Give & Take (Redbeard Cove #2)

8. Raphael

Chapter 8

Raphael

T he following Monday I show up at Lana’s pretty little small-town house at a quarter to eight—fifteen minutes before I’m set to start. I’m freshly showered, dressed in a t-shirt and khaki shorts, ready to take on the world.

Nova and Aurora are waiting for me on the porch. Aurora jumps up and down, shrieking my name while running down the walk. Nova, meanwhile, acts all cool, her hands in her pockets at the top of the stairs. But her face is lit up like she’s trying hard not to smile. And when I look up at her, giving her a fist-pump of victory, she does. She turns into a beaming ray of sunshine.

I wonder if that’s what her Mom’s smile looks like. I’ve yet to be blessed. I’m dying to be blessed. I’m going to make it my new goal in life.

“What’s up, Roro!” I say, high-tenning Aurora. To both, I ask, “You guys ready for the best summer of our entire lives? ”

“Yeah!” Aurora cries, her curls bouncing as she bounds back up the stairs in front of me.

“Mom says this is a trial run,” Nova says, bringing me back down to reality when I get up there.

I re-hike my duffel bag on my shoulder. “Pshh. We’ll see about that.”

“What’s a trial run?” Aurora asks, confused. “Does that mean you’re going running with Mom?”

“It means he might not stay,” Nova says.

“What?” Aurora looks crestfallen.

“I know,” Nova says. She looks both pleased to be delivering this bad news and disappointed, like she’s doesn’t like the news.

I want to reassure them there’s no way I’m going anywhere, but we’re not there yet. “Listen,” I say, crouching down, but leveling a look at Nova. “Whether or not I stay is up to how happy you guys are, okay? If you’re happy and we’re all having fun, then your mom’s happy, and I get to stay. If you guys aren’t happy, I have to go.” We all consider this a moment. Then I add, “Also, if I screw up, I’ll have to go too. So I need you guys to help me not screw up, okay?”

“How do we do that?” Aurora asks, looking like this is a daunting task. She’s probably not wrong.

“By having the best summer ever!” I exclaim. “Right, Nova?”

Nora’s brows are furrowed together as she parses through my logic.

“Just go with it, okay?” I suggest.

“Okay. I guess. ”

We do a low high-five hand slide and I think we’re good.

When we step inside, I’m greeted once again by the open space—a tastefully decorated living room with plush sectional and colorful paintings, dining area with its heavy table and chairs, and blue and white kitchen. But my eyes glide over all of those, landing like a homing beacon on Lana.

She’s standing at the kitchen island next to the remnants of kids’ breakfasts, rearranging items in a small backpack. She’s wearing black running shorts and a little pink running tank top, and her hair’s done up in a tight bun on her head.

If I were a cartoon character I’d make the old car horn sound.

I manage to restrain myself, setting my bag by the front door and walking over to her. I stop on the opposite side of the island, which seems to surprise her. “Good morning, Lana,” I say politely.

“Mr. LaForest.” Lana blinks. Her jaw ticks just slightly. Then she turns to the sink, where she picks up a water bottle, screwing on its lid.

When she turns around, a splash of water sloshes out onto the floor.

“Shit,” Lana swears.

I’m there in an instant, kneeling by her side with the towel she’d been reaching for. I pat the little spill in a few quick seconds.

But my eyes catch on a drop of water on her bare leg. I pause, nearly spellbound.

I won’t touch it. I can’t. But I’m mesmerized by the idea of cupping her calf; brushing the droplet away with my thumb. I think of not breaking contact as my fingers glide up to that soft stretch of skin on the back of her lower thigh. Being on my knees for Lana makes me feel almost intoxicated. I have to clench my jaw not to tell her this. I really really want to tell her how perfect she is.

And shit, I’m still kneeling beside her. I stand up. But because of our position I’m much closer to her than I intended to be. She looks up at me, and for a moment, our eyes lock. A frisson of energy seems to bounce across the space between us.

