“Almost got it,” Hannah murmured, stretching her arm farther under the couch, and thus wiggling her ass higher in the air. “Man, some really got back here. But don’t worry about it, buddy. No use crying over spilled Goldfish.”
She laughed at what he assumed was a joke, but the wiggling and thrusting had Deacon too preoccupied to get the punch line. Instead, he was wrestling with his body’s reactions to the visions that wouldn’t stop.
Fisting his hands by his sides, he turned to his old reliable. Basketball statistics had yet to let him down.
Brice Johnson scored seventeen points per game.
Joel Berry and Marcus Paige both scored twelve.
As far as stats went, the 2015 Tar Heels was a good choice. Those last five minutes of the Championship game alone were normally enough to torment him to distraction—but not this time. Nope, for the first time ever, the guaranteed trick didn’t work. Evidently, there was no diverting from Hannah’s ass.
Had it really been that long since he had a woman that his mind grabbed hold of the first pretty thing in front of him? Not even caring that it was Hannah?
Maybe I should go out with Nate and Miles one night, after all.
Swallowing another groan, Deacon turned away and focused on his giggling son. Max was sitting on the sofa, watching the credits of a familiar cartoon, and kicking his legs in the air. Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”
A sudden bop followed by a muffled, “Ouch!” from below the couch met his question, and from the corner of his eye, Deacon glimpsed Hannah’s body wiggling out.
Max thrust a finger in his nanny’s direction and said, “Pretty.”
Assuming his son wasn’t referring to Hannah’s gently rounded rear—seriously, since when did she have curves?—he asked, “What’s pretty, Max?”
“This,” Hannah said, popping up from below the sofa and blowing a mess of curls off her face. She held up a handful of cheese crackers. “Pretty,” she explained. “After nap time, Max had his snack while Dora and Boots held a parade with rainbow confetti. Our boy here was clearly enamored. With no streamers within grabbing distance, this smart stinker decided to improvise and make it rain with his snack instead.”
Blowing at that stubborn strand of hair again, Hannah grinned.
Relieved at the welcome hint of his old friend, the one who’d always worn her hair up in clips and messy ponytails, Deacon’s gaze caught on the pile on her head, and he stifled a laugh. He leaned forward and plucked the debris from her strands. “Any chance you fed my son grass along with Goldfish for a snack?”
Hannah’s cute nose wrinkled in confusion, but her eyes widened when she glimpsed what he held. “Oh. That.” She took the leaves and sticks from his hand and shrugged. “Nah, no earthly refreshments today. This was from our morning jaunt to the park. Max wanted to try out his new tricycle.”
The teasing grin fell from Deacon’s face as a sharp pain hit him in the stomach. He swallowed hard and swung his attention to Max. “Really?” he asked flatly.
Max nodded, his tiny face beaming with pride, and Hannah said, “Well, uh…yeah. I hope that’s all right. The kids were extra energetic this morning and accidently ripped one of those silly throw pillows I brought for their roosts. I went down to the luggage compartment to find my sewing kit, Max saw the trike, and he begged to take it for a ride.” She hesitated before asking, “Was that not okay?”
Deacon heard the uncertainty in her voice, watched his son’s happy smile diminish, and felt like an ass. Neither of them had done anything wrong. This was all on him.
“No, that’s fine,” he answered, forcing himself to smile and mean it. Hannah would see through it otherwise. “I’m just sorry I missed it, that’s all.” Bending down, he scooped Max into his arms and fell back onto the sofa.
With that as an opening, Max broke into an animated retelling of their morning, gushing about how hard riding the trike had been until Hannah found a mountain. At that, Hannah quickly broke in to explain the mountain was actually a very gentle hill and completely safe. But it did make coasting down easier. Then Max continued on as if he hadn’t been interrupted, gushing about how fast he’d gotten by the end.
Hannah watched Deacon for the entire story, a worried frown marring her face. She knew him too well for him to hide anything, but how was he supposed to explain that he was jealous? Even thinking it sounded stupid and immature. But…jealous he was.
