“Addy?” She couldn’t move. She was still standing with her back against his bedroom doors, the lingering scent of his morning shower still stuffed up her traitorous, snooping, nosey nose.
“My daughter, Addison.”
“Oh, Addison. She’s napping.”
His stern, censoring stare was replaced with surprise. “Is she?” Surprise morphed into concern. “Was she feeling all right?”
She nodded. “Four-year-olds need naps.”
“And she went down for you okay?”
She nodded again. Any second now, he’d remember she was outside of his door and fire her. “I read her a story and we had a busy morning.”
“So, things are going well?”
They were. She swallowed. Should she just admit she’d been doing something bad and face the consequence?
Would he reprimand her? Punish her? Spank her? Dear God, where the holy hell had that image come from? She dropped her head back against the door and looked up, pleading for some sort of divine intervention to deliver her out of this mess.
He held out the stack of towels.
She took them and pulled the soft material to her chest. What the hell had he asked? Oh, if things were going well. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
She panicked. “Yes…sir?”
His jade eyes darkened emerald as his pupils swelled. Oh shit. Maybe she pissed him off. “You asked if things were going well.”
His head jerked and he breathed out a laugh. “Right. Sorry.”
Now he was apologizing? She was the one who owed him an apology. “Mr. Buchanan—”
“Rhett.”
Her throat had narrowed to a pipe cleaner. “Rhett…”
The longer he stared at her the harder it became to speak. “Skylar.”
“Yes?”
“I need to get something out of my bedroom.”
It finally happened. She was as certifiable as the rest of her family. Ducking out of reach, she moved to the adjacent wall. “Sorry.”
The side of his full lips quirked into a half grin and disappeared inside the master bedroom. A moment later, he returned to the hall, holding a blue checkbook she recognized from the desk.
“I shouldn’t be too late tonight. You can expect me a little after seven.”
He wasn’t going to fire her? “We’ll see you then.”
“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He took the winding staircase with a youthful pace that didn’t quite match the impression Erin gave of him earlier.
When the front door closed, Skylar exhaled all the breath she’d been holding and deflated, sliding down the wall until her butt hit the floor. She rolled to her side and smooshed her face in the pile of towels then groaned. “I’m such an idiot.”
She definitely underestimated her mom, aunts, and grandmothers.
“It smells like fire!” Addison scrunched her nose and fanned away the smoke bellowing out of the oven.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit…”
“Ooooh, you said shit!”
Skylar removed the charred casserole from the rack and tossed it onto the stove. “Well, don’t repeat me!”
Addison angled her head and stretched her neck to better see the ruined dish. “You killed it.”
Skylar sighed. Cooking was not supposed to be this difficult.
She glanced at the time. It was almost seven—not enough time to make something new, and no possibility of fixing the burned casserole. “Shit.”
“You said shit again.”
“Stop repeating me!”
“Then stop saying potty words!”
“Sorry.” Skylar rubbed a hand through her sweaty hair. Lifting Addison off the counter, she said, “Go get your shoes. We’re running out.”
It was dark and the roads were wet with slush and snow. Luckily, Jasper Falls was only four miles long, so they didn’t have far to go.
“Are we eating here?” Addison asked as they parked outside of Vincenzo’s.
“No, we’re just picking something up.” She’d called ahead and told her Aunt Angela it was an emergency.
The front windows of the restaurant fogged with oregano and garlic scented steam. The heat drew them inside, and the sound of Dean Martin crooning from the speakers made her feel right at home—something she hadn’t felt all day.
Skylar momentarily wondered if it was a mistake, leaving the familiarity of family and venturing into this new job. There was a good chance that Mr. Buchanan might still fire her. Maybe he just didn’t want to do it in the middle of the day and be left stranded without child care. Maybe he was waiting for Erin to do it, since she seemed to claim hiring and firing as her forte.
Aunt Nicky’s head poked through the kitchen window. “Hey, your order’s not finished yet.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and yelled, “Sky’s here. Where are my chicken cutlets?”
“Well, well, well, look who’s returned.” Her grandfather, dressed in black, flour-dusted pants, a white tank top, and a sauce-stained kitchen apron, appeared. The gray hair on his chest was so thick and wild, it also carpeted his shoulders. Gold chains glinted under the florescent lighting as he stepped into the front dining room.
“Who’s this little bellezza?”
“Hi Pop. This is Addison. Addy, this is my grandfather, Vincenzo.”
“The Vincenzo?”
Her grandfather nodded. “This is my place. Here. You taste this.” He snatched a pizza fritta knot from under the glass display and sprinkled it with sugar.