by Ash Harlow
“Phobia,” she corrects me.
“Fear. I took your hand. Your palm was sweaty, your face pale. Evidence of anxiety. Kissing you was instinctive. Maybe it’s because I wanted to comfort you, or maybe because sitting this close to you makes me horny. Jury’s still out on that one. Doesn’t matter because I think my actions worked.”
“What do you mean?”
“The color’s returned to your face. You no longer look fearful—more, annoyed. Are you still scared?”
She thumps my arm. “Of course I am.”
“Right. Well, I don’t believe you. You’ve got approximately three minutes to drum up that fear again and show me you’re scared because we’re soon to land.”
“That’s not fair, Luther. You distracted me. I am scared.”
“Well, maybe I should kiss you again.”
She rolls her eyes, folds her arms across her chest and turns to watch out the window as Auckland’s Mechanics Bay comes into view. I nudge her with my elbow.
“What,” she says without turning to face me.
“You’re looking out the window. I think that constitutes a parenting win for me.”
***
“I was scared,” Ginger hisses at me.
We’re drinking coffee in some vast, swanky Ponsonby shop called Little & Victoria or something like that. It has everything for girls under the age of ten. And the reason the premises are so enormous? Apparently, girls under ten need a lot of stuff. My interior designer met us at the helicopter and she’s away with the manager, checking stock and availability of the one thousand items I’ve just purchased.
To the side of the cafe area is a playground stocked with everything an up-and-coming princess might desire. Two girls have dolls strapped into chairs and they’re brushing hair and doing nails which looks way more maid than mistress to me, but judging by the death stare Ginger sent me when I voiced my opinion I’m not supposed to say things like that.
“You do realize you won’t be able to swear in front of Rachel?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Virginia, of course I do.”
The barista looks as unimpressed with my joke as Ginger does.
“I’m joking. Lighten up, Ginge. Listen. You’re going to meet Rachel and discover she has a great sense of humor. Sure, we’ll make mistakes with her but I promise you, swearing won’t be one of them.”
“I’m rather nervous.”
“I know you are. You’ll be great. You might think asking you to step in as the nanny until I find a professional to hire was just a matter of finding the first person available. But it wasn’t. I asked you because I think you’ll do a great job.” And other reasons that I can’t tell you.
She does this funny thing, tucking her shoulder up to her face when she’s embarrassed. “Thanks,” she says.
“Rachel loves drawing and painting. I think she’s pretty good.”
Ginger grins at me. “We need to get some better art supplies then. There’s a great place in one of the side streets around here. Let me look it up.”
She’s pulled out her phone but I push it away. “That might have to wait. We’re running out of daylight to fly back to Waitapu.”
“Should have brought the car,” Ginger teases.
Anita, the interior designer, appears with a long printout. “Let’s go around the showroom one more time and make sure everything on here matches everything you chose.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I say.
“Luther, we are not having another dining room table debacle,” Anita says in a sharp voice. “Follow me.”
Ginger makes big eyes at me and covers her mouth to stop from laughing.
Anita is one of the few people who takes no shit from me. And, she’s right. I don’t want a repeat of the fucking dining room table experience. I’d gone behind Anita’s back, picked out a design and told the Italian importer I wanted one that sat six-to-eight. I don’t know what Anita had told the guy about Ormidale, but he imported two monstrosities, each capable of seating thirty-four. He’d thought I wanted to seat sixty-eight. I mean, what the fuck? It’s not Buckingham Palace.
Anita cleared up that mess for me, and charged me handsomely for the privilege, but I promised not to order a thing for the house again unless I did it through her.
We walk around the showroom and check off a princess bed, matching drawer sets, lamps, linen, quilt, pillows and cushions, chair, floor rug, mirror, curtain fabric, and on and on. I stopped at art for the wall because I’d like to frame some of her own paintings and if she wants anything else, she can choose it herself.
Ginger busies herself taking photos of the bed set because she wants to make it up the same way they have it in the showroom.
Finally, it’s time to leave.
“Rachel’s strict about her bed routine,” I tell Ginger, leading her from the store. “She needs her toys set out a certain way, so we have to get that ritual perfect or she won’t be able to sleep.”
“I’m a bit the same myself.” Ginger’s teasing but it puts an image in my mind I really don’t want there.
“You won’t need toys with me around,” I tell her.
She shakes her finger at me. “No touching the nanny, Luther. I thought that was a firm rule.”
“Rules are made to be broken.”
“Tell it to the judge,” she smirks.
“I give you two days and you’ll be begging me.”
“You wish.”
I watch her gorgeous ass as she climbs into the cab. She has no idea how much I do wish that our lives could have been less connected so that we could be more connected. But, there’s no changing that, and I don’t believe in regrets. I did the right thing five years ago when Rachel needed me. I just had no idea that it would return to bite me this hard.
18 ~ GINGER
Ormidale is stunning. All the scaffolding is down, although there are a couple of workmen finishing up minor detailing. The kitchen is a dream and I’m picturing myself teaching Rachel how to cook, how to make sodas and syrups and delicious desserts. And then, every so often I have to snap myself out of that fantasy because I’m the temporary nanny. Rachel’s new nanny will be hired soon enough and I’ll be out the door.
