Page 9 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Ansel

E LODIE BLINKS UP at me, clearly trying to make sense of the words coming out of my mouth.

I let her brain glitch, knowing that it’ll put itself back online.

It’s hard not to be pleased she’s just as thrown by me as I am by her.

But I won’t be doing anything about it. I can’t risk it.

Can’t risk the tightrope balancing act that is my life with Rosie.

And there’s no time for a relationship anyway.

When would I fit that in? I’m barely hanging on as it is.

“I’m cooking anyway,” I remind Elodie. “Nothing fancy. Just stay.” I turn away before she can protest anymore, letting a grin widen across my face for the briefest of moments. Her reaction is something I’d honestly forgotten about, but was once supremely used to.

Once upon a time…for a very brief time, that is.

My looks don’t make sense to me. I mean, they’re part of who I am, clearly, but as a child, I was short and chubby.

It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I started to grow and pack on the muscle, and even then, the girls I’d grown up with seemed determined to keep me and any ego that threatened firmly in check.

None of them were interested in me, ever.

My prom date was the same girl I’d once traded Pokémon cards with.

To say there was no spark would be a drastic understatement.

My name wasn’t any sort of help. Being a huge photography buff, Mom had idolized Ansel Adams and thought giving me his name would be the highest honor she could possibly bestow on me.

Yeah.

Did I mention the horrific glasses? And braces?

I’m not sorry for any of it, though. Being raised the way I was, surrounded by the same kids all through grade school and high school who were all generally nice to each other—a rarity, for sure—was a comfort.

Something about it gave me this ridiculously wholesome sense of self that I carried into college.

College, however,…well. That’s where it all went to shit.

In a manner of speaking. I joined the rugby team, and it turned out I was good.

Really good. All those years of middle and high school football finally paid off, and I took the ball and ran with it.

Literally. Rugger huggers were everywhere and ripe for the taking, so I took. And took and took.

It was a great four years.

But I stopped it all after college. I’d planned on using my accounting degree and figured I needed to grow up. Then Major League Rugby came calling, and it was a dream come true.

The point here is that I know what I look like, but I also know it doesn’t matter.

It’s surface-level. It’s how a person acts that really matters.

Some of the guys on the team say I sound like a complete douche when I talk like this, that it’s something only a good-looking guy would say, but I still believe it with my very soul.

Besides, who cares what I look like when there’s a miniature dinosaur attacking me as I walk into the kitchen?

“Rawr!” Rosie snorts as she latches onto my leg, unhinging her jaw and pretending to bite me as we move.

“Are you a Rosasaurus Rex?”

“I demand food!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I chuckle, pulling her up and smothering her soft face with kisses.

“Your beard tickles,” she giggles, but even as she says it, she leans in harder.

“Love you, Rosie girl.” I set her on the island stool and begin making dinner.

Nothing too involved tonight: some pasta and turkey sausage with frozen peas thrown in for color, topped with a jarred sauce I doctor up.

Some pre-made garlic bread for Rosie and Elodie—I love it, but it’s not on the approved food list—and boom, dinner.

“Wanna call Nana?” I ask Rosie, pulling my phone out and getting my mom’s number ready.

Rosie nods excitedly. When Mom’s face comes onto the screen, she’s already smiling.

“My two favorite people in the world!” she exclaims.

Rosie giggles. “What about Papa?”

“That old coot? No way.” Mom makes a face and Rosie cracks up. To me, she says, “How are you?”

Better than I expected. “Good, good. Figured we’d call and see how Dad is.”

“She’s mean to me!” Dad calls from the background.

Mom rolls her eyes and looks back at him. “Because I’m making him do his physical therapy and won’t let him wallow in misery.”

Watching them lets something ease in my chest a bit.

I worry about them, even though they’re still fairly young and surrounded by friends where they live.

Mom insists they can take care of themselves, and they can.

But being the only child means I’m ultimately the one responsible for them, and there’s no telling me any different.

We catch up for a few more minutes, Rosie launching into a story about the day before we finally disconnect.

“Can I help?” Elodie appears a few minutes later, looking decidedly beat.

Her shoulders droop and her energy is low, especially compared to any other time we’ve interacted.

Rosie must have put her through the wringer—and they didn’t even get in the pool.

I almost feel sorry for her, except for the part where I’m paying her to do this job.

“Nah.” I wave her off with what I hope is a friendly smile. “You’re off duty. Go relax.”

