Into You Series: The Complete Collection

11. Saria

CHAPTER 11

SARIA

W hen Harry opens the door Tuesday evening, it’s like I’m slapped back through the last twenty-four hours. That’s how freaking good-looking he is.

Monday night, Jessi tried to convince me to tell her what was going on between Harry and me, and I couldn’t give her a straight answer.

“I don’t know. We had sex, he’s hot, and now I’m sort of his nanny? I’m not really sure.”

Jessi exhaled. “That cleared up one question but gave me fifty more.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the party.”

Labels were never really my thing anyway. Noah didn’t want them, and I learned from the best, so I’ve never been much for them either. But I will say, this is one of my bigger, more complicated messes to date.

I would settle on fake boyfriend, but he’s definitely seen the dark side of my moon, if you catch my drift, so I’m not sure ‘fake’ is the right descriptor. On the other hand, I also haven’t caught sight of his monster cock since then, so maybe fake boyfriend is an accurate title.

Regardless, at the moment, I’m not sure I could even name what year it is—let alone what label we have—with how speechless I am just looking at the guy.

Harry is wearing a tight long-sleeved t-shirt—because the tighter the better, apparently—with the sleeves rolled up to his bulging forearms. Every single contour of his chest is visible through the fabric, and I may as well be having a private showing of the rolling hills of his abs that are gripped tightly by the shirt’s material. His biceps look like they might burst out, likely trying to take a breath of air from their shirt jail. I wonder if he’d feel more relief if he just took it off.

I would not object to such actions.

“Nanny reporting for duty” is all I can get out with some form of confidence, but the words still fall over each other miserably.

Harry’s eyes trail over me. I changed in my car once I arrived. A deal is a deal, so I made sure to give Mercury extra food during my lunch break that would last him the remainder of the night, and I drove to the shop immediately from work. I shimmied out of my denim in the back seat of my car to pull on black yoga pants and a cropped sweater. I have an old cartoon sweatshirt my previous babysitting kids loved, so I figured I’d whip it out for Cara as well. Kids trust you faster when you look relatable. Funny how that fact never really changes when people get older either.

Harry smirks at my cartoon sweater. “Well don’t you look fun.”

“I’m a lot of fun,” I respond.

He inhales sharply at my comment, his eyes gazing down at my curvy thighs accentuated even further by my tight leggings. But, being the gentleman that Harry is, he simply shakes his head with a smile and walks away.

Point Saria.

“SARIA!” Cara yells, storming into the living area from a room on the side. When she finally reaches me, very out of breath from the short-distance run, she shoves a doll in my direction. It’s the same silver-haired princess from before. At this point, it’s starting to feel like my own personal voodoo doll. With the way Cara has it gripped, it’s a wonder my back hasn’t broken.

“I have this movie picked out and Daddy says we can eat popcorn, but only before eight o’clock, and I tried to find a second movie because he says you like sad movies, but…” I glance over at Harry, who is in the kitchenette, flipping eggs with a spatula and grinning from ear to ear. Cheeky man. “…then I thought what if Simba was king all along?”

Cara’s eyebrows rise as if she’s expecting an answer. Note to self: never tune kids out because it will always end on a question. Especially don’t tune kids out to admire their hot dad who is your semi-employer. Although, is he also my boyfriend? I’ll have to work with Jessi further to untangle that web of uncertainty.

“Cara, you want to season the eggs?” Harry calls. She bounds off, the existential cartoon question long forgotten.

I follow her across the apartment. I remember this place very differently from the last time I was here. I recall a clean floor space where Harry screwed me into euphoria—not a space adorned by abandoned toys. I also remember the echoing sounds of our heavy moans and the slapping of his legs against mine—not the sound of a background cartoon where a character is giving some plot-altering speech on the importance of dignity.

I distinctly recall having zero dignity the last time I visited here.

I’ve got to stop thinking about that night. One more memory and my nipples might be visible even though my thick sweatshirt.

I look out the large window taking up the better part of the wall. It overlooks the garage below. The bay doors are closed, and only the emergency lights are lit along part of the wall—just enough to illuminate Frankie in the far-right workstation. Or bay. Whatever it’s called.

She looks a bit cleaner. I wonder if Harry gave her a wash in the past two days. I’ll have to thank him for that. It’s weird to think how much of him will be in that van before I take off in a few months. I should have known I’d need help from the beginning, but hey you live and you learn. All I know is that by December, I’ll have freedom. New things to discover. A chance to get the heck out of this town and away from Noah and the traitor VannaWhite.