Luther shows me to my room and thankfully doesn’t hang around long enough for me to get lost in a fantasy of him throwing me down on the bed and fucking me until sunset.
The room is stunning. It’s on the second floor and has a dramatic view across the gardens and out to sea. Ormidale has separate staff quarters where the real nanny will live, but I’m in a guest room, two along from Luther’s room. Rachel’s room is next door. I hastily unpack before checking out the adjoining bathroom. It’s like a luxury hotel. A massive bath, huge walk-in shower, double sinks, mirrors galore and amazing lighting.
I climb into the bath and sit, clothed, to check out the view. The windows end at the edge of the bath so I’ll be able to soak and enjoy a panorama that takes in both headlands and the ever-changing ocean all the way out to the islands.
A noise at the door startles me.
“That’s a bath, Ginger. What you do is fill it with water, take off your clothes and hop in. It’s an old invention, but it’s stood the test of time so we still install them in bathrooms.”
“Just testing the view,” I say, clambering out.
“Next time, fill it with water and give it a try. I recommend it.”
“Thank you, I will.” I’m somewhat embarrassed so I go to the vanity and distract myself by unpacking my toiletries.
“The delivery men have finished. Everything’s in Rachel’s room.”
“Let me at it,” I say, stuffing all of my lipsticks into the top drawer of the vanity before following Luther to the bedroom. There are packages everywhere. Picking up the first box I can see I’m going to need a craft knife to break into it.
Like a mind reader, Luther takes a knife from his back pocket and starts slicing them open. It’s a bit like Christmas and although I thought Luther would
leave me to the bed making and organizing, he stays and helps.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” I tell him as he makes a final tweak to the comforter, then adjusts a pillow an inch. Good, and possibly slightly OCD.
“We had money growing up, obviously, but we still had to do chores. Nobody got breakfast until all the beds were made, so being the eldest, and the hungriest, I made a lot of beds each day. Dad was a stickler for neatness, so everything had to be squared off, and that,” he says, pointing to Rachel’s bed, “is damned near perfect.”
We gather up all the packaging then both stand at the door and give the room the once-over.
“What do you think?” he asks.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Luther unsure. This obviously means a lot to him. “It’s beautiful. I’m sure Rachel’s going to love it.”
“Good. I want her to be happy. You have to tell me if anything’s bothering her because I get tied up in my work and miss things. I need you to be my eyes and ears. Tell me immediately if I’m stuffing up.”
“Will do.” I’m following him down the massive staircase. Ormidale is imposing. The renovations have modernized it to some extent, but it still has the essence of its original grandeur. “How’s the nanny hunt coming along?” I want to get a feeling for how long I’m going to be here.
“Good. I’ve got an international agency scouring the world. I want the best.”
“Foreign doesn’t necessarily mean fantastic. I’m sure we have good nannies in New Zealand.” It’s going to take forever with work visas if he has to hire from a foreign country.
“I’m sure we do. But if that good Kiwi nanny is working for someone in Europe, I want the agency to poach her.”
“Poor Rachel.” We’ve reached the builder’s dumpster which has yet to be removed. Luther’s stuffing the packaging into it and wearing a T-shirt, I get to stand back and enjoy the muscles rippling in his arms.
“She doesn’t need sympathy. She’ll have everything.”
“When she probably only wants a little. Don’t overwhelm her, Luther.”
He faces me looking puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“All these things are beautiful, but why don’t we try to make her life as similar as possible to what she’s used to. Until she settles in.”
Luther slings his arm around my shoulders and steers me into the house to the kitchen. There’s nothing sexual in the move but my excitable body leaps to attention anyway.
“I never knew such a wise head sat on these young shoulders,” he says. “Come on, let’s work out how to use the coffee machine and we’ll make some plans for week one.”
I mightn’t be a college graduate, but I’ve picked up a lot of skills in the various jobs I’ve worked. The coffee machine is easy and we sit at the counter, me armed with pen and paper.
“Meals first,” I suggest.
“She’s not a fussy eater, but she does like fish and chips.”
“Well, that’s fine as a treat, but I’ll add a bit of nutrition in there. Will you be eating with us?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says.
“That’s silly. If I’m cooking for Rachel and me, you might as well be included.”
“Do you mind? I can employ a cook if you like.”
“I’m capable of cooking. You enjoyed the soup I made the other night.”
“That’s not all I enjoyed. Nor you, if I recall correctly.”
The smile he gives me makes me want to kiss him. This is going to be hell. “Luther, we need to move to a more professional relationship, without the constant hints about sex.”
“You’re a good cook,” he says, ignoring my suggestion. “I won’t be home for all meals, but I’ll do my best. We can share the cooking.” He digs around in his wallet. “Here’s a credit card for household expenses. When I fly up to Auckland this afternoon I’ll pick up your car. Until then you can use the SUV in the garage.”
“I have my bike.”
“And I have limited patience. Save your mountain bike for the trails. Drive with me to the airfield. Oliver and Darcy come in on the plane I’m going out on so you can take them home.”
