The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos (5 page)

“How do you know how to cook?” he asked. He had assumed she was around the same age as him, yet she seemed to know so much more.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” she said, tossing the diced onions into the pan.

“It’s just a question,” he muttered, turning away. All girls were weird and prone to outbursts, he reminded himself. He padded out of the kitchen and into the living room. Chloe lay on her stomach, kicking her little legs into the air. She clutched her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures and dragged them across the carpet. Their feet made little lines in the fibers.

“Wanna draw, Chloe?” he asked her. She rolled onto her back, her face breaking out into a smile at the sight of him. At least one of the women in his house was happy to have him around. He crossed the room and pulled open one of the desk drawers, taking out paper and crayons. Then he joined Chloe on the floor, sprawling on his stomach in the same position she had been in.

With paper fanned out in front of them, he poured the crayons out. “What do you want me to draw?” he asked his daughter.

“Turtles,” she said in a singsong voice. He grabbed a green crayon and got to work.

The minutes slipped by. Before he knew it, the sky outside was darkening. Green and purple circles that vaguely resembled turtles dotted the paper, with Vs acting as birds, and blue scribbles across the sky. Chloe beamed at him and tapped his turtles with a finger.

“Make some dinosaurs,” she said.

“Sorry, kid,” Max said, putting down the purple crayon. “That’s as far as Daddy’s drawing skills go.”

“I can draw you a dinosaur,” Savannah said from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. She stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall. Chloe clapped her hands. Savannah pushed off from the wall and padded toward them. She lay down next to Chloe and picked up a grey crayon. Winking at Max, she sketched out the outline of a four-legged dinosaur with a long neck. She held the crayon lightly, layering in shapes slowly. Using pink, she began shading the dinosaur in.

Max watched her draw, entranced. The scent of tomatoes and spices floated to him from the kitchen, and his stomach growled. His eyes remained glued to the paper, watching as Savannah used a lime green crayon to add more detail. Slowly, the dinosaur came to life.

“That’s the mommy dinosaur,” Chloe said. “Where’s the baby?”

Savannah glanced at Max. Their eyes met, and she smiled, her dimples showing. Then she ducked her head and returned to the page, her hand moving back and forth as she added a smaller dinosaur. Chloe watched her every move, her chin tucked into her hands, her eyes wide and round.

Max’s heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed hard. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He needed to remember that Savannah was technically his employee. She was supposed to be good with his daughter. He needed to remember that. Plus, she was weird, and slightly crazy.

Savannah put the crayon down, revealing a mother dinosaur with her baby. Chloe’s fingers traced the drawing, a smile breaking out across her face.

“You like it?” Savannah asked.

Chloe nodded.

“Cool,” Max said. “Tell Savannah thank you.”

“Thank you, Nana,” Chloe said.

“You’re welcome.” Savannah lifted herself from the floor. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.” She floated into the kitchen as lithe as a dancer. Chloe followed her, as if in a trance. Max climbed to his feet and trailed after them, his heart still doing flip flops in his chest.

As he entered the kitchen, the scent of hot, spicy cheese grew stronger. He inhaled, his mouth filling with saliva. Savannah strapped Chloe into her high chair, and slid a plate of cooled chicken on the tray in front of her. Then she gestured for Max to sit.

Feeling as if his head had disconnected from his body, he sat down, too. Savannah put down a plate of enchiladas in front of him. Steaming white sauce covered cheesy chicken rolled in a soft tortilla. A pile of orange rice and red beans encircled the enchiladas.

“Wow,” he breathed, picking up his fork. “This smells great.”

“I hope it tastes good,” Savannah said. “I spent my last twenty bucks on this.” She grinned and motioned for him to take a bite.

He shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth, the flavor exploding in a shower of salt and spice and sweet. The lids of his eyes lowered, and he smiled while chewing. Warm shot through him, and the floaty feeling intensified. “This is so, so good,” he murmured.