I feel like when I was a kid at the science center and they let us touch the glass orb filled with zapping strands of lightning. I want to touch her to see if all my hair will stand up.

But then Lana clears her throat, taking the towel from me. “Laundry’s over here,” she says tightly, walking around to a short hallway behind the kitchen. I let out a breath as she disappears. I’m not sure if she wants me to follow—probably not if it’s a small, enclosed space.

Over by the front door, the girls poke at my duffel. “I’ll give you guys a prize if you can guess three things inside.” It’s extremely lumpy and filled with a whole sports equipment store worth of stuff. “Take your time,” I say.

When Lana returns a second later, her skin is flushed. Maybe it’s from bending down to toss the towel in the washer. Or maybe it’s me.

“I trust you had a good weekend,” Lana says briskly, clearly wanting to move on .

“I did.” I settle onto one of the bar chairs. “I spent a lot of it reading the Bloor Family Encyclopedia.”

Lana’s eyes narrow slightly.

After the call last week, she said she’d email me ‘the basics’. The attachment was a 68-page document containing not only instructions to everything in the house and to do with the kids and their activities, but a laundry list of every conceivable thing that could go wrong with either child, and every number in the book. It kind of is a book.

“I particularly liked the part where you included the number for the FBI,” I say, resting my forearms on the island, my fingers linked.

She snaps her gaze to mine. “You’re American.”

“We’re in Canada,” I say. “Not judging, just saying.”

She returns to packing her bag. “It’s in the Appendix. The ‘unlikely to need but good to have’ portion of the document.”

I work hard to suppress my smile. The thing was better organized than most textbooks. “Well I read the whole thing. Cover to cover. Including the appendices.”

She casts me a quick glare. It’s like a parry. “Any questions?”

“How serious are you about the animated movie rule?”

She frowns. “There’s no rule.”

“You said the kids don’t watch them. Are they not allowed?”

“No. We just don’t watch them.”

I lean back in the bar chair, folding my arms. I study her for a moment, the way her hands wrap around each object she handles with care and precision, fitting them just so. She’s deliberate, in all her actions. The decision not to watch those movies is deliberate too.

“You know there’s a lot to parse in those stories,” I say.

When her eyes go to me, I glance over at the kids, who are squatted over the bag, making a science out of the challenge I’ve given them.

“Absent mother figures, fulfillment via romantic entanglements. They’re the perfect jumping-off points for discussions on societal expectations for girls. Also big-picture concepts like good and evil as a concept; risk and reward.”

“I never said they’re not allowed!” Lana says again.

I shrug. “I like watching them unparsed, too.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

“That means for fun, Lana. I know you’ve heard of it.”

Her nostrils flare as she glances at me, then away.

I chuckle. I could write poetry about that look. A whole epic. I’d call it… Ode to a Quiet Maelstrom .

Lana props her hands on her hips. “Do you always do this, Raphael? Or is it just with me?”

“Do what?”

Her face says ‘aggravate’.

I grin. “I like doing it with you. You have the best reactions.”

She pinches her lips together, then releases them. It’s mesmerizing.

“What about classics like Flashdance or Dirty Dancing? ”

I didn’t know the sound of a bag zipping up could be weaponized, but she manages it. “I have to go.”

“I was kidding!” I say just to try to keep talking to her. “Great soundtracks, though.”

I try not to stare too hard as she maneuvers her body to slip on her backpack. The way her elasticized tank top presses into her soft skin…

Then I frown. Why’s she putting on that big backpack now? “I thought you were going for a run before work?”

“I’m running to work.” Lana strides to the closet, pulling out a pair of bright orange sneakers.

“With that big backpack on?”

“It’s not heavy.”

Over by the doorway, the girls laugh riotously as something honks in the bag.

“Can we drive you?” I ask. I walked here this morning. But the Bloor Bible said I’d have access to the family minivan.

“No.” Lana’s tone brooks no argument. “I run to work to minimize my time away from the girls. Plus there’s a shower there.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Is that right?”

