JENNIE

"Hola! Hola! Hola!"

The sounds of Lauren playing in the living room echo throughout the house, loud and clear, even over my working in the kitchen. I guess she's getting G.I. Joe and Flapflap in the spirit of taco night. After almost four hours playing in the sandbox at the park today, you'd think she'd be more worn out than this. But no. My little ball of energy is wide awake, despite me having already changed her into her pj's.

"And what does hola mean, sweetie?" I call into the next room, wondering how much actual learning she did today, and how much is just her repeating what she heard me say.

"Hola!" I hear her squeal, followed by the familiar thunk of G.I. Joe being tossed against the couch.

Poor G.I. Joe. That girl really puts him through it.

Stepping away from my homemade pico de gallo, I crane my neck to see into the other room, double-checking that G.I. Joe was the one hurt, not Lauren. Sure enough, she's happy as a clam, swinging Flapflap around by one wing.

"Hola!" she says, waving to me. "Hola is hello!"

Holy cow, she actually does know what it means. This toddler officially knows one tenth of the Spanish words I know, and three of mine are mas, cerveza, and por favor, which I'm certainly not about to teach her. Still, helping her learn something new does my teacher heart good, and listening to her make her toys repeat hola back and forth to each other does my heart some good.

"Whatever you're cooking, it smells amazing," a low, husky voice calls from down the hall, and Lauren hops to her feet, squealing at the sight of her dada.

Honestly, I can't blame her. One look at her in that fitted navy blazer, and I could squeal too. It only gets better once she takes it off and unbuttons the cuffs of her white button-up, pushing the sleeves up to her elbows.

What is it about forearms, specifically this woman's forearms, that's so freaking sexy? And when said sexy forearms pluck the pj-clad toddler up off the floor, holding her tight against her hip? The whole situation has me split somewhere between an "aww" and a "goddamn."

"How was your day, baby girl?"

I hurry back toward the kitchen, biting down on my lower lip to keep from answering. That was not directed at me, no matter how much I secretly would have liked it if it were. I should really stick to my pico de gallo.

"Hola, hola, hola!" Lauren babbles at her dada, her holas getting louder as Lisa follows behind me.

I look up from my slicing to see her brows knitted tightly together. "Do I have a bilingual kid now?"

"That would require hiring a nanny who knows more than ten words of Spanish," I say with a grin, adding a bowl of homemade guacamole to the spread of taco fixings I've laid out across the kitchen island. "I was just trying to use taco night as a learning opportunity."

"Hola is hello!" Lauren says proudly to her dada, her smile spanning the full width of her face.

My smile is just as big. "You've got yourself one smart cookie there."

Lauren whips her head back toward me, her blue eyes suddenly wide and wild. "Cookie?"

Lisa and I exchange a long, knowing look before bursting into laughter. Smart as she is, this little munchkin is still completely dessert driven.

"No cookies yet, love bug," Lisa says gently to a suddenly disappointed Lauren. "But, hey, these tacos look just as tasty, don't you think?" She pauses, looking back to me with narrowed eyes. "You know you don't have to cook, by the way. This is above and beyond what I'm paying you for."

I shrug as I head for the sink and rinse any remnants of avocado off my hands. "I enjoy it. And it's one less thing for you to worry about."

"Well, at the very least, you have to stay to enjoy this," she says, motioning toward the spread. "As long as you don't have other plans, that is."

"My other plans would involve leftovers and an early bedtime," I say. "And I can never say no to tacos. It's a rule I live by."

"Smart girl," she murmurs with a chuckle.

While I situate Lauren in her high chair with her trusty friend Flapflap, Lisa takes the lead on building the perfect taco for her, all the while regaling me with a story of their last trip to a Mexican restaurant in New York. Apparently, one-year-old Lauren had quite the thing for putting black beans up her nose, and dipping her fingers into the queso.

"Kids are weird." She shakes her head, adding a two-year-old's portion of ground beef to the flour tortilla.

