by Mia Carson
Stan shifted through the sketches. “These are his?”
She nodded, drinking her wine and trying to decide the best way to approach the topic of Melody’s unexpected visit. “Yep. I bought him some paints while we were out and thought I’d show him some sketching techniques.”
“You know, if you ever decided to stop being a nanny, you’d make a great art teacher.”
“Maybe one day. So, we…ah, had an unexpected guest this afternoon.”
“Oh? Who was that? Not my parents?” he asked quickly.
“No, not them. Your neighbor, Melody.’
Stan’s face paled and he chugged his glass of wine, avoiding her gaze. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. Care to tell me why she thought I was your son’s mother?”
He gripped the arms of his chair and shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent. “I have no idea. Is that what she said?”
“She showed up on your back patio, trying to chase me off. Stan, she told me that’s what you told her,” she stated and watched his face crumble as he hung his head. “Wow, you are something else.”
“Can I explain, please?”
“Yes, please do, because I spent a few minutes being utterly insulted by a woman who thinks she’s better for you than I am.” Remy didn’t mean for the words to come out sounding so full of hurt, but Melody’s words had stung. She tucked her hair behind her ears, ducking her head as if she could hide her feelings from Stan. He pulled them out of her whether she wanted him to see them or not.
“Remy, I want nothing to do with that woman, which is why I lied to her. I had hoped she would leave me alone, but I see I was wrong.” His hand reached up and uncrossed her arms so he could hold her hands. “I’m sorry you had to deal with her. I’ll take care of it, promise.”
Remy sniffed hard and nodded. “I was more worried about Louis.”
“She won’t bother either of you again, I swear it.”
A smile crept across her face and tears burned in her eyes before she wiped them away quickly. “Thanks I…uh, I guess I’ll go get washed up for dinner, too.”
“Remy, you know how I feel about you, right?” he asked uncertainly.
She glanced quickly down the hall to make sure Louis wasn’t in sight and brushed her lips against his. “I do.” Her hands slipped out of his and she darted upstairs before that simple touch turned into anything else and they risked Louis seeing them together.
11
Stan took the arm Remy offered as he stepped out of the car and sank into his wheelchair. Students and parents bustled around them, and Louis played with the straps on his backpack, his eyes wide as he stared at the old brick and stone school building.
“Louis, are you okay?” he asked, tugging his son’s sleeve.
“That’s a big school, and there are so many people,” he whispered. “I don’t know about this.”
“We can wait a few more days if you want. The Headmaster said he would understand if you needed more time to adjust,” Stan reminded him. “It’s up to you, kiddo.”
Louis puffed out his cheeks and shook his head, his brown, curly hair flying. “No—no, I can do it. Mom would do it, wouldn’t she?”
Stan smiled and patted Louis’ cheek. “Yes, she would.”
“Okay, then I can too.”
“You have her picture with you?” Stan asked, and Louis pulled it out of his pocket. “Good. Keep it with you, and if you start to get nervous or scared, you pull it out and you think of her.”
“And you,” Louis added.
Stan’s heart swelled with love, and he was quick to blink a tear away from his eye. “And me.”
Louis hugged him tightly, and Stan kissed the top of his son’s head. He hoisted his backpack up higher on his back, turned, and vanished into the throng of other students walking inside. A few boys introduced themselves, and before Louis even reached the front doors, he was laughing with them.
“He’ll be fine,” Remy assured Stan, resting her hand on his shoulder.
“I hope so. I didn’t think it would be this hard to watch him go to school. Damn.”
Remy’s warm laughter only made the love in his chest grow even more, and he wished he didn’t have to go into the office again today. Having alone time with Remy without the worry of Louis being in the house was another part of today he looked forward to. From the way her eyes darkened and her hand remained on his shoulder, she had the same idea, but they would have to wait.
“You have enough to keep you busy so you won’t get bored?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to walk for a bit and call myself a cab. Take the car.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, there’s a café not too far from here,” she said. “And possibly an art gallery right next to it that opens in an hour,” she added, grinning.
“I’ll see if I can’t get off work early,” he whispered and kissed her hand.
“Until then.”
She helped him back into the car while the driver folded his chair and slipped it into the trunk. He hated leaving her there when all he wanted was to spend the entire day showing her all the ways they could bring that painting to life, but duty called. His dad would be at the office to put together a new budget for the coming year. He stared at the side mirror until they turned a corner and Remy disappeared from view.
“She seems quite the woman,” David, one of the many drivers for his company, commented.
“She certainly is,” Stan agreed. “She doesn’t even know it.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you smiling again, sir,” David said. “I think most at the company would agree.”
“I’ve only been back a few days.”
“Yes, well, people notice.”
Stan chuckled and wished he could say he’d worked through all his issues since having Remy in his life, but sadly, that wasn’t the case. Her presence certainly helped, but even she hadn’t been able to draw out what still bothered him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her and have her deal with his burden. For now, he would keep working through it the way he always had: pushing his feelings down deep and hoping that one day, they would simply go away on their own. The days with Louis were getting better and better, and the pain in his legs was tolerable enough that he hadn’t taken his pain pills the last few days. He was able to take a few steps more than usual, giving him hope that when the time came for Remy to be ready, he would actually be able to love her the way he wanted, the way she should be loved for the first time.
