Page 52

A NEW VICTORY

Sabrina

“Okay, if you two can work together as a team, you can play with Drama when we get home. How does that sound?”

On the steps outside the children’s science museum, Luna and Parker nod so fast it’s a wonder their heads don’t fly off.

Ah, kittens—the universal motivator for nearly all kids.

“Perfect. Because I also created a scavenger hunt for you today,” I say, holding open the door.

Parker’s eyes widen. “You did?”

“What kind of nanny do you take me for? The kind who scrolls on her phone the whole time, or the kind who actually gets involved?”

“The kind who’s involved,” Luna says, tugging on my jacket and pulling me toward the ticket counter.

Yep, I’m the nanny who does her job well. And that job does not include sleeping with the dad. I’m not even thinking about him this afternoon at all. I’m focused on teaching and playing with the kids. Because that’s what I was hired to do till the hockey season ends and that’s a ways off.

After I buy the tickets, we head to the Forces and Motion Exhibit, which I researched online earlier today. I turn to them. “Okay, pop quiz. What happens when you rub a balloon on your hair?”

“It creates static electricity!” Luna announces, thrusting her hand in the air.

“And that’s an example of a force in motion,” Parker adds, pointing to a nearby sign that reads Electrostatic Force. “Electrons move from your hair to the balloon, and that makes your hair stand up.”

“Exactly! It’s an invisible force,” Luna adds, beaming as she reads the sign.

“Great teamwork,” I say as we move into the next exhibit—a recycling maze that makes a game of learning which items go in compost, recycling or the landfill.

Parker holds up a pizza box, with his brow furrowed. “Cardboard recycling, right?”

“Not if it’s greasy,” Luna says with the confidence of a kid who just read the exhibit info.

“Oh! That makes sense. The oil might prevent the cardboard from breaking down.”

Now it’s Luna’s turn to be confused. “So how do you recycle pizza boxes?”

Parker studies the exhibit info. “You ask for a layer of paper between the pizza and the box!”

And since this box isn’t greasy, they toss it in the recycling bin together, where a cartoonish voice coming from the bin says, “Recycling one glass bottle saves enough energy to power a lightbulb for four hours.”

As we go, I toss them more questions, and they work together to find the answers in the exhibits. Then I lead them into a dimly lit room with midnight blue walls and displays all about ice and motion. Even if they don’t love hockey, I think they’ll get a kick out of this one.

“Next question. How fast do you think a hockey puck glides on ice?”

Parker scrunches his forehead. “Uh…fifty miles an hour?”

“A little more than that. And it all has to do with friction,” I say. “Do you think there’s a lot of friction on ice or not much?”

“Not much,” Luna guesses.

“Exactly. Because there’s so little friction, pucks can glide at speeds over a hundred miles per hour.”

“That’s really fast,” Parker says.

Luna’s jaw drops as she spins toward her brother. “We have to tell Dad later—that’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard!”

“Sabrina, can we look up more hockey facts?” Parker asks thoughtfully. “Because when Dad talks about it, it’s sooo boring. But when you do, it’s actually interesting.”

That makes me happier than it should. And for all the wrong reasons. I shouldn’t be pleased that they enjoy my approach more. But I’m still a little pissed at their dad—and mad at myself too—so I’ll take the win.

We move through the rest of the Ice and Cold Exhibit, and I point to a display about ice before asking, “So, why is ice slippery?”

Parker and Luna exchange a glance before Parker guesses: “Uh…because it’s wet?”

“Kind of! It’s because pressure from your foot or skate creates a thin layer of water, which reduces friction.”

Luna gasps. “Wait. Suddenly, my dad’s job is so much more interesting.”

I laugh. “Well, I’d hope you’re interested in ice—you’re a figure skater.”

She squares her shoulders, clearly taking that as a compliment. “I know,” she says, then shoots me a conspiratorial grin. “But what we do is way cooler than a bunch of guys whacking pucks.”

Parker nods. “She’s not wrong.”

I shouldn’t be pleased. I really shouldn’t. But I kind of am.

And I’m especially pleased because, once again, I am Super Nanny. Exactly who I was hired to be.

At home, Luna and Parker fly down the stairs toward my apartment.

“I want to hold her first!” Luna declares.

“I do!” Parker insists.

“She likes me better,” Luna retorts, reaching the door ahead of her brother.

“Not true,” Parker argues.

“You know what she loves most?” I counter, tapping the code into the keypad.

Both of them pause. “What?”

“Food,” I say with a grin. “How about we feed little Miss Drama?”

Right on cue, I lean toward the door, cupping my ear. Drama’s high-pitched wail filters through—a sound somewhere between a whistle and a demand for immediate attention.

They both chuckle. “She really wants to see us,” Parker says.

“Of course she does,” I say.

I push open the door, and they instantly scoop her up. Together. It’s the sweetest brother-sister moment I’ve seen, with Luna cradling the kitten’s head and torso and Parker holding her bottom half .

Drama makes a show of resisting before melting into the attention, stretching luxuriously in their arms.

Luna gasps as she notices the brand-new cat tower, tunnels, and toys scattered across the living room. She hands the kitten to her brother and races to check out all the gear. “Oh my god! You got so much stuff for her!”

My heart goes a little squishy as last night flashes through my mind—Tyler hauling everything in from Rowan’s car, setting it up without a word.