I have no idea why I'm staring at her. But Lalisa Manoban is the lead contender for the hottest dada in the world award.

When she looks my way, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Don't worry. As someone who teaches first graders, I can say for certain that they just get weirder."

The three of us settle in at the table, and dinner flies by in the blink of an eye, or, more accurately, two flaps of Flapflap's wings. Lauren insists on wrapping her stuffed bat inside a tortilla, then proceeds to howl with laughter so raucous that I'm sure we'll never calm her down for bedtime. At the first sight of a yawn, Lisa snatches the opportunity to start winding things down.

"Someone's probably about ready for bed, huh?" She reaches over and tousles Lauren's white-blond hair, earning her a pout.

"No!" She huffs, jutting her lower lip out. "I don't wanna!"

Lisa and I both sigh in perfect unison. We should have known she wouldn't go down without a fight. Lisa props her forearms on the table, giving me another chance to grapple with why in the world her forearms are such a turn-on.

Leaning in closer to her daughter, she offers a solid proposition. "What about this, love bug? I'll read you two stories instead of one tonight. How's that sound?"

Lisa's face twists up as she considers the offer, but apparently, it's not up to her standards. "No. I want Jenjen."

I turn toward Lisa, hoping she's prepared to crack this code, but the look on her face tells me she's just as confused as I am. It's not until Lauren jabs a finger in my direction that we understand what she's talking about.

"Jenjen," she says again. "Jenjen reads stories."

"I guess that's me." I chuckle, pushing my plate away and pressing to my feet. "Silly me. I was the nanny after all."

Lisa snickers at my joke, but when it's time to actually take the little goober to bed, she's entirely serious. "You can head home if you want. She doesn't always have to get her way."

"It's not a problem." I scoop the little sleepyhead out of her high chair and bounce her against my hip. "Put your feet up for a bit. We're gonna go read about the dragon and the dodgeball game, right, kiddo?"

I look down at Lauren, catching her as her yawn turns to a sleepy smile. We're halfway up the stairs when the sound of Lisa's voice calling after me stops me midstep.

"I owe you the world, Jennie."

Just hearing my name in her sweet, resonant tone freezes me in my tracks, a tingling feeling spreading from the arches of my feet to the tips of my ears. Jeez, I need to shake this. I told myself I wouldn't get mixed up with this woman again. Which means no tingly feelings. Ever.

"It's fine, really," I call back, trying to convince myself as much as her.

Yes, I'm playing house with an ex, but I'm getting paid for it. It's fine. Totally normal. No strings attached. Employee and boss. Totally fine. Even if the sound of my name in her deepvoice does all sorts of things to me that I wish it wouldn't. I need to ignore it all and remember how much she hurt me. Because I truly believe I wouldn't handle another broken heart caused by Lalisa Manoban.

After one more read-through of Dragons Play Dodgeball than I promised, Lauren is sound asleep, meaning my workday is nearly done. All that's left to do is the dishes.

I tiptoe down the stairs, half wondering if the ground-beef pan will need to soak. But by the time I make it to the kitchen, the dirty dishes have already disappeared from the sink, and I can barely hear the low hum of the dishwasher churning faintly.

It looks like someone went ahead and did my work for me. And that someone is standing in the middle of this freshly cleaned kitchen, balancing two long-stemmed wineglasses in one hand and a bottle of chardonnay in the other.

"What's going on?" I ask in a hushed voice. Sound travels with these vaulted ceilings, and the last thing I want to do is wake up Sleeping Beauty.

Lisa tips her head toward the sliding glass door, the low-hanging sun shining a glimmer into her bright blue eyes. "It's a nice night. I thought you could help me christen the patio."

I fold my arms over my chest, not sure if I should believe her. "You've lived here two weeks and haven't used it yet?"