He opened his eyes. Savannah’s eyes were locked on his. Hers were large and luminous, a smile illuminating from within them. He swallowed hard. Lowering his gaze, he took a bite of enchilada. Ducking his head down in an effort to not look like a total creeper, he watched as she left the table and made herself a plate. She sat down across from him. Coughing, he put his fork down.

“Are you all right?” she asked, an eyebrow raised at him.

He nodded and darted to the sink. Turning it on, he coughed into the stainless steel. Hoping that he wouldn’t throw up or do anything else embarrassing, he put his face under the stream of water. He took tiny sips, forcing the food stuck in his throat down. He splashed water onto his burning face. Shutting the water off, he turned from the sink, wiping his hands on his jeans. “How’s your chicken?” he asked Chloe, trying to sound nonchalant. His hoarse voice betrayed him, though. He sighed inwardly. He was never going to be cool enough to impress Savannah. Looking down, he ran a hand through his hair. What she thought about him shouldn’t matter, anyway. He had hired her to help take care of Chloe, not so that he could date her.

His daughter lifted her hands into the air. “Yummy!” she exclaimed.

Savannah’s lips curled into a smile.

Ears burning, Max sat down again. Lifting his fork, he forced himself to eat slower. Almost choking once was enough.

“So you really never ate this before?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to his struggle.

He shook his head. “My mom’s allergic to cooking,” he said, taking another bite of rice.

Savannah shook her head sadly. “A Puerto Rican woman who can’t cook? Now I’ve seen everything.” She tossed her silky black hair over her shoulder. Max watched as the strands caught the light. His fingers twitched with the urge to run his fingers through her hair. “And no one speaks Spanish in your house?” she asked, bringing him back.

“Not that I know of,” he said with a shrug. He cut another bite of enchilada. “This is so, so good. Who taught you how to cook?”

“My mother and grandmother,” she said, studying him. “So how is Chloe supposed to learn anything about her heritage?”

Max frowned. “Her heritage? She loves cheeseburgers. You just have to cut up the burger, no bun.” He shoveled more rice into his mouth.

“Not her American heritage, crazy pants. Puerto Rican heritage.” Savannah reached across the table and touched his hand. He jumped, the spot where her fingers met his skin crackling. “We’re all American, because we’re citizens, but there’s more to us.”

Crinkling his eyebrows at her, Max pulled his hand out of her reach. His heart thundered in his chest. He forced himself to breathe slowly.

“Don’t you wanna know about where you come from?” Savannah asked.

He lifted one shoulder. “I was born here, in Waterbury.”

“You’re still
boricua
,” she said.

“Do what now?” He set his fork down.

Her shoulders slumped. She pushed away her plate. “You’re Puerto Rican. Don’t you want to at least learn how to speak Spanish?”

Max snorted. “Everyone speaks English. What’s the point?”

“The point is,” she said, “to carry on your heritage. To pass on your culture.”

“I didn’t realize we were gonna have a history lesson tonight.” He sighed and stood, pushing his chair back.

“You’re full?” she asked, pointing a slim finger at his plate, still piled with food.

“I want to start reading for next semester, get ahead of the game,” he said, moving away from the table. “Are you okay to watch Chloe?”

Savannah stiffened, her eyes turning down at the corners. “Of course,” she said, a smile quickly breaking out across her face. Max could see the hurt in her eyes, though. He left the kitchen, his own shoulders tight. She was too nosy for her own good, he surmised as he sat down at his desk. He reached for his textbook for his Best Practices in Classroom Management course and flipped it open.

He had never been a great student, compared to his brothers. Every test drained him of energy. It would be a miracle if he graduated and was able to get certified for teaching, he mused. Sucking in a deep breath, he forced his attention to the words lining the page, but his mind raced in fury.