He wasn’t shying away from his emotions and knew he was falling for her. Doubts rose in his mind that he might be the only one, but he’d glanced in her studio last night before heading to bed and the paintings he saw beneath the sheets gave him the only answer he needed. Besides the one of them making love in the garden as the rain fell against their bodies, there were several more. One of him and Louis sitting side by side as they worked on a ship model. The one beside that was another of Remy and Stan, their hands clasped as their heads rested against each other in a tender moment. The scenes weren’t what brought a smile to Stan’s face, though. It was the sudden appearance of subtle color in each painting.
David pulled the car up to the front of the Wellington Gunsmith Co building and parked. “I’ll get your chair for you, sir.”
Stan nodded, already planning on sneaking out of the office today as soon as he could. He knew his dad would bug him again about bringing Louis over to meet the family, but Stan wasn’t going to drag his son through that mess until he said he was ready for it. For now, he and Louis were making things work. They still had their moments, but given time, Stan had faith in his relationship with his son.
Remy left the art gallery inspired to work on the wire piece she’d started in her parents’ shed but had lost inspiration to finish. Now, ideas swarmed in her mind. She headed to the studio to get to work. She reworked the wires, snapping a few pieces here and there while twisting the other ones into a completely new shape she
hadn’t considered before. Being with Stan had certainly opened another side of her creativity she’d not seen in herself. At some point, she would have to thank him for it.
She took a break around noon to grab some more water and give her aching hands a rest. As she drank from her glass of water, glancing out the window at the flowerbeds to see if they needed weeding, the phone rang. Stan had mentioned before not to answer it if she didn’t recognize the number, and after a quick look, let it go to the machine.
The woman’s voice that came through the answering machine, however, stopped her cold.
“Mr. Wellington, I have told you time and again the only thing I want is for you to suffer. I know you send flowers once a month to my son’s grave and to the other’s hospital bed, but flowers will not bring either son back!”
Remy stepped closer to the machine to listen, as if afraid the woman would jump out and strangle her instead of Stan.
“You caused that accident, and my family’s pain is on your head. I will keep calling to remind you of that. I hope you do not have a pleasant day.”
The woman hung up, but her words lingered in the air. Remy hit the play button and listened again, and each time, another piece of the puzzle that was Stan’s guilt and pain fell snugly into place. When Remy let the message play through for the fourth time, she deleted it afterwards, not wanting Stan to hear it when he came home from work. She hurried to her room, dug out the therapist card, and hoping Stan wouldn’t hate her too much for taking the initiative, called the only other number she could think of for help in this situation.
“Wellington residence.” A woman answered the phone on the other end.
“Hi, is this Mrs. Wellington?” Remy asked, peeking out the front curtain, watching for Stan returning home.
“This is she. Who might this be?”
“I’m not sure if Stan told you about me, but I’m Remy Reagan, his nanny?” She bit her tongue hard, praying Stan hadn’t kept too much from his family, but his mom let out an excited yelp and Remy heard her clapping on the other end of the line.
“He has! I’ve wanted to meet this miracle nanny who is changing his life.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, my dear. You have no idea how much he’s changed in the past month with you around. Now, what can I do for you? Are you calling to set up a family dinner?”
“Unfortunately, not yet, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with something else that’s probably going to get me in trouble.” Remy held up the family therapist’s card and took a deep breath. “I’m trying to set up a therapy session for Stan at home to get his butt back into it, but I don’t know who to call. Do you happen to have a number?”
Silence met her words, and at first, she feared she’d overstepped her bounds. But Mrs. Wellington yelled excitedly again and told her to hold on. “I have that number around here somewhere, and don’t you worry about calling. I’ll get it all set up on my end. What day were you thinking?”
“Next Monday? I might try to get him a meeting with a regular therapist too.”
“Really? And he knows nothing about that one either, does he?”
“No, and I’m trying not to pry into his life,” she promised, speaking in a rush. “I just found out what really happened with the boating accident and know why he’s so damn broody all the time and I think… I think it’s time he talked to someone about it so I’m forcing the issue because that’s what friends do.”
“Oh, hon, from what I hear, you might be more than just a good friend.”
Remy’s grip clutched the phone. “From who?”
“From Stan himself, of course. He’s told my husband quite a lot about you, and from the way he says your name, and how much you care about him, I’m going to guess there’s something more going on than simply you taking care of his stubborn ass.”
“Well…I, uh, I mean… I do like him as a friend, you know, and a boss, but there might be a little more…there… oh, God.” Her face fell into her palm as she groaned, and Mrs. Wellington laughed warmly through the line. “He’s going to kill me.”
“I’m his mother, hon. I know more than he likes to admit.”
“Can we keep this conversation between us? For now, at least?”