"Haven't even opened the sliding glass door," she says quietly, almost sounding embarrassed. "Our beach day yesterday was the first relaxing thing I've done since moving here, what with Mom and work and settling in."

"Right," I murmur, shooting her an apologetic smile as my stomach twists into a knot tight enough to impress a Boy Scout.

Duh, Jennie. This woman is trying to balance a real estate empire with a two-year-old daughter and a terminally ill mother. She hasn't had the time to lounge around and put her feet up.

"Anyway, the last owner left some patio furniture behind. What do you say we break it in?"

I chew my lip, carefully considering the offer.

This definitely extends beyond my nannying duties, although I'm not one to say no to a glass of chardonnay. But one-on-one time with Lisa seems awfully dangerous. Throw wine in the mix, and the whole situation has bad idea written all over it.

The warm, hopeful look in her eyes is making it borderline impossible to say no. Swallowing the nervousness creeping up my throat, I nod, deciding that one glass couldn't hurt.

Lisa muscles open the sliding glass door, and I follow her out onto the patio, the brick pavers cool on my bare feet despite the thick, humid air.

Summer heat in North Carolina can be punishing, but then there are nights like these, where the sky looks like a watercolor painting, and the air smells salty from the ocean breeze. I'd endure all the humidity in the world for this. It's one of the many, many reasons I never left Wilmington.

We settle into the two wrought-iron chairs at the edge of the patio, and Lisa wastes no time uncorking the bottle, filling each glass with a generous pour. She holds one glass out toward me, and hesitantly, I take it, trying to ignore the little spark of heat that leaps between our fingers as they brush.

"What should we toast to?" Lisa asks.

"To Lauren?"

The suggestion earns me a wide, genuine smile that spreads all the way to her eyes. "To Lauren," she says, lifting her glass toward mine. "And to you. I'm so grateful to have you looking after my daughter, Jennie."

Clink.

I take a long sip, letting the crisp, oaky flavor wash over me. Wow, this stuff is good. Far from my usual five-dollar bottle, my go-to for making grading spelling tests more tolerable.

"What is this?" I lick the flavor from my lips as I eye the unfamiliar label on the bottle. Whatever it is, it looks as expensive as it tastes.

"You like it? It's been gathering dust for years. Something I picked up at some wine shop in Tribeca." Her usual confident tone wavers slightly as her gaze shifts away from mine. "It's, uh, it's been a while since I've had anyone to split a bottle of wine with, if you know what I mean."

My chest tightens, every nerve in my body suddenly alert. This is it, Jennie. The perfect opportunity to reopen the conversation she's been avoiding from the beginning.

I gulp down a second, larger sip of wine, praying the liquid courage will kick in quickly.

"Will you tell me about Lauren's mom now?"

It's quiet between us, and for a moment, I think Lisa is going to flat-out say no. But then she nods, her throat bobbing as she swallows a hefty sip of wine.

"There's not much to tell, to be honest. I told you, she was never in Lauren's life. She was 'the egg donor,' remember?"

I roll my eyes at the reminder of that stupid nickname. They can be so gross sometimes. "Yeah, I remember. But I still want to know the whole story. You promised you'd tell me everything. I'm cashing in on that promise."

Lisa chuckles, shaking her head. "You're as stubborn as always, Jen. But I guess you deserve to know. She was a lawyer living in New York, at the time. We'd been seeing each other for a few weeks, but it was never anything serious. And then, well, she got pregnant. I thought we were being careful, but I guess not careful enough."

"Accidents happen," I say, doing my best to suppress my teacher voice. "No matter how careful we are."

"I tried to make it right, though. I told her we could figure out joint custody, or even try to make a relationship work. Give the baby the life he or she deserved. But she couldn't have been less interested in either of those ideas. Next thing I knew, she was looking into adoption agencies. She said she never wanted to be a mom."

"But you wanted to be a dada?"

She scrubs a hand through her dark hair, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. "I mean, yeah. I didn't envision it happening like this, but hell, life doesn't always go as planned. And my conscience couldn't let me just walk away."