He wanted to be the one to teach Max how to ride that tricycle. He wanted to be the one to teach him everything. Or, at the very least, be there to witness it. Learning to ride a tricycle was a huge milestone, and he’d missed it.
Telling Hannah about his feelings, though, would be selfish and make her feel guilty. She was only doing what he’d asked her to do. What the band was paying her to do. The only choice Deacon had was to celebrate his son’s progress and try not to miss anything else.
“Wow, buddy, that sounds awesome! I’m so proud of you.” Deacon ruffled Max’s spikes, dislodging a few blades of grass of his own while he was at it, and smiled. “Looks like you were rolling in the dirt today, too.”
“Actually,” Hannah cut in, “I’m pretty sure that’s from our grass angels.”
She said it so matter-of-factly he was sure he’d heard wrong. “Grass angels?”
“Yup. You know, like snow angels, only on grass.” She shrugged. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeated.
Raising his eyebrows, Deacon looked down at Max. He tried not to break, he really did. But a chuckle escaped anyway. He mouthed the words Grass angels, and Max giggled, too. Hannah rolled her eyes with a sigh and waltzed over to the garbage, dumping the cheese crackers confetti before dusting her hands on her jeans and cocking her hip.
“I see you judging me, Judgey Mc-Judgerson,” she said, pointing a slender finger in his direction. “But I dare you to be full of creative juices after a long morning with Precocious One and Two. The park down the street helped get some of the wiggles out, but after the trike and running around, my usual tricks stopped working. I had to think on my feet.”
“And grass angels were what came to mind.” He grinned like the smart-ass he was. “What I wouldn’t give for a peek inside that noggin of yours.”
Hannah stuck her tongue out, then said, “Honestly, grass angels weren’t even the strangest thing I came up with.”
Now Deacon laughed for real, a full body laugh, imagining the other craziness Cherry had thought up. Hell, just picturing her on the ground making “grass angels” with the kids had the previous guilt and anger melting from his body. She was a breath of fresh air in his life, balancing out his constant overthinking and pessimism.
Exhaling, he reached out and snagged Hannah’s wrist, tugging her down onto the couch beside him. She landed with a soft bounce.
Smiling, her eyes scanned his face, and when she found what she needed, her smile brightened. He wrapped his arm around her in a loose hug, and she tucked in close, grinning down at Max before subtly gesturing toward him with her chin. Deacon winked, and on the count of three, they began tickling his belly in earnest, their laughter filling the bus as Max squirmed and cackled between them.
Deacon soaked in the sound, breathing free and easy for the first time in days, and vowed to find that elusive balance he’d been searching for. This moment right here was all the motivation he needed. This tiny sofa on this grand bus held his entire world, at least for now, and without this, all the success in the world would be meaningless.
As Max’s giggles subsided, Deacon leaned down and pressed a grateful kiss against Hannah’s head. A sharp poke met his lips, and he chuckled as he tugged yet another twig from her hair.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said, scooting sideways with Max still on his lap. He looked between them both and said, “What do you say we make up a picnic lunch and take it down to this park of yours. Max here can show me his awesome tricycle skills, and then the two of you can teach me the mysterious art
of the grass angel?” He jostled Max in his arms. “That sound like fun?”
Max whooped and shot to his feet. Hannah’s face filled with quiet pleasure. It was all the answer he needed.
…
“Ouch!”
Wincing in pain, Hannah jerked her head up and stared hard at the roosts. As she cursed her throbbing heel and the Lego Woody culprit, she hoped with everything in her that the sleeping children hadn’t heard her.
She’d just gotten Max and Lizzie down, and quite honestly, she didn’t think she could handle another round of stories, songs, and requests for water. She was tapped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically drained of energy. Visions of a glass of wine and sitting in silence had been dancing in her head for the better part of an hour, and if something as trivial as a little pain-by-Lego kept it from becoming a reality soon, she might just cry.
Statue-still, she waited for a sign. A wiggle or a sigh, the sound of a sheet rustling that hinted at awake children. With the nonstop vortex of enthusiasm the two had expended today, Hannah had expected Max—or at least little Lizzie—to pass out over an hour ago, but she’d been wrong. Her charges defined the words “precocious,” as well as “precious,” and she wouldn’t change that for the world… She would, however, like just a few hours of downtime.
