Professor and The Pregnant Nanny. Emily Dalton
dinner’s warm,” Pam objected, holding the brownie container out of reach. “Stew before chocolate. That’s the rule.”
“I promise I’ll eat the stew,” Melissa bargained playfully. “But the baby wants another brownie and she wants it now! Can’t you feel her kicking?” She took her mother’s free hand and placed it on her stomach. Sure enough, the baby was using the inside of her stomach for a punching bag.
Pam laughed and handed over the brownies. “I guess it’s never too soon to start spoiling your grandchildren.”
She stood up and went to the microwave to get the warmed-up stew. “Now that we’ve got the professor taken care of, so to speak, do you want to hear some good news?”
“By all means.”
“You got another order for your toddler food from the Stork Store this morning. It’s a good thing we put up so many bottles last month. Business is picking up, Missy.”
Melissa nodded, happy her toddler-age baby food had found a local market. But her goal was to sell to the national grocery chains, and when that happened she’d have to move her manufacturing headquarters out of her mother’s extra kitchen in the basement of her house and into a separate and appropriate building, as well as hire some actual employees. So far, she and her mother, father and brothers had been handling the business.
“Things are looking up, Missy,” her mother announced as she set Melissa’s stew on the counter and waved her over. “Now come and eat.”
Melissa obeyed, but stole a glance at her mother’s beaming and optimistic expression, wondering if she was entertaining hopes that had as much to do with Charles Avery as they did with Melissa’s burgeoning business. If so, her mother needed to pull back on the reins. Melissa knew the danger of too many hopes, too much dreaming.
WHEN MELISSA ARRIVED at Charles’s house the next morning, she was on time and wearing makeup. Her hair was down and flowing around her shoulders—pregnancy had at least been good for her hair and nails—and she’d worn one of her favorite yellow maternity blouses and white slacks. Apparently she was more foolish than she’d have ever imagined, because she was allowing her mother’s encouraging words to influence her behavior in respect to Charles Avery.
But Charles barely looked at her as he bid her good morning, gave a quick rundown of his schedule for the day and left the house for Westminster College and his twice-a-week classes. He did mention, however, that he’d be home in time for her afternoon nap, so she should plan on it.
Melissa had barely mumbled a thank-you, which he didn’t appear to hear, and then he was gone. If he’d had a crush on her in high school, as her mother had suggested, there was apparently no danger or sign of the old feelings reemerging.
Crestfallen but grateful for the reality check, Melissa turned to the children and immersed herself in caring for them. She did bake the cookies, though. After all, she did owe Charles for the tutoring thirteen years ago, and he was going over and above the usual duties of an employer by insisting she have afternoon naps.
The children enjoyed helping to make, then eating some of the cookies, and it took up most of the morning. They also colored in some coloring books she’d bought at a discount store last week, did toddler aerobics to a tape with one of their favorite puppet TV personalities, and listened while she read several books. She was hoping to have the kids tired out enough by the afternoon that they’d play quietly while Charles watched them during her nap.
Charles came home just before two o’clock, just as he’d promised. He was polite, but distant, and advised her to use Mrs. Butters’s room for her nap.
“You can use the alarm clock she keeps by the bed, too,” he offered as she turned to go. “Set it for three-fifteen, not three.”
She must have looked puzzled, because he quickly explained, “In case you don’t go to sleep right away. You need at least an hour or you won’t be refreshed. Annette always said less than an hour just made her irritable when she got up, and more than an hour made her feel groggy the rest of the day.”
Melissa thought about this and agreed. “I never thought about it before, but she was right.” She tentatively smiled, but Charles was already walking away, down the hall.
Melissa mumbled, “Guess he’s not going to wish me sweet dreams,” and went directly to Mrs. Butters’s room. Despite her anxiety about Charles’s response to her cookies, and her disappointment over his suddenly distant attitude, Melissa was too tired to lie awake and worry about it. As soon as she’d set the alarm and her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.
CHARLES WAS READY to play with the kids and asked them what they wanted to do. They begged to watch a video and Charles agreed to it when he noticed that they were dragging a little and might even nap in front of the television if given half a chance. Mrs. Butters wouldn’t approve, but what the heck. Daniel’s thumb was in his mouth and Sarah was twirling her hair around her fingers, pre-sleep activities for both.
Once they were settled in the family room, Charles went to his study to put away his briefcase and quickly go over a few papers turned in by students that morning. He was enjoying the quietness of the house and not regretting in the least his decision to demand that Melissa nap every afternoon.
As he reached his desk, he noticed two baskets covered with clear wrapping paper and tied at the top with gold ribbon.
“What the—?”
Upon inspection, he saw that the baskets were filled to the brim with cookies…the cookies Melissa had promised to bake him for his kindness in allowing her to nap, obviously. But why two baskets? He shook his head, pleased but wishing he wasn’t pleased. He had been impatient with and alarmed by his preoccupation with Missy’s presence in the house yesterday, by his vivid recalling of his high-school crush, by his distraction and attraction. There, he’d admitted it. He was still powerfully attracted to her.
The baskets had little notes attached to them. He was ashamed of his eagerness as he opened the first, which read, For the naps. Melissa. And then the second, which read, For saving my GPA in high school. Sorry I’m a little late with this batch. Missy.
Charles was pleased and, yes, touched. She did remember after all and was trying to make amends for being thoughtless thirteen years ago. He was smiling down at the second note, feeling his insides melt like soft butter in the sun, when the doorbell sounded its Westminster chime and he heard quick, childish footsteps—probably Christopher’s—heading for the door.
Charles put away the note and left the study. As he walked down the hall toward the front of the house, he could hear his sister Lily’s voice and the clamor of her three children. So much for a quiet house! He always welcomed Lily’s visits, but this one was ill-timed. He didn’t want Melissa’s nap disturbed.
“Charles! How’s it going, bro?”
Lily’s red hair hadn’t softened to auburn as Charles’s had. And she wore it in outrageous styles, such as her present “do,” which framed her face in rakish angles like an exploding haystack. Her husband, Josh, called the style “Meg-Ryan-on-speed.” But like Meg, Lily’s impish face and outgoing personality allowed her to carry off hairdos and clothes that other women didn’t dare try.
“It’s goin’ good, sis,” Charles assured her in a lowered voice. His twin nephews, Matt and Mark, who were the same age as Daniel, and his niece, Amanda, who was Sarah’s age, buzzed around him like bees around a hive. “But why don’t we herd the kids into the family room and close the door? My nanny’s taking a nap.”
Lily looked incredulous. “Your nanny’s taking a nap? So, who’s watching the kids?”
“Well, I am. But it’s just for an—”
“I told you, Charles, to let me take care of the kids this week. You were worried it would be too much for me, but I told you I could handle it. But, no, you had to hire temporary help and now she’s taking advantage of your kindness and generosity. How are you going to