With that, she takes a hefty swig of her wine, so I follow suit, draining what's left in my glass. It sends a warm, pleasant tingle radiating through me. Maybe wine was a good idea after all. It's certainly taking the edge off this conversation.

"So she gave you full custody then?" I can't help but press. No way am I letting this conversation fizzle out without getting every detail that I can from her.

"We didn't make anything official until a few months after Lauren was born. You know, in case she changed her mind. But she didn't. Last we spoke, she was preparing for a big case. She's one of New York's top trial attorneys. I guess that's kind of hard to do with a toddler."

My chest constricts with an unexpected bit of jealousy. "Oh. So you two still talk?"

"No, not really." Lisa's laugh cuts through the tension, and for the first time since this conversation began, I feel like I'm not walking on eggshells. "Not like there was bad blood between us or anything. But after she signed the paperwork, it was just me and Lauren from then on."

"Lauren and Lisa versus the world," I murmur, pouring myself a tiny bit more of my new favorite chardonnay.

"And Jennie," he says. "Lauren and Lisa and Jennie versus the world. I couldn't be doing this right now without you."

I shake my head. "No way. You got this far on your own. I'm just lending a helping hand where it's needed."

"Maybe. But Lauren sure has taken a liking to you. My mom has been saying from the start that she needed a woman in her life. I guess she was right." She pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. "Don't tell my mom I said that. It'll go to her head."

I cross my heart. "Your secret is safe with me."

It's quiet between us again, but this time, the silence is easier. Comfortable, even.

It reminds me of the nights we used to spend walking the beach back in high school, our fingers intertwined. Sometimes we'd chat away about whatever it is teenagers talk about. But other times, the only sound between us would be the crashing of the tide. If I hold my breath, I swear I can hear it now, even from a quarter mile away.

I'm so laser focused on listening for that distant sound that I hardly catch the words coming from the woman right beside me. Something about dinner? That can't be right. We already ate.

I turn her way, refocusing my attention. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

There are those warm, hopeful eyes again. They're an even brighter blue in this light. And they cut right through me as Lisa repeats the words I swore I misheard.

"You and I should get dinner sometime. Just the two of us."

I blink a few times to be sure I'm not imagining things. Is the wine going to my head, or is she asking what I think she's asking?

"Are you . . . asking me out?"

"As long as you want me to be." She shifts in her seat, leaning in a bit closer to me, close enough that I catch a whiff of her woodsy cologne. It's earthy and sweet, with notes of honey and leather.

But beneath that is a more familiar smell, a clean, masculine scent that's pure Lalisa. Because after all, beneath the grown, pretty handsome woman in front of me is the same Lalisa from high school. The same girl who took my heart and cracked it wide open. And I just can't go down that road again.

"Well, I don't." I sigh, which makes Lisa's blue eyes widen.

"Oh. I . . . I'm sorry, I must've been reading this wrong. I thought . . ." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. "Do you not feel the connection between us?"

"Of course I do." I sigh again, my voice dripping with exasperation. "But I'm here to watch Lauren. That's all. I've been down that road with you before. And if you remember, it was a dead end for me."

"I already apologized for that," she says, her voice husky and sterner now that she's on the defense. "We were young and dumb. And I'm sorry."

"You were young and dumb," I say firmly, correcting her. "I was young and heartbroken because you disappeared on me and gave up on what we had. You gave up on me. I'm the one who was left in the dust."

Her thick, dark brows draw together. "I thought . . . we talked that out. I was hoping you forgave me."

"Forgiving and forgetting are two different things, Lalisa. And I can't just forget ten years of complete silence from you."

I set my glassdown on the table before pushing to my feet, which carry me straight back inside without missing a step. If she has anything else to add, I don't hear it over the blood pounding in my ears.

I'm going home. And this time, I'm the one leaving without saying good-bye.