“And you know what? We already said our goodbyes. I don’t have any extra polite phrases left over.”
“Jack.”
“I mean… Farewell? I guess I didn’t get to use that yet. I say farewell. So…”
“Jack!”
I pause, mid-quip. I could just go on and on, but she actually started to look kind of serious. Her eyebrows gather together in the middle and I can see her lips thinning out as she presses them together.
“All right, all right… Come on in, Chelsea. We wouldn’t want our little sister to be homeless, now would we?”
She makes a little cough of surprise as she passes me and I reach out reflexively, looping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her to my chest so I kiss the top of her head.
“Seriously,” I murmur, “are you okay?”
She nods against me, brushing her forehead over my pecs.
“Yeah… I’m okay,” she sighs.
She leans on me for just another second or two before pushing back and regaining her composure.
“So, about this job,” she starts, breathing through her nose with a serious, expectant tone. “I just want to get a few things straight.”
My eyebrows go up. “Really!” I grin back, unable to stop myself. She’s adorable, she really is.
I hold out an elbow so I can guide her into the great room. Chance is stretched out on the sofa, recovering from his morning session with the boys, who just went down for a nap. When he sees us, he kicks his legs off and stands up straight, grinning stupidly like a golden retriever who just got his best girl back.
I feel sort of the same way, but he seems to have forgotten he’s the one who sent the retriever away. Convenient that he would forget so quickly.
“See? I told you she would be back,” Chance lies, smug in his amnesia.
“You never said any such thing,” I object, but nobody hears me.
Chelsea strides into the room, angling away from both of us with her hands out like she’s deflecting some kind of football maneuver. She wants the stage, and she has it. She could ask for just about anything right now.
“So, this nanny gig…” she begins cautiously.
“I’m really glad you’re back!” Chance beams.
“Let her talk!” I interrupt.
She swallows, hard. “Yes, let me talk, okay? I feel that we should get these things settled right at the beginning.”
“Okay, whatever you say,” he continues. The Golden Retriever is strong in him.
She shifts her weight back and forth. She’s wearing the same clothes she left in: low-slung jeans and pink sneakers. A tight T-shirt with a stretched-out collar that dips deliciously between her tits. But her hair is down now, curling around her shoulders, quivering as she nods to herself, assembling her demands.
“I want Mondays and Tuesdays off,” she announces.
“Done,” I answer immediately.
She holds up a finger. “And I am not a housekeeper, okay? You better have somebody else for that. I’m not to be walking around cleaning up after you guys again, understand?”
“Hildegard will be so relieved,” Chance smiles.
Note to self: hire a housekeeper named Hildegard.
“I want my own room. All right? Near the boys, and with all the baby monitor stuff. But my own space, just for me? My own bathroom. All right?”