“I got some gifts for the kitten,” he said. “I know she’s only a foster, but you can use them for the next one…and the next one…and the next one.”

And just like that, I feel like a jerk for being mad at him at all.

Fine, I didn’t let on that I was mad at him, but still, I feel bad for my pissy thoughts. So, he forgot about the Christmas holiday. That’s not the worst thing in the world.

We feed Drama, and when she’s done eating, I scoop her up and announce, “Okay—who’s ready for a kitten play session?”

We take out every toy—feathers, balls, and the laser pointer—and Drama zooms around like a tiny rocket. Luna dangles a wand toy, Parker sets up a triangular cardboard scratcher, and I lounge back, watching them fall further in love with this little cat.

Then, the garage door rattles. A minute later, footsteps echo as Tyler must head upstairs. Then, the footsteps grow louder as he comes back downstairs. We all snicker, co-conspirators in hiding out in KittenLandia.

A knock sounds at my door.

I tense but remind myself just to be a good nanny. And I am—clearly.

Luna hops up and swings it open. “Daddy, we’re playing with the kitten, so you’ll have to come back later. ”

Tyler blinks. “Okay…I just wanted to check if you needed?—”

“We don’t need anything,” Luna interrupts, waving a hand. “You can go out, or do your weights, or…do your things. We’re playing with Drama.”

Tyler hesitates, looking half amused, half uncertain. “Oh. Well…do you want to play a board game later? Lego?”

Parker barely looks up from where Drama is batting a feather toy across the floor. “No, but thanks.”

Tyler glances at me, like maybe he expected a different answer. Then he nods. “Okay. Have fun.”

For a second, I almost call after him to invite him to join us in the kitten love fest. But I don’t want to get too cozy as a family. Best if I focus on my role here—taking care of his kids. I sit back, watching the kids play with Drama.

As he walks away, it feels like a different kind of win.

Not the small, selfish victory I felt earlier—but a real one.

Especially when I think back to when I started this job—when Parker barely acknowledged me.

Now, he does more than that. And I’m really grateful for it.

Later, as the family’s eating dinner upstairs, I head out since I’m off duty.

I make my way to the bustling Fillmore Street, its shops lit up with Christmas displays and bright festive lights.

I dip into An Open Book, thumbing through some coaching books, then picking up some gifts for Trevyn, Isla, Leighton, and Skylar for Christmas.

At the checkout, I grab a blank card, adding that to my haul too.

Once I’m home, I keep it simple .

Tyler,

Thank you so much for all the kitten supplies. I’m truly grateful that you opened your home to fostering again—it means a lot to me, but even more to the animals. It’s really kind of you to help give these animals a second chance.

—Sabrina

Then, without overthinking it, but making sure all the lights are off, I slide it under his door.

I don’t linger. I don’t listen for him. I simply return to my home and go to bed. Before I turn out the light, I put the tiny sex diary away. We haven’t talked about another lesson. I’m not even sure we’ll have one.

And really, that’s okay.

The next morning when the kids are at school, I head to a skating lesson with Tiffany. She has a long break in the middle of the day so is able to do lessons then. At the rink, I say hello to Marla at the front counter, then meet my student on the ice where I show her how to skate backward.

And pretty soon, she’s nailing it. “Look, Mom!” she shouts to her mother in the bleachers. “You should do it too.”

Her mom smiles and doesn’t say no immediately.

When the lesson ends, Tiffany skates to the boards. “Seriously. It’s so fun. You should do it.”

I turn to her mother, give a hopeful shrug, and say, “Figure skating is always a good idea.”

“Maybe I’ll try someday,” her mom says, and I like that attitude.

A lot.

When I head into my next session with Elena that afternoon, the guilt I felt last time over withholding intel from her is gone.

What am I even keeping from her now? I’m not sure I’m still having a thing with my boss anymore.

Tyler’s out of town for an away game, and we didn’t set a date for a fourth lesson.

If we even will have one.

There’s really nothing to discuss about him.

But Elena wants to know how I’m feeling about the upcoming holidays. “It’s your first Christmas since the wedding,” she states. “And since the things your father said to you last summer. Will you see your parents at all?”

My throat tightens all at once—uncomfortably. The memories rush back. The things my father said to me that day. The things my mother never said.

The gaslighting.

And then, images of Chad and Madison flicker through my mind too—them enjoying the blenders and napkin rings, the ones that were meant for us.

Let them. Just let them enjoy them.

Feeling strong and certain, I answer her: “And I won’t be seeing them—my parents.”

“How do you feel about that?”

I see my parents’ home, cold and immaculately decorated.

“Fine, actually. I don’t think I’ll miss them,” I say, but then I picture Tyler’s living room, imagining him decorating it with his kids when he returns from his road trip.

I think about their excitement for Santa, and suddenly, everything feels complicated in a whole new way.

“I need to get in touch with my friends and see what they’re doing,” I add. “It’ll be weird being in the house by myself.”

At least that is the truth .

And it feels…a little freeing to say it.

No, a lot.

I look at Elena again, at her warm eyes, her shrewd gaze, her laugh lines, and the kindness in her expression.

I walked through her door for the first time many years ago so I could make changes. Those changes started with honesty. I don’t know what changes I need to make now. But whatever they are, they ought to at least start with honesty.

“And the other thing is,” I say, and it’s not as hard as I’d thought it would be to finish the thought: “I have feelings for my boss.”

Elena nods, then listens without judgement as I tell her more.