was beautiful, even behind those glasses and with her hair pulled back into that ponytail.

Did she look familiar?

He shook that off. He always thought women looked familiar, mostly because he perused hundreds of headshots on a regular basis. She was appropriately dressed, he assumed, for a nanny. A nice pair of denims, sensible calf-high boots, a hooded weatherproof jacket, and a scarf around her neck. Sort of nanny-like. Still, she was gorgeous. With the right clothes and the talent of a great makeup artist, she could rival most any of the women he saw on a daily basis. The camera would love her.

Something tripped inside his gut.

Here he was standing in his doorway in boxer shorts, a dirty t-shirt and athletic socks, with a naked nine-month old glued to his body, looking like a fudge-striped cookie.

Again, he gave himself a mental knock-upside-the-head. He wasn’t conducting an audition here. Nor was he interested in her personally. After his last relationship debacle, he’d sworn off all affairs of the heart… Casual or otherwise. Indefinitely. He was interviewing for a nanny. She looked like a nanny.

“Uh, Miss...”

“Holly. But you can call me Miss Wyn.”

“Wyn?”

“Yes.”

“Like the Pooh?”

It seemed the woman bristled.

“No. That would be Winnie with an i. I’m Wyn with a y.”

“All right. Miss Wyn it is.”

Rob had no idea what he was doing or saying. All he knew is that he needed to get out of the door dressed like this and get Mia cleaned up.

“May, I come on in?”

From the look on her face, he really wasn’t sure she wanted to. Could he blame her.

“The baby looks chilly.”

“Of course. Sorry. I’m sort of new at this game.”

She stepped further inside and he closed the heavy door behind her. “Game?”

“Uh. Hiring a nanny.”

“Oh.”

He moved in reverse and motioned her further into the entry. She followed and shrugged out of her coat. He pointed to the hall tree in the corner.

“You can put your coat there. Please step out of your snowy boots too. You can set them there on the rug.”

She hung up her coat and slipped out of the boots, then stood there in her stocking feet looking a little lost.

“You from around here?”

he queried, watching her, and figuring small talk was a good thing.

“Harbor Falls born-and-bred,”

she responded. “You?”

“Oh, yes. And no. I mean yes. Born here but…”

His words trailed off. That explanation was more than small talk and he didn’t want to get into his life story at the moment. Besides, he was incognito, right? Rob led her down the hall and she followed. He mentally navigated the waters before him as they were happening. A nanny. The kids. Man, his life….

Then the twins, looking like fudge-striped cookies themselves, laced with peanut butter and marshmallow crème, flew through the great room with a couple of shrieks and headed for their mother’s new sofa.

“Oh no you don’t!”

he shouted.

Without thinking, he handed Mia to the young woman and took after the boys. They squealed, and in the ensuing moment, he had all three of them wrestled to the floor, but not without smearing a few sofa cushions and the ottoman with the sticky concoction they were wearing. By that time, however, they had all erupted in fits of giggles and laughter.

Finally, Rob looked up. He’d all but forgotten about the nanny candidate. He guessed things had gotten too much for her because the look on her face was priceless. Appalled, probably. Or frightened. A bit of both perhaps? Of course, he really could not blame her. He guessed his last chance of hiring a nanny today had just flown out the window.

He rose and moved toward her.

“I’m sorry. This is a little out of control. They are not usually—”

Then Mia peed. Rob watched a growing wet stain roll off the young woman’s white cotton shirt and travel down her left hip and thigh.

The nanny candidate straight-armed the baby away from her body. “Eww,”

she remarked, and handed him back the dripping baby.