Gritting his teeth, he rubbed his temples with his fingers, his head pounding. Savannah had no right to interrogate him about his personal life. He had hired her to help with his daughter, not lecture him on things that had nothing to do with him. The only way he was going to do well in life was if he studied hard and got out of Waterbury.

He dragged his eyes back to the textbook, and began reading, forcing thoughts of Savannah out of his mind.

Icy snow seeped into the canvas of Max’s sneakers. He jumped, yelping, and dashed from his parked car. Every step he took brought more icy water into his shoes. He swore as he stomped through slushy puddles of half melted snow. Tilting his head back, he stuck his middle finger up at the grey December sky. Toes going numb, he clambered onto the front porch, then opened the front door to his apartment, thankful that he had gotten the first floor.

Heat blasted him as he stepped inside, and his shoulders sagged in relief. Kicking off his shoes, he unzipped his coat.

“Daddy?” Chloe called from somewhere in the house.

“Hi, baby girl,” he called back, draping his coat over the old gas heater. He splayed his fingers over the humped bars, the warmth sending tingles through his nerves. He shuffled closer and slid his feet underneath. Reaching down, he peeled off his soaked socks and laid them out over the heater to dry.

“Daddy, come here,” his daughter called.

Patting the heater, he ambled toward the back of the apartment. The doors to his bedroom and Savannah’s room were closed, but light spilled into the hall from Chloe’s room. Max’s bare feet pressed into the carpet as he neared the open door, reveling in the warmth oozing through his body. Poking his head in, he gazed through the room, searching for his daughter.

She sat in a pile of pink and purple tissue paper. Savannah sat next to her, slender brown fingers a blur. Max blinked, leaning against the door frame. Pink and purple tissue paper flowers adorned the walls of the once plain bedroom, bursting from the wall and decorating the top bars of Chloe’s crib.

Savannah grinned at him, shrugging a shoulder. “What do you think?”

Chloe squealed, dipped her small hands into the pile of tissue paper, and flung some up into the air like confetti. Kicking her feet, she laughed.

Max felt the remaining ice melt from his face as his own lips curled into a smile. “How did you do this?” he asked, entering the room. He scooped Chloe up, tissue paper floating from her tiny legs. Twirling, he flung her into the air, snatching her just before she hit the ground. She shrieked with laughter.

“Dollar store,” Savannah said, watching as he threw Chloe into the air again. She drew her knees up to her chest. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Max said, tossing Chloe up again. Her wispy hair flew out in all directions, her limbs splayed. He caught her again and snuggled her to his chest, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I missed you,” he told her.

Savannah climbed to her feet. “Come on,” she said. “Dinner’s ready.”

He followed her into the kitchen, his nose catching the scent of garlic for the first time. A platter of spaghetti and meatballs sat on the table next to a pile of garlic bread. “I didn’t even know we had this stuff in the house,” he said.

Savannah picked up a slice of garlic bread. “Hot dog buns,” she said, handing it to him. “And I used the rest of the red peppers in the sauce.”

“Is there anything you can’t cook?” he asked as he strapped Chloe into her high chair.

“Try it first,” she said. “My ex always said my meatballs were too soggy.”

Max froze. “Your ex?” He winced at the squeak in his voice. Jealousy pitted in his stomach. He ran a hand through his hair, the back of his neck flushing. It was stupid of him to think that Savannah would be off the market. Of course she was dating. She was beautiful, sassy, and knew how to cook. Just because she always had dinner on the table for him and decorated his daughter’s room didn’t mean that she was his girlfriend. He swallowed hard. The guys she dated probably spoke three languages and lived in Puerto Rico part-time.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor brought him back to the present moment. “Yeah, he couldn’t even make pancakes,” she said, sitting down. She piled a dish with spaghetti and three meatballs, then held it out to Max.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it and setting it down in front of him. He sat across from her, his heart hammering in his chest. “So what does your boyfriend think of all this?” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

“My boyfriend?” She snorted. “If I had one, he would be ridiculously jealous, blowing up my phone. I always end up with insecure assholes.”