“Of course we can. I won’t say a word, though I will get a meeting with this physical therapist going.” The silence that followed her words left Remy feeling she wanted to say more, but she mumbled something too quiet to hear on the other end. “Never you mind. I hope to meet you and my first grandchild soon.”
“If you need to talk to me again about the therapy session, I’ll give you my cell number to call so Stan doesn’t get suspicious if you call and ask to talk to me.” Remy gave Mrs. Wellington her number and hung up, wondering what the hell she just started.
Stan didn’t make it home before he had to pick up Louis from school, and when they crashed through the front door, chortling about something or other, Remy knew she couldn’t dampen the mood by confronting Stan with the message on the answering machine. That would have to wait until tomorrow when Louis was safe at school again.
“How was your first day?” Remy asked Louis as he slung his backpack onto the kitchen table.
“Awesome! I can’t wait until tomorrow and I already have like twenty friends and the art teacher is amazing, and we’re going to shoot bows next week!” he rambled excitedly. Remy set a snack for him on the table as he shrugged out of his tiny sports coat. “Were you bored all day without me around?”
“So totally bored, but don’t worry, I’ll survive.”
Louis scarfed down his snack. Taking his bag, he sprinted upstairs to do his few assignments before dinner so he and Stan could play afterwards.
“And what did you do all day?” Stan asked, rolling so he was next to Remy.
His hand snaked around her waist, and she smirked, bending down for a quick kiss while they were safely alone. Heat flared at his touch, and he groaned against her mouth, his fingers finding smooth skin beneath her shirt. She considered letting his hand go higher, but Louis could run back downstairs at any second. She straightened and cleared her throat, pulling away from his touch.
“I started a new project.”
“Can I see it?”
“No. This one you can’t see until it’s finished—if I ever finish it.”
“And if I sneak in there for a peek?” he asked teasingly, pushing his chair towards her studio.
“Don’t you dare, Stanford Wellington. Some things aren’t meant to be seen until they’re finished, so hold off for a while. Like a month or two, just for that piece.”
He frowned and sighed, giving in. “Yes, my lady. I’m going to change out of this damn suit.”
He was in such a good mood, and as the night wore on, his good mood only increased, playing video games with Louis until sunset when his son wanted to go outside and catch fireflies. Remy watched from the bench, tugging a blanket up her lap as the sun’s warmth faded into the cool night air. Stan and Louis were at the other end of the patio and their voices calmed her worries, her eyes slipping closed as sleep crept in. She dimly heard the patio door open and close, and squinted one eye open to see Stan rolling towards her.
“Fun over already?” she asked.
“He said he should get some sleep so he’d be ready for school tomorrow. That kid is amazing. I’m not sure I’d be that excited about school after such a huge loss.”
“He’s got you,” she said and rested her hand on his.
He held it, lacing their fingers together, and kissed the back of her hand. “I know. But I worry I’m not enough. You saw the other night. I still don’t have all my shit together.”
There it was, the perfect opening to bring up the message, but fear at his reaction held her back. “You’ll get there in time. We all have our issues. Sometimes they take a while to be brought to light, and sometimes they keep getting buried deeper and deeper until you don’t even realize they’re there anymore.”
; Stan shifted in his chair, and she raised her gaze to his sharp blue one, filled with curiosity. “Are you talking about me or you?”
“You, clearly.”
“No, not clearly,” he replied.
Callie’s words appeared in her mind again, telling her she spent too much time wrapped up in other people’s lives, but this time was different, wasn’t it? She wasn’t here anymore to help Stan and Louis. She was here because Stan wanted her—no, needed her here because of who she was to him. Or because he hadn’t had sex in so long and she was the first attractive woman to walk through his door. There were moments she couldn’t decide if what she felt for him went more than skin deep, and without the chance to explore that avenue, she would never understand these feelings rampaging through her.
“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she said lamely.
“No, you’re not. There’s something bothering you. Talk to me.”
“Oh, like you talk to me so openly?” She tried to stand, but he still held her hand and drew her back down to the bench. “I want to go to bed.”
“What did I do this time?” he asked, exasperated.
“Nothing,” she said, sighing and forcing her anger down. “You didn’t do anything. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning?”
“Sure,” he said and let go of her hand.
Remy’s heart sank. Leaving him confused and dejected on the patio hurt her, but this was not a conversation she wanted to have at night with Louis in the house. Yelling was the last thing he needed to hear when he was finally getting into a good routine. Remy had to choose her words carefully tomorrow as it was. Anything could throw off the happy home Stan and Louis had created so far, and ruining their relationship by completely breaking Stan would stay with her for a long time. She tossed and turned all night, groaning when her alarm went off, and considered not getting up at all. Except she wanted Louis to have a good breakfast before Stan took him to school.
“Remy, you sick or something?” Louis asked when he appeared in the kitchen.
“Nah. I didn’t sleep too well. Here’s your eggs and toast. Eat up, kid,” she said and ruffled his hair as Stan rolled into the kitchen.
