Coaching the Nanny: Practically Perfect Nannies by Alexa Padgett

Author:Alexa Padgett [Padgett, Alexa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sidecar Press, Inc.
Published: 2022-04-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Silas

Later that night, once Paloma’s mother had stabilized, she returned to the house, looking haggard but calm.

“How is she?” I asked her.

Her features twisted, and her eyes grew haunted. “She’s probably down to months now.”

Before I could stop myself, I pulled Paloma into my arms. She settled there, too emotionally exhausted to put up a fight. Her head rested on my shoulder, and her arms slid around my waist, cinching me to her. I liked the possessiveness in her embrace, the soft, warm puff of her breath against my throat. I nuzzled my nose into her hair as I closed my eyes. Much as I hated the reason we were here, at this moment, I was so thankful to get to hold her.

I’d thought of little else since she started working for me.

When she finally stepped back, I offered to take Trix to school the next morning so Paloma could sleep in a bit and head back to the hospital. She fought me on it until I told her I wanted to—that Trix and I were bonding.

Then she immediately gave in, happiness shining from her bright smile. “Good.”

“So, take it easy, all right?” I told her, resisting the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, to caress her cheek. I didn’t have that right—because of my fears and inadequacies at the beginning of our relationship. Anger, self-directed, burned in my chest. I couldn’t go back and fix those, but I could do better from now on.

“I don’t need to go into the office until the afternoon for our practice,” I explained.

She nodded, and we’d headed to our separate, lonely beds.

When I slid beneath my covers a short time later, I realized why that moment with Paloma had mattered so much: for the first time in years, I’d wanted to touch a woman in tenderness. The difference between the emotions blooming between Paloma and me and the infrequent one-night stands of my past were millions of miles apart. With Paloma, I wanted to offer solace, to bond emotionally; with the women before her, I’d wanted a quick release to ease my bodily discomfort.

I craved this connection we’d established over the months of living together—more than momentary pleasure. I wanted Paloma to lean on me, to seek me out. To rub her soft palms up and down my back in a gesture of reciprocity and connection.

But I didn’t get that opportunity. The next day Paloma went back to a polite distance, and I had no choice but to abide by her silent request, no matter how much I hated the distance.

And I detested it.

I stared up at the ceiling, longing tugging in my guts. I wished, yet again, I’d never had that conversation with Paloma about me not being a long-term kind of man. I’d planted the seed, so how could I get her to realize I’d changed?

No answers came, and worry weighed me down as I settled into my car the next morning to drive Trixie to school.

“You leave tomorrow for the week-long series, right?” Trix asked.

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