Okay, sure, there was no way Charlotte knew she was on my side, but she was supposed to be. VannaWhite was supposed to be.

“We’re having brinner, if you want to join us,” Harry says.

“That’s eggs and bacon,” Cara says, stepping up on a small stool to reach a cabinet where she pulls out two different spice containers then maneuvers herself to the stove. She generously peppers them over Harry’s moving spatula.

“Sounds delicious to me,” I say. “I’ll set the table if you show me where the dishes are, Cara.”

It’s hard to decide whether the kitchen is warm because of the stovetop or if Harry just radiates pure hormonal heat when I walk past him. My arm brushes against his hard shoulder as I take down three plates from over the stovetop. I don’t miss how his eyes linger on my stomach while I reach up. I may or may not have purposefully stretched up higher than needed to expose that bit of skin under my crop top.

Brinner is so much more than just eggs and bacon. What a silly simplified description to describe the heavenly meal Harry makes. I’m trying to remain polite while eating at the table, but damn his cheesy eggs are to die for. I even catch the eye of Cara, who giggles seeing how adamant I am about making sure these eggs are in this mouth ASAP.

“Are you going to be good for Miss Saria?” Harry asks with a lifted eyebrow.

“We’ll have a great time,” I say after swallowing my mouthful of bacon. “I’m thinking…scary movies and tons of chocolate, right Cara?”

I throw her a wink and she nods feverishly, giving me a very weak wink in return. Clever girl thankfully picked up on my sarcasm. Hard to tell if they will at that age. I should have known she was a smart cookie.

“Yep, Miss Saria!”

“Sah-ree-uh,” Harry corrects. She’s been pronouncing my name incorrectly since the first time she saw me, but it hasn’t bothered me. Most people don’t get it right.

After dinner, Harry throws a small laptop into a backpack, looking the picture-perfect image of a rugged man ready to go on a hike, and god I need him to leave right now before I jump his hiker bones. Plus, based on the way Cara is hopping from foot to foot, she seems almost excited to have a day without Daddy. I wonder if Harry notices. With the way his mouth twists to the side, I can tell leaving her is giving him heartache.

“We’ll be fine,” I reassure him. Harry’s eyebrows rise, and I wave a hand in his direction. “Go, go. Enjoy class. I’ll make sure we watch every Chucky movie.”

Harry tilts his chin down in disapproval.

“Good luck in class, Daddy!” Cara calls, already prepping the appropriate movie we’ll be watching instead. Something to do with fantasies and Prince Charmings.

“Good luck in class, Daddy,” I echo. His eyebrows rise so high I think they might reach his hairline. For a split second, I want to reward myself with another point, but then Harry tilts his head to the side and curls a lip that stifles my breathing for a few seconds.

“Sure thing, princess,” he says, then turns and descends the staircase, leaving me and Cara to our own devices.

“I think Daddy needs a princess like her,” Cara says.

I shake myself from my full belly of popcorn to answer her.

I’ve noticed a few things over the past few hours. Number one, Cara likes popcorn more than any child on the planet. I didn’t realize we were two bags deep until I turned around and saw that she was filling our bowl with her own prepared mix. I’m sweating all the excess salt from my pores as we speak. Number two, Cara cannot watch a movie without commenting on every single detail. I think she might have a future in film critique, and let me tell ya, movie studios, eat your heart out. Number three, Cara adores her dad with all her heart. It’s really cute how every single princess that comes on screen might just be the one thing missing from his life.

“Do you think the pet tiger is a bit much?” I ask, pointing out the princess’s loyal companion who has already eaten the underwear off a suitor. You seriously can’t make this stuff up.

“No, that would be their kitty.”

“I think he’s a bit too big to be a kitty,” I say.

Cara shakes her head with determination. “Your van is too big to be a car.”

“Touché,” I say, knocking my cup of water against her cup of milk in a toast of sassy girl recognition.

“Mommy wasn’t a princess,” she says through sips.

I perk up a little. This is not something I need to know, but I’m too nosy not to prod a bit more.

“What was she?” I ask.

“She’s a…” Cara’s nose scrunches up as she tries to think. I should not have asked what her mom does for living. “She drives around everywhere.”

Geez, of course she does. All the women involved with the men in my life seem to.

“Drives where?” I ask.