She snaps her gaze at me.

I have a good read on people. If I knew she despised me—or if I in any way made her feel uncomfortable, I’d back down. But I saw the way her pupils flared when I stood next to her in the kitchen. I watch the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds her laces now. Maybe it’s cocky of me, but whether Lana likes it or not, she likes me. She’s affected by me .

She’s attracted to me.

I’d back down if I got any signal to, or if she said one word suggesting it. But I also get the sense if Lana Bloor doesn’t like something or someone, they’d be the first to know. And she hasn’t told me to fuck off yet. In fact, she hired me knowing exactly what I’m like. All those rules and regulations, but she doesn’t stop me when I flirt with her. At least some part of her must enjoy this. And I suspect she hasn’t been told nearly enough how beautiful she is.

With this in mind, I can’t help pressing her buttons just a little bit more. I get up, leaning against the wall next to where she squats. “So,” I say, my voice low so the kids can’t hear me. “I guess in about…half an hour, I’ll know exactly where you are.”

Lana stands up, her cheeks flaring red. “Excuse me?”

But this has brought her close to me again, and her eyelids flutter slightly, her pulse quickening.

Is she picturing me, picturing her in the shower? I’m picturing her, as much as I shouldn’t. Water dripping from the end of that luscious hair, streaming over her pink skin.

My fingers itch to touch her right now, to brush that little strand of hair dancing across her cheek behind her ear.

I keep my hands tightly planted where they are, resisting. I like resisting around her. It makes everything so fucking delicious.

“You’ll be at work, Lana.” I shake my head, a smirk on my lips. “Maybe you should get your mind out of the gutter. ”

Her jaw pulses. I grin, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

Her eyes follow, her cheeks staining pink, before her eyes snap back up to me. I don’t think she realized where she was looking until it was too late.

I hold back the words I want to say. Something like, it’s okay to look, Sunshine. It’s okay to think about me that way…

Instead I mosey over to the couch, leaving her be. For now. I don’t want to get fired on my first day.

She composes herself, walking briskly to the door. There, Lana seems to notice my duffel for the first time. “We agreed to a one-week trial period,” she says, her voice threaded with alarm.

I frown. “Those aren’t my things.”

Does she really think I’d bulldoze past her instructions about waiting to move in? I really should tone it down a notch. Or at least prove to her I’m the best fucking nanny she’s ever had.

“I’m still at Mac and Shelby’s,” I assure her. “That’s just a bunch of cool stuff for us to play with this week.”

“Like what?”

I shrug. “Mostly axes and horror movies.” I look at Nova. “Plus my poisonous mushroom collection.”

Nova’s jaw drops, her eyes lighting up. Aurora just looks confused. “Mushrooms?” she asks in her sweet little-girl voice.

Lana tightens the straps on her bag. “He’s joking.” She shoots me a look, as if suddenly unsure.

I can’t help myself, I laugh. “What are your guesses, girls?” I ask .

They rattle off the items, some ridiculous, some on point. “A blender! A basketball!”

“You can go ahead and open it,” I say. “Y’all guessed so well I’ll give you both a prize.”

“Hugs first,” Lana says. She kneels down to say goodbye, her face softening. Over their heads, her eyes meet mine. And with that look, I know she’s asking me to be serious.

“Listen to Raphael, okay? And if you need anything at all, you know where to reach me.”

I give her a smile, and this time, there’s no message to her in it, except ‘Yes, I’ll keep them safe.’

This message communicated, the rest of her softens too. She hugs her children, closing her eyes as she cradles their heads against her shoulders.

My heart clenches. I can almost see the love around them, like it’s a physical thing. Her coolness, her stiffness and the mask she wears as she makes her way through the world come off when she’s with her girls. She’s a fantastic, loving mom. These are happy, well-adjusted kids. It’s beautiful to watch.