“Yeah, right,” he said. “You drive a BMW.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He flushed.

“So what?” she said.

“I just mean, like attracts like.” He shoved a bite of meatball into his mouth before he could do any more damage.

She scrunched up her eyebrows at him. “Sure,” she said, eyeing him.

“Good meatballs,” he said with his mouth full.

“Thanks,” Savannah said, filling her own plate. She twirled spaghetti around her fork. Silence settled around him.

Max cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the other night,” he said. Despite the heat in the apartment, cold sweat dotted his hairline. “I was kind of a dick.”

“Kind of?” she said, but her dimples flashed and her lips curled into a smile. “I’m sorry, too. It’s none of my business. I just want to help.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “And you’re great. This is great.” He motioned to the spread of food on the table and to Chloe, whose face was covered in sauce and spaghetti. His eyes widened. “Chloe, no!”

Savannah laughed. “It’s okay. She needs a bath tonight anyway. No problem. You just focus on your work.” She reached for a slice of garlic bread. “So, what are you studying, anyway?”

Even though he was sitting, Max’s knees went weak. “Um, just Elementary Education,” he said, preparing another bite of meatball.

Savannah’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re gonna be a teacher? That’s cool!”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“No, it really is. I could never do anything like that.” The smile evaporated from her face, a longing expression burning in her eyes. Her gaze drifted away from the table, toward the living room. Her eyebrows slanted down.

Max frowned. “It’s really no big deal. I mean, my brothers are lawyers and authors and doctors. I’ll be lucky if I graduate.” He forced a laugh, despite his heart slamming in his chest.

“You will,” Savannah said, her eyes meeting his. She smiled.

He snorted. “No, really, I’m barely passing. You have to have a really high GPA. My dad wanted me to join my older brothers in the family law business.” He bit his lower lip, wondering why he was telling her so much. He should be talking himself up, not knocking himself down. Girls like Savannah wanted confident men, not family fuckups like him.

She muttered something in Spanish, her hands flying as she spoke.

He blinked at her. “English?”

Rolling her eyes, she huffed a sigh. “My dad’s a granite countertop contractor, and my mom’s a home designer.”

Max snorted laughter. “My mom’s doing that now, too. That’s why she kicked me out, so she could use the space I was apparently taking up as her office.”

Savannah twisted her lips. “Um, I meant she, like, designs houses. She draws up the plans in a CAD program.”

“Oh,” Max said, running a hand through his hair.

“They kicked me out when I dropped out of college,” she said quickly.

He blinked at her. “
You
dropped out of college?”

She nodded and flashed him dancing thumbs-up. “Mmn-hmn. I was going to Naugatuck Valley for fine arts.”

Frowning, Max cut a meatball in half. “Why did you drop out?”

Her eyes glinted. “I failed math.”

“You couldn’t retake it?” he asked, dropping his fork.

“I also failed English.”

He stared at her. “Like, composition?”

She nodded. “And psychology. Basically every class that wasn’t art. I even failed art history.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to paint.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but how the hell do you fail all of those classes?”

She pointed a finger at him. “Watch it,
pendejo
.”

He stuffed spaghetti into his mouth, shoulders hunching.

“School is hard,” she said. “They gave me that BMW when I finished high school, but freaked out when I said I wanted to study art. I mean, what the hell? I guess it’s because I’m the only child. They wanted me to take over the family business.” She rolled up her sleeves, exposing the tattoos. “Can you imagine
me
designing houses for rich people? Screw that.”

Max’s heart pounded in his chest. He and Savannah weren’t much different, he realized. Despite his initial assumptions, he just might have a shot with her. “So you don’t have a boyfriend,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Clearing his throat, he put on what he hoped was an innocent expression. “I just mean, I totally get it. My ex is crazy. She doesn’t even want to see Chloe.”

Savannah’s eyes darted toward his daughter, and her gaze softened. “
Bendita
,” she said, frowning. “Why not?”