When a few more seconds went by without a peep from their roosts, Hannah bowed her head and raised a fist into the air, opening her mouth in a silent roar of gratitude. The bus was officially hers. Scooping up the mutinous Lego, she tiptoed toward the kitchen and smiled the smile of the free.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy. Being Blue’s nanny was turning into a dream come true. Max had always held a special place in Hannah’s heart, and over the last week, Lizzie had claimed another large chunk. She loved both the little buggers to pieces, and she couldn’t get enough of their giggles.
As for the guys, all Hannah had to do was keep the children happy, fed, and out of too much mischief, and they acted as though she’d hung the moon. The housework was minimal—picking up toys, washing a few dishes, and keeping Sherry stocked in muffins, all things she’d have done anyway. Everything about this gig was a breeze, and after adding in the incredible music at every stop and time spent with her best friend, Hannah never wanted to leave.
“Which is good,” she murmured with a slight chuckle, “since I plan on staying forever.”
Planning was only half the battle, however, and with that thought, Hannah uncorked the bottle of wine she’d set aside for tonight. Sherry was snoozing away in the back bedroom, and the band had a string of interviews before their concert. She’d have the bus to herself for at least a couple hours, which was more than enough time to review how her plan was going—or how it wasn’t going, if you wanted to be technical about it. Either way, doing so required provisions.
Hooking the stem of a wineglass, Hannah moseyed over to the dining table. She placed the glass and bottle of Cabernet on the wood surface, then reached into the cabinet holding Sherry’s secret stash. There was one certainty in life—chocolate cured all. Everything was better with sugar.
Hershey’s in hand, Hannah released a happy sigh and plopped down onto the bench, folding her legs like a pretzel. As she tore into the candy bar, she said aloud, “Let the depressing review begin.”
She’d start with the negative and end on the good. So far, Deacon was proving harder to crack than she’d anticipated. She couldn’t decide if the man was oblivious or if he really couldn’t see beyond her role as his childhood friend, but everything she’d tried so far had resulted in a big old pile of nope. She’d tried placing her hand on his arm when they were talking. Staring into his eyes longer than necessary. Leaving her lingerie lying on her bed in plain sight…
Hannah winced. Okay, that last one reeked of pathetic, and it had only happened a couple hours ago, which meant the sting of embarrassment was potent. But hell, she’d been desperate! Nothing else she’d tried had seemed to work, and at least her panties had caused a reaction in her bedroom before they left town. Maybe if Deacon saw them again, he’d remember the heat of that moment and they’d finally make a little progress.
Unfortunately, the wrong person discovered the panties first, and lust was the last thing on Deacon’s mind when Max came barreling down the hall with French lingerie on his head, yelling out, “Yo ho, let’s go!” like he was from Jake and the Never Land Pirates.
Evidently, red silk panties make awesome pirate bandanas.
Hannah blew a raspberry with her lips. At least that stunt did create a reaction, and while amusement wasn’t exactly the mood she’d been aiming for, hey, it was something, right? Right? Maybe she could build on that horrific moment and offer to play Wendy to Deacon’s Captain Hook?
Snorting at that ridiculous thought, she poured a more than generous amount of wine into her awaiting glass.
Nope, nothing about this mission was going as planned. Even in the beginning, when she’d first returned from Paris, Hannah had stumbled. Flying in a week early and rerouting her arrival to Magnolia Springs had been a surprise. Partly it was because she’d feared chickening out, knowing she was finally putting herself out there, but she’d also wanted to see Deacon’s true reaction to her after all that time. Of course with her theatrical background, it had all played out like a movie during the long plane ride and even longer layovers.
In her mind, Deacon found her on his doorstep and swept her into his arms. As the sun set behind them, he’d twirled her around his front lawn, realizing how much he needed her and how much he loved her. In that way. Then, to seal the deal, he planted a kiss to end all kisses on her lips, just like in her favorite movies: Never Been Kissed, She’s All That, and Can’t Hardly Wait, where the nerdy outcast finally found their happily ever after.