She hesitates, her top teeth worrying her bottom lip in a maneuver I’m already deeply familiar with, clearly torn.

I laugh. “Fine. You want to help? Set the table. Rosalie can show you where everything is.” No matter Elodie probably already knows where things are; it doesn’t take long.

Brightening, she launches into action. “Got it!”

Conversation over dinner is easy. Turns out that Elodie knows just about zero about rugby, so Rosie and I take turns explaining the basics of the game.

“So, a touchdown—” Elodie starts.

“Isn’t called a touchdown,” I finish, spearing a bite of pasta.

“It’s a try ,” Rosie says in an exasperated tone.

Elodie grins. “I’m teasing. I really did know that. But not much else.”

Watching them, it’s hard to believe it’s only been one day. There’s an ease between the two of them that I’ve never seen with any other nannies. Granted, that might be because they’ve all been ladies closer to my mom’s age, but still.

Elodie finally seems to get comfortable with being in the same room as me right as dinner ends. Gone is the immediate blush every time she looks my way, which is good. Great, even. I don’t need a nanny who’s distracted. Not when I’m distracted enough for the two of us.

She insists on helping to clean up, and I stay at the table for one more minute to luxuriate in being still.

My gaze snags on the way she places her hand on Rosie’s shoulder, gently guiding her to the sink.

As she bends down to position the step stool for my daughter, I allow myself to wonder—just for a second—what it’d be like to be with someone like Elodie.

To feel the soft caress of her fingers on mine after a long day.

To let myself look into those beautiful hazel eyes and just… breathe.

I shake my head. I can’t lose myself in a fantasy.

In the kitchen, Elodie hums a Disney song with Rosie, their movements as easy and intimate as though they’ve done it Rosie’s whole life. Watching them, I swear I feel a physical weight lift off my chest.

Finally, I pull myself together and stand to take my plate to the sink. Rosie holds soapy hands out for it, and when I turn, I run straight into Elodie.

“Oh!” she exclaims, her eyes widening.

My hands go out on instinct, as do hers.

She’s soft. Soft hands on my forearms, and a soft, generous body pressed against mine.

The whole moment lasts all of a second, but my body comes alive at the contact.

As though it, too, can’t remember the last time it was touched by anyone who wasn’t trying to tackle me—Rosalie included.

Also, she smells incredible. The scents of vanilla and brown sugar waft around me, like my own personal dessert.

“Sorry,” I murmur, releasing her and stepping to the right.

Only she steps in the same direction.

Her laugh is so genuine that her entire face lights up. The smile she gives is beautiful, wide and lush, and its very presence seems to thaw a piece of my heart that I didn’t know was frozen.

My own chuckle is more reserved, but I hope she sees how undeniably grateful I am. For…everything. I step backward, nearly toppling into Rosalie in the process, and it makes Elodie laugh even more.

“Sorry.” She wipes tears from her eyes. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m just…” She trails off, then meets my gaze. “Thank you. For everything.”

Her words are like an arrow, hitting a mark she has no idea is even there. The fact that she echoed my own thoughts makes it that much sweeter. “You’re welcome. But the thanks is all mine.”

Surprise flashes across her face, and I think if I were any other person, Lennox perhaps, I’d make a joke here, ease the thickening tension and reset us into the more easily navigable roles of boss and employee.

But I don’t know what kind of joke would work, and…

I’m tired. Tired of, well, everything. I don’t have the will to fight a damn thing tonight.

So I smile, and move out of the way, and we finish cleaning up. She leaves shortly afterward, once the final Clorox wipe has been discarded and the kitchen is clean and tidy once more.

Closing the back door on Elodie’s retreating form, I turn to my daughter. “Head upstairs and get ready for a bath. I’ll be right up.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Rosie flashes a smile and darts away.

My phone buzzes on the counter. Thinking it might be my mom with an update on Dad, I grab it and glance at the screen.

UNKNOWN

Did you get my last text? We need to talk.

The breath whooshes out of me as my body tenses with adrenaline, my grip tightening on the phone. Before I can decide how—or even whether—to reply, another message comes through.

I know you’re reading these. Don’t ignore me.

Cursing, I blacken the screen and barely manage to contain the urge to throw the phone against the wall. Violence never solved anything, but it sure would make me feel a tiny bit better.

I know exactly who’s texting. And there’s no way in hell she’s getting what she wants.