“Good idea.” I can’t wait to talk to Darcy.
***
An hour later we’re at Waitapu’s tiny airfield watching the small plane swing in the crosswinds before it finally touches down. “Rather you than me,” I say to Luther.
“Come on. I thought you’d got over your fear of flying.”
“That thing’s tiny. You’re deluded to think it’s safe.”
Luther presses a finger against my lips. “One more word about the perils of flight and I’ll be forced to kiss you.”
I’m tempted but then I see Darcy stepping out of the plane and I rush over to greet her. She gives me a massive hug and we leave the men to talk as we cross the tarmac.
“Look at you in the middle of winter, rocking a tan,” I say.
“I know. God, Ginger, I highly recommend honeymoons. It was amazing.”
“Good. I must work on having my own one some day.”
Darcy flicks a glance at Luther and raises a questioning eyebrow.
I shake my head. “No, Darcy, don’t even go there.”
“But you seem to be getting on better. You’re going to be living with him, Ginge, brushing up against him in the kitchen, meeting in the hallways after lights are out.”
“Looking after a child who needs a stable environment, not one filled with Luther’s innuendo—” I stop myself. Shit. I wasn’t going to say anything to Darcy about what I’ve been up to with Luther.
“I think we need a glass of wine and a little chat,” she teases. “What’s he like?”
“I’m going to need more than one glass of wine to tell you anything. Not that there’s anything to say. Why? What have you heard.” All my words are coming out fast which is a sure sign of guilt.
“I’ve heard everything, Ginger. Luther has a big mouth.”
My cheeks are burning. “I don’t think he would say anything.”
“Ha, gotcha. Here’s Oliver.”
“Welcome home,” I say. He’s looking even more tanned than Darcy.
“Hey, Ginger. Luther’s told me the big news.”
“Right,” I say cautiously.
Darcy snorts, and Oliver’s gaze swings back and forth between the pair of us, slightly bemused. Behind us, Luther’s plane takes off and I realize I have a thousand questions for him about things I need to know before Rachel arrives.
“I’m nervous,” I say, clutching Darcy’s arm. “Tell me what you know about five-year-old girls.”
“Less than you,” she says. “But, you’re fun, Ginger, you’ll be great. Those kids up at the school love you.”
“Yeah, but that’s just school stuff. It’s not like one on one where you have to entertain them and bath them. Can they bath on their own when they’re five?”
We both look at Oliver who holds his hands up. “Search me. Why don’t you give Stella a call. Orion’s five, isn’t he?”
“Orion’s a boy,” I say.
“Aurora’s a girl,” Oliver counters. “Call Stella, she’d love to help.”
We’ve made it to the car and I toss the keys to Oliver because I’m nervous about driving the SUV.
The trip back to their house takes us only a few minutes. Merkin launches herself across the threshold, grabbing Darcy around the ankles.
“Ouch, wow, I see what you mean, Ginge. Merkin’s turned into a monster.” She picks up the cat, who head-butts her chin a couple of times then settles in, purring.
Oliver vanishes with the suitcases and Darcy suggests wine.
I tell her I can’t. “I have to drive that beast back to Luther’s house.”
“Oliver will drive you. I need to know all about you and Luther.”
“I want to know about your honeymoon.” I wonder if that will steer her off the subject.
“Sure.” She’s tipping wine into two glasses. “Perfect weathe
r, hot, sun, sand, warm ocean, stunning food and even better sex. Now, tell me about Luther.”
We’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen island, and face to face with Darcy, it’s going to be difficult to skirt around the truth. She can tell when I’m dodging. “He asked me to be a temporary nanny for Rachel.”
“Sounds to me like an excuse to get you into his house.”
“It’s a genuine job, Darcy, with a contract.”
She glances through the doorway, then leans towards me. “Oliver and I had a contract, too. Look where that got us.”
“You’re impossible. There’s something bothering me, though. Did you know about Rachel?”
She shakes her head. “No, but Oliver did. I overheard him discussing her with Luther one day. I thought they were talking about some girlfriend up in Auckland. Then Luther phones Oliver while we’re away, asking what the hell he’s going to do. When Oliver suggested you as a nanny, I realized Rachel wasn’t some old flame after all. I’m so pleased. You get to hang out with Luther all the time. Rumor has it you two were seen kissing at the wedding.”
My face is such a giveaway. It’s the curse of having fair skin. “That was nothing,” I say.
“Not what I heard. Apparently, you left together.”
“I had to get home somehow. Oh, and I had to be rescued from your cousins.”
“I can’t stand those guys. Total wankers, my parents insisted they had to be invited. I should have warned you. Did Luther get all protective?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you still like him a lot, Ginge?”
Her voice has softened. She’s not teasing anymore.
“Yeah, I guess so. I’m hoping sharing a house with him will cure me of that. I’ll probably hate the sound he makes when he chews his toast.”
“Probably eats toast with a sexy growl.”
“More like a scowl,” I correct her.
“He likes you, Ginge, I can tell.”
“He has a funny way of showing it. So, no other info about Rachel?”