Hey, it worked for Hollywood, right?
Only, Hannah should’ve known better. In her world, reality and fantasy very rarely met. Instead, when “real life” Deacon found Hannah on his front step, he’d stared at her like she was some sort of mirage. He’d blinked in confusion for what felt like forever before relief finally flooded his face. Then he’d yanked her into his arms, just like in her vision, which she’d been silly enough to hope was a good sign. Alas, that was where the fairy tale faded.
Reality Deacon gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead, instead of the romantic dip she’d imagined, and he’d followed that up with concern over the dark circles under her eyes. Talk about swoon.
Hannah lifted the glass of Cabernet to her lips. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this seduction stuff after all. Maybe it’d be smarter to cut her losses now before she did something that truly embarrassed them both. Or worse, ruined their friendship. She’d already been burned once before, seeing feelings where there hadn’t been any, and the memory of that sting still haunted her. So much so that a part of her had wondered if they’d even be able to be friends again.
Frowning, she took another deep sip of California’s best, then set down the glass a bit more forcefully than she’d meant to.
“Or—” She touched her lips to cover a hiccup. “Maybe I need to step up my efforts.”
That sounded a lot better, and as if the universe agreed with this plan, the tour bus door suddenly flew open. She jumped and hiccupped again as an out of breath Deacon appeared in the doorway, hoofing it up the bus steps.
Hot damn. Hannah glanced at her half-empty glass. Sure, she was a little giddy and perhaps a little toasty, but she hadn’t drunk nearly enough to hallucinate. Which meant her best friend really had just randomly appeared in front of her—and he really did look that good.
She groaned softly. It simply wasn’t fair.
Dressed for the stage, Deacon’s normal well-worn denim was replaced by dark blue jeans that appeared as though they were made for him. Considering Blue’s stylist was one of the best in the business, they very well might have been. Molded to his long legs, distressed in artful ways, and showcasing his strength, Hannah had never seen a pair of jeans
worn so well in her life. Her tongue felt swollen and funny in her mouth, and she swallowed hard as she raised her eyes.
The view above was even better.
Long-sleeved white cotton stretched across the hard planes of Deacon’s chest and were pushed up on his thick forearms. The V-neckline had two buttons undone, revealing the smooth skin of his throat. Hannah had it on good authority—expert testimony—that the skin there smelled of his cologne. Spicy, sort of woodsy, and all male. It was her favorite place to bury her nose during one of his long hugs, nestled there and storing that delicious scent in her lungs.
Next came the best part. Above the five o’clock shadow that stretched long into evening, and the styled, tousled mess of dark hair that had her fingers itching to touch, Hannah finally met his gorgeous eyes.
Only instead of the warm affection she was used to, or the matching simmering lust she longed for, Deacon’s eyes were opened wide and dawning with guilt.
“I missed it, didn’t I?”
Hannah’s forehead scrunched. “M-missed what?” she asked, ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
“Story time.” Deacon exhaled heavily, and now that she wasn’t sizing him up like a dog in heat, Hannah realized he was out of breath. And sort of sweaty. “I swear, I ran out as soon as the interview was over, but I didn’t leave soon enough.” Closing his eyes, he lowered his head. “I tried, Cherry. I swear to you, I tried.”
Hannah frowned. Maybe she’d had more wine than she thought, because for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what on earth he was talking about. Tried to do what? Why did he look as though he’d single-handedly ruined Christmas?
Then, all at once, the events of the morning came flooding back.
Max had been clingier than normal at breakfast. After they’d eaten, he’d spent the hours before sound check tagging along in his daddy’s shadow, playing Legos, riding his trike, and picking up picture book after picture book. Deacon must’ve read a dozen of them, multiple times. When it was time to go, Max heard Tyler ask Deacon if he was ready and the poor boy had flown into a small meltdown. Grabbing onto his father’s leg, Max had begged him not to leave, and Hannah had never seen Deacon look so lost or overwhelmed. Her heart had liquefied right onto her shoes.
The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues) Page 7