I feel the tiniest twitch in my chest, a little pang. It’s a sensation of FOMO. Like this is something I’ll never have. Though the fact that I’m feeling it is bizarre. I’m not a settle down in the suburbs kind of guy. Not that this place is the suburbs. Or that there’s anything wrong with the suburbs, necessarily. It’s just not for me. Still, seeing the three of them shower each other with kisses and hugs, I can’t help wonder if it wouldn’t be the worst choice.

When Lana opens her eyes, her hands still wrapped around her girls’ backs, for the first time her expression looks different. Like just for a brief moment, she wonders what I’m thinking.

Then it’s gone, and she’s gone too, and the mayhem begins.

The kids and I call the trial week the Googly Gauntlet, just to take it a little less seriously. And it goes by just as ridiculously as I planned.

On the first day we decide to go to every playground in town on foot. As it turns out, there are only two playgrounds in town, three if you count the elementary school, and the town itself is so small, walking across it only takes twenty minutes. We stop at the coffee shop for refreshments, where the woman working there, called Dolly—who actually looks a lot like Dolly Parton—coos over the girls, offering us enough free sugar the owner pulls her aside to grumble at her about it. When I offer to pay, Dolly says “Don’t be ridiculous! Mr. Miles charges too much for these anyway,” And hands us another free cookie right in front of his face, not accepting no for an answer.

In the afternoon we count stop signs, which is more fun than it sounds. Aurora’s our spotter, and each time she sees one, she hollers “STOP SIGN!” We stop, I make a blaring horn sound, and Nova, as record keeper, announces the count. She’s shockingly good at it considering she’s doing it in her head. Even more impressive is the full accounting she gives her mom when she gets home, which I miss half of because I’m too distracted by watching Lana move around loosening her hair and the sexy little tie she wears at work and brought home.

“…seven slides, fourteen swings, twenty-nine stop signs, thirty-five pieces of garbage?—”

“That we threw away!” Aurora emphasizes.

“Two pairs of shoes on telephone wires?—”

“Why do they do that?” I ask Lana.

“One dead seagull,” Nova continues, “and a full jar of peanut butter.”

Aurora harrumphs. “Raphael said we couldn’t keep it.” It’s the first time she’d shown me any disapproval, though she’d forgotten about it until now.

“The seagull or the peanut butter,” Nova says sadly.

“I might get a failing grade for that one,” I tell Lana. I explain how I’ve told them to grade me on the Googly Gauntlet to see if I can stay.

I give her doe eyes, then Nova and Aurora do too.

Lana actually laughs.

For a moment I go still. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh. It’s like a soft pour of water over rocks. Beautiful and soft, but still restrained. What would a real, unreserved laugh sound like? How would she look, her head tipped back, grin wide, those stunning eyes shining?

Still, it’s such a coup, I whoop and swing Aurora around to happy squeals. When I do the secret handshake with Nova, Lana gives me a look of gratitude I know isn’t about me keeping them clear of deceased birds or rehoming random found food.

The next day we go to Swan River, where we eat a picnic lunch on the pier and count boats. Which leads to us coming back to Redbeard Cove the following day, where Shelby arranges for us to join this sweet old local guy called Stu for a boat ride. Well, Shelby said he was sweet. He’s actually a crabby bugger who complains that the girls are too loud and nearly goes on strike in his tiny kitchen when Aurora asks to have the crusts cut off her sandwich.

But he also lets them steer and throw the anchor out into the ocean. And at the end of the day, I convince him to jump into the ocean with me and Nova. Shelby gets a picture of him midair, and when she shows it to us even he laughs at his perfect, frowning cannonball. I make her text it to me, and in turn, I send it to Lana, with the caption ‘Kids pushed me in!’

She likes the text. Likes! I laugh out loud. “Progress,” I say out loud.

Thursday’s an epic bike ride and hike, and by the time Friday rolls around, we’re ready for the beach.

I saved the best for last, for the best reason. Lana works at the Rusty Dinghy. Which is on the beach.