Wild Christmas (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #17)

3. Freya

3

FREYA

I stack the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, add some dishwashing detergent, and turn it on. Upstairs the sounds of the girls laughing reach my ears, making me smile.

Nate may be a grumpy ass during the day, but he’s a softie when it comes to his girls. He insists on doing the bedtime routine with them, bathing them and reading to them. I imagine them now tucked up in bed either side of the big man while he reads them a story.

I leave the pots and pans on the kitchen side. I don’t mind doing the washing up. It’s not in my job description, but Nate’s cooked for me every night so it only seems fair. But after that first night, he asked me not to do the washing up because I didn’t do it properly. I’ve never been critiqued on my washing up before, but if he wants me to leave him the dishes, I’m not going to complain.

I fill the kettle with water and lean against the counter as I wait for it to boil. It’s gone quiet upstairs, and I imagine Nate kissing the girls goodnight and pulling blankets over them.

I pour myself a mug of chamomile tea to take up to my room. But instead of heading up straight away, I linger for a few minutes scrolling through my phone.

Soon I hear Nate padding down the stairs. He comes into the kitchen, and my heart flutters in my chest. His hair is ruffled and his expression soft, as it always is after he’s spent time with the girls. He wears a green hoodie that accentuates the color of his eyes and makes it hard to look away.

“Is it okay if I do some baking?”

Nate looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “What, tonight?”

“Tomorrow. I thought I could make gingerbread cookies with Maisie and decorate them when Dora gets home from school.”

He runs the water in the sink and adds a generous pour of dish soap.

“Of course. Why do you think I wouldn’t let you bake?”

“Um. Because baking is messy.”

He pauses and turns to face me. “You’re not going to get flour everywhere, are you?”

I jut my chin out. “Probably. That’s what happens when a four year old helps.”

He frowns, and I continue before he changes his mind. “But what also happens is she learns to measure things, to stir, and has fun licking the bowl. ”

He turns back to the dishes. “Fine. But you might need to pick up some ingredients.”

“I’ll check what you have.”

I pull up my favorite gingerbread recipe on my phone and proceed to check the cupboards for what he has. As expected, the cupboards are in perfect order and everything I pull out is within the use by date. I bet he checks his cupboard regularly and throws out anything that’s exactly past the date.

I make a list on my phone of what I’ll need to get from the store tomorrow.

Meanwhile Nate has finished up the dishes and leaves them drying on the rack.

He puts the kettle on and pours decaf coffee beans into his grinder. “You want something?”

“No thanks. I’ve already got a tea.” I wonder if this is the night when he’ll put on the big TV in the living room and invite me to watch something with him. I wonder what he’s into. Sci-fi and action films would be my guess.

But once he’s made his coffee, Nate picks up his mug. “Goodnight.”

He heads out the door and to the back of the cabin where his offices and workshop are.

“Goodnight,” I call after him wondering what he does all evening. Perhaps it’s work, but the guy’s got to rest sometime.

Every night I’ve been here, the house goes quiet once the girls are in bed. I have no idea where Nate goes at night. Feeling bold, I creep down the hall in my socks until I’m outside the door to his office. But there’s no noise coming from inside.

Another mystery involving the taciturn man.

Quietly, I retrieve my chamomile tea from the kitchen and head upstairs.

I shouldn’t complain. When he said I had a suite of rooms, he wasn’t joking. The room opens to a cozy living area with plush carpet that my feet sink into and thick curtains. There’s a loveseat and an armchair that folds out so I can rest my feet.

A TV is propped on one wall and a bookshelf on the other with a collection of frayed paperbacks that previous nannies must have left behind.

Through the living area is a room leading to my bedroom with a private bathroom attached, complete with spa bath and a large window looking straight into the woods.

I set the tea on the coffee table next to Bongus, the stuffed blue elephant that Dora leant me, and head to the bookshelf. I’ve finished one book already, and I peruse the shelves and select a book with a suave-looking man with a bare muscular chest on the cover. The book promises to make me swoon, and I sit on the couch and pull a blanket over me and settle in for the night.