“Hi, Bailey.” Forest places a kiss on each of the girls. Piper is moving her little legs, a universal sign that she’s ready to get down. Cammy is a little more reluctant, giving her dad one last squeeze before letting him put her down. “I hear you’ve become quite the heroine in the eyes of my family.” His tone is even, without a hint of emotion. I’d have understood condemnation. The way Forest is talking to me now is like I’m of little to no consequence. Two can play that game. He still didn’t shake my hand, and I’m sure the way my hands are currently in my back pockets clues him in on the way his behavior is affecting everything. Men. I swear they can be so stupid.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ll give you all a moment. I’m on dinner duty, so I’ll wrap it up, and then you four can enjoy your meal.” Forest doesn’t say anything. What shocks me the most is Cammy, as her hand goes in mine.
“Can I still help you?”
“Of course, you can. Would you mind opening the can of biscuits? It always shocks me when it makes that popping noise.” That’s not really the truth. It’ll work, though, seeing as how everything is done—the roasted garlic and rosemary chicken, the glazed carrots, and mashed cauliflower were in the oven. The final touch is to let the chicken rest before carving it and to get the biscuits in the oven. Catherine didn’t ask if I could cook dinner. I offered after she was looking in the refrigerator, grumbling about what to make for the girls and Forest tonight before she headed home. It only seemed like the right idea to get used to making dinner for the family.
“Really? That’s my favorite part with Auntie Hendrix.” Cammy takes a breath before continuing her sentence, “Don’t tell anyone. It’s usually cinnamon rolls, and we have them for dinner sometimes.” She stumbles on the cinnamon part of the sentence. I didn’t help or correct her. Instead, I waited patiently until she was done.
“I won’t tell anyone.” We both mimic the zipping of the lips and get to work on the other side of the kitchen.
EIGHT
Forest
The thought of firing Bailey is evaporated from any and all thoughts, especially after my own mother gave me that disapproving look. I was a dick of epic proportions. It was a kick in the teeth when Cammy wanted to spend time with Bailey instead of me after I was gone for a week. That shit hurt. I wasn’t upset with her, though, instead took it in stride, talked to my mom for a bit, where she basically told me to tone down my attitude or she’d unleash hers on me. That took me back to my childhood, to the teen years when you know it all and have seen it all. One time she put me in my place, I kept mouthing off while she was putting the dishes away. It was a lesson learned when I said, “Yeah, whatever.” I barely had time to duck before a wooden spatula sailed across the kitchen. That didn’t deter her from chewing me out, and when Dad came home, he came unglued that I’d disrespect his wife, my mother. He worked my ass to the bone that weekend and took my car keys away for a month.
“Thanks for staying longer,” I tell Bailey I asked her to stay once the girls were in bed for the night after we had a delicious-as-fuck dinner. Mom left shortly after, giving me a look, and pointed finger. The four of us helped Bailey clean up the kitchen, Cammy and Piper helping me pull the majority of the work since we didn’t clean.
“No problem.” She’s sitting on the edge of the couch, hands between her legs, shoulders up to her ears, nervousness seeping from the inside out. Bailey’s eyes won’t meet mine. I should be elated, knowing she’s worried about as much as I probably am, like how this is going to work, if I’m going to fire her, and how this is all going to play out. Which is why I’m ready to set some ground rules.
“This isn’t an ideal situation. Didn’t think I’d come from the other side of Nevada to see my one-night stand in my house working as my nanny.” I’m still ticked that I was snowballed into having a woman in my house helping raise my daughters. That has more to do with pride and less with the fact that it’s a necessary evil.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Bailey mutters into her lap, still not showing me those sweet baby blues of hers. It’s more than likely for the better, yet I still don’t like it. “I’d really like to keep my job. I’ve been a nanny for more years than I can count, and not once have I been fired. If that’s a possibility.”