“To other places. Daddy doesn’t like to travel,” Cara says. “I think that’s why Daddy and Mommy aren’t together.” This makes my stomach drop.

“No?” I pause for a moment, trying to choose my words carefully before asking, “How did your mommy and daddy meet?” I try my best not to seem suspicious, not that she would see it as suspicious anyway. The girl is six—but she is also very sharp for a six-year-old.

Cara looks at me, her brow furrowed as if maybe that question has never occurred to her before. Uh-oh. I should have been less worried about suspicion and more about the fact that she may not know. I think I’ve broken her brain, so I follow up with another question instead.

“How would you like to meet your Prince Charming, Cara?”

Her eyes light up and she bounds into some elaborate tale where she’s a mechanic just like her daddy and she also owns her own auto shop and her Prince Charming does too and quite honestly, it’s the cutest little romance I’ve ever heard. Some of the big companies need to take notes from this girl, I swear.

By the time the movie cuts off, I look over to find Cara conked out in the corner of the L-shaped couch. I’m glad I got her to brush her teeth before the movie so all I have to do is pick her up, carry her to her room, and deposit her in the bed.

I shut the door behind me and look around the living room, quiet save for the faint credits of the movie scrolling up on the screen.

I clean up the toys and scraps of popcorn littering the floor, the couch, and the collar of my shirt—like a total slob—finishing right before I hear the door open from the shop followed by footsteps ascending the stairs to the apartment.

Harry keys in, and I swear I forget how good-looking he is every time he enters a room. Like a patient with amnesia, except specific to this man and his jawline.

“I just put her to bed,” I whisper, throwing my thumb over to the closed bedroom door.

“How’d it go?” he asks, unfurling his backpack from one arm and settling it beside the entryway table.

“She thinks you need a pet tiger.”

He chuckles low in an attempt to remain quiet. The tone sends shivers down my spine.

“Of course she does,” he says.

I don’t mention the princess that comes with said tiger. I’m sure he’s more than aware of his daughter’s nosiness into his love life.

The door behind me creaks open, and out steps Cara with a sleepy face and a fist rubbing her half-lidded eyes.

“Hey pumpkin,” Harry says, sidling up next to her and crouching to pick her up in his arms. She giggles, but it’s such an exhausted sound, and I could melt into the floorboards from how cute she is. “Want a story?”

She nods against his shoulder, and he mouths “One second” before disappearing into Cara’s bedroom.

I pace the living room, walking over to my phone, which I abandoned after the first round of popcorn. I unlock it to find the group text blowing up once more. My stomach drops at the first one I see.

Noah: Finalized the wedding party!

And to think, my night consisted of fun cartoon commentary up until now.

In a separate thread, Jessi has already asked if I need a chips-and-dip party tonight. Girl sure knows how to read me.

Saria: Maybe tomorrow. It’s getting late and I’m still at Harry’s.

Jessi: Oh my god, you whore!! Why didn’t you tell me?!

Saria: I’m babysitting. It’s not hot stuff.

In an effort not to sound completely depressed, I add:

Saria: Though I WISH.

I flick back to the other text thread, where Heather is voicing how excited she is for wedding planning. Jessi, in her good nature, says we should have a family get-together soon. I’m sure our moms would love that. Sorority sisters for life, completely unaware of how messed up the second-generation so-called sisterhood is doing.

Oh, yeah, Mom, just really hung up on Noah who was supposed to be my best friend except he’s inadvertently ruined my entire life. Thanks a lot for that friendship.

I switch over to a new text from Jessi.

Jessi: Babysitting! I’m sure you’ll be sitting on other things. Like, I don’t know, Harry’s FACE.

“She likes you.”

Harry’s voice surprises me so much I think my heart might explode out my butt. I twist on my heel to see him closing the bedroom door.

“I bribed her to say that,” I say quickly, placing my phone down on the couch’s side table.

Harry laughs. “I believe it.”

He takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. I’ll admit I get a bit lost in his flowing locks when he does that.

“You should grow your hair out,” I blurt out before thinking. Then, to secure the nail in my coffin further, I add, “I bet it’d be gorgeous.”

He laughs again. “I used to wear it long up until a year ago, actually. Then Grant called me Fabio too many times and, well, I’m a sensitive soul.”

“Grant?” I ask.

“Oh, sorry, my brother. He’s a trip.”