Max shook his head. “I don’t know. We dated for two years in high school, and I got her pregnant our senior year. I guess her parents didn’t want her to have the baby, and she wanted to have—well, I stepped in for full custody, and we had to fight in court. Luckily I have a lot of lawyers in the family.” He forced a smile, but his heart ached at the memories. He swallowed hard, remembering the look on Nicole’s face when she told him what she planned to do with their unborn baby. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Okay, happier conversation,” Savannah said, thrusting another piece of garlic bread at him. “How much do my meatballs suck?” She grinned, but she squeezed his hand.

“They’re really good,” he said, taking a bite out of the garlic bread with his free hand. He sighed and squeezed her hand back, his heart racing. “Any guy who criticizes your cooking is an idiot. I would totally starve without you.” He smiled.

“You’ll see,” she said. “I’ll have you speaking Spanish and making
sofrito verde
by the time Chloe’s three.” She grinned.

“Yeah, I can’t even boil water,” he said, smiling back. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Stop saying you can’t,” she said. “Every time you say you can’t, you knock yourself down a peg. You’ve gotta stay positive. You don’t see me saying I can’t, just because I dropped out of college. I can do anything I want.” Her eyes smoldered. Max swallowed hard. He realized they were still holding hands. He gently pulled his away, shifting in his seat. His pants tightened. Blood roared in his ears. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that he needed to keep things professional between them.

Savannah stood and went to the kitchen sink. She dampened a towel and returned to the table. “I mean, think about this. I have like no experience as a nanny. But I like kids, and I can cook. Here I am.” She put Chloe’s empty dish on the table and began cleaning his daughter’s hands and face.

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘no experience’?” Max asked, his eyes widening.

“I mean, I’ve watched my little cousins,” she said with a shrug. “My point is, if you don’t focus on your good qualities and only your bad ones, you’ll never get anywhere.” Tapping Chloe’s nose with her finger, she smiled. Chloe giggled. Savannah lifted the little girl from her high chair.

“So you lied to me?” he asked, frowning.

“More like I highlighted my good experience,” she said with a wink. “Do you trust me any less?”

Max rested his chin on one hand. So far, she hadn’t done anything to make him think she was a threat to his daughter or him. He shook his head. “Maybe I’m stupid, but no. I trust you.”

“You’re not stupid, Max.” Savannah cuddled Chloe. “People like us just have to work a little harder. But we’ve got street smarts. I mean, look at you. You got kicked out of your parents’ house, yet you were capable enough to find a place for you and your daughter to live. You can’t cook, yet you were smart enough to find someone who can.” She stuck her tongue out at him, her eyes dancing as she teased.

His skin tingled. He took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said, his thoughts swirling. It seemed like she was flirting with him. He swallowed hard. “You’re right,” he told her.

“Of course I am,” she said. “I know more than you do. I’m older and I can speak Spanish.” With a wink, she turned and left the kitchen, carrying Chloe into the bathroom.

Feeling slightly dizzy, Max remained sitting. He stared at the spaghetti and meatballs, the saucy towel on the table. From the bathroom, he could hear the water running and Chloe giggling. Savannah’s sweet voice drifted to him, a song in Spanish that he had never heard. He had no idea where she had come from or why she had decided to work for him, but he was glad. They had more in common than he had initially thought. Shame washed over him for judging her so quickly, but only briefly.

She had said that she didn’t have a boyfriend. She made dinner for him every night, even though he had only hired her to look after Chloe. She had even decorated his daughter’s room, out of her own will. His heart pounded in his chest. She teased him every chance she got. Sometimes, they way she looked at him reminded him of the way Nicole had looked at him, back when they had first started dating, when things were good.

Maybe he was crazy, but he was beginning to wonder if he had a chance with Savannah—and whether he should take it. Maybe the crazy thing to do would be ignoring what he felt in his heart.