I nod slowly, wondering if now is the time to leave or if there’s more to be said. In normal babysitting jobs, this would be when I’m given payment as a parting gesture. But Harry and I are working on favors and I also never screwed the other dads at my babysitting jobs, so maybe we have different etiquette here.

“Do you want to stay for a drink?” Harry asks, pointing toward the kitchenette.

Well, I guess that’ll work as unofficial payment.

“Are you hiding alcohol in there somewhere?” I ask, sauntering behind him to the kitchen. He reaches up to the topmost shelf, a place Cara can’t reach, and pulls down a corked bottle of gin.

Harry waggles his eyebrows at me before popping it off and grabbing two tumblers from the other cabinet.

“Twist my arm,” I say, holding out my hand as he pours it.

“Wait, are you even old enough?” he asks, pulling the glass back from me with a wicked smile.

“Shut up,” I say, taking it as he laughs.

I grab a seat at the table before tilting my head to the side, trying to analyze every line on Harry’s face. His strong jaw, piercing eyes, and soft lips that seem almost too soft for a guy in such a rough profession…though the various scars make up for that in spades.

“So,” I start, asking the one thing that’s been on my mind since talking with Cara earlier—the one thing that might take Noah off my mind for even a little bit. “Cara’s mom…” I’ve never been one to beat around the bush.

“I was wondering when you’d ask that,” Harry says, chuckling into his glass. And yet, he still doesn’t answer. I tilt my head to the side at his silence.

“Come on, you won’t even know me in a couple months,” I say. “What’s the story? I won’t tell.”

“It’s not exactly a secret,” he says, nodding after his last large gulp. “Riley and I were a one-night stand gone horribly wrong. I didn’t ask for protection and neither did she.”

“One and done?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says with a low mirthless laugh. “I was younger and just wanting to get anything I could.”

“Harry Smith,” I chastise. “You dog.” I swear I see his cheeks flush, but it might just be the alcohol. “I can see how she would have fallen for you,” I say. “I mean, if you look like this at thirty-one, I can’t even imagine a twenty-five-year-old you.”

He laughs. “Well, she only fell for me for the night. When she found out she was pregnant, we thought we could make it work. But she realized she wanted to go out and live, and I…well, I fell in love with Cara the second I knew we were going to have her.” He strokes the edge of his glass, staring down at the liquid like it’s Dumbledore’s Pensieve or something. “I didn’t mind playing the role of single dad. Plus, I’ve always had a really supportive family. I figured that would more than make up for the loss of one full-time parent. It’s not easy, but I don’t regret a single thing.”

I smile, my heart hurting in some weird way I can’t explain. All I know is that staring at Harry, watching his lip curl around the edge of the glass, somehow makes it hurt a little less.

“So that’s my tragic story,” he says, placing his drink down. “What about you? Tell me something really depressing.”

I laugh. “Okay, well, today I found out Noah picked his wedding party.” Harry lifts an eyebrow, and I slowly nod. “Right. How is that weird? I guess I thought I’d be in the party. We were best friends. Weird best friends, but best friends. I figured I’d be, like, the best man. Or, woman. Whatever. I thought I’d be more involved, I guess.”

“Do you even want to be more involved?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Not really. I actually kinda hate the guy. I mean, I don’t…but I do. He’s the only thing I’ve ever known that felt real.”

As the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m not even sure when I started to have those thoughts. But I guess I did at some point over the years.

“How long did you date?” Harry asks.

I laugh, a cold sound that even I didn’t expect. “That’s complicated.”

“He never took you on a date?”

“We were never official,” I clarify. “We’d kiss, then he’d go on some date with the homecoming queen, princess, or whatever. I’d get upset. We’d fight. And then we’d fuck and do it all over again.”

Harry scoffs, rolling his glass across the condensation pool on the table. “That’s bullshit.”

I shrug. “It’s just how it always was.”

I can feel the my eyes stinging just thinking about our past, the text I just received, and the whole situation, how I’ve spent my entire life pining after a man who is now marrying the woman I wish I could be.

“Not exactly a conversation I expected to have on a Tuesday night,” I say, accidentally choking the words out as I take another large gulp from my tumbler.

“Well, if you like, I have tons more sad movies,” he says.

I look up at the ceiling, willing myself to regain my composure and smiling. “Do you just enjoy crying, Harry?”

He shrugs. “No, but it’s always best to just get it out if you need to, and I think you need a good cry.” He pauses for a moment with a smile. “Again.”

I feel myself smile, against my better judgment.

“You’ve got me there.”