The Setup and the Substitute by Jiffy Kate

Chapter 14

Sophie

Waking with a start,I sit up in bed and grab my phone to check the time.

Eight-thirty.

Gasping, I kick off the blanket that’s wrapped around my legs, courtesy of my fitful night of sleep, and run out of my room and straight into Molly’s. Her bed is empty, so I go to Ryan’s room, finding his empty, as well. Trying not to panic, I remind myself I can take the kids to school a little late. It’s the end of the year, so it’s not a huge deal but I hate feeling like I’m messing up, especially with Owen being back home.

I rush into the living room but stop abruptly when I see Owen and the kids having what seems to be a tickle party on the couch. My heart warms at the sight of the kids having so much fun but when I see Owen looking happier than I’ve ever seen him, I feel warm in a different body part.

A much lower body part.

That’s the smile I’ve been dying to see and it does not disappoint.

He catches me staring and the smile drops a little but his eyes keep their sparkle, so I don’t take offense.

“Oh, hey,” Owen says. “Sorry if we woke you. I wanted you to be able to sleep in, but I guess we got too loud.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t you; it was me panicking about the kids being late for school. It is Monday, right?”

“Yeah, I decided they could play hooky today since I have the day off. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I love playing hooky from time to time.”

The corner of Owen’s mouth perks up a bit and then Ryan blurts out, “Why does your hair look like that?”

I lift my hands to my head and try to assess the damage, since I don’t have a mirror in front of me. There’s really no telling how bad my bedhead is and I feel the start of a blush warming my cheeks when I notice Owen watching me. Those bright eyes from earlier are noticeably darker now and that’s when I realize I’m not wearing a bra under my thin pajamas.

“I, uh, jumped out of bed so fast I didn’t look at myself before coming out here, sorry.” I start walking backward, trying to avoid Owen’s eyes. “Let me go get ready for the day. Y’all just keep doing what you’re doing.” I trail off before turning and rushing back to my room.

Heading straight to my bathroom, I turn the shower on full blast before stripping and stepping inside. I allow the water to wash away the heat that still clings to my cheeks. As I stand there, I try to get a grip.

I can do this.

I can co-exist in the same house with Owen Thatcher and not make a complete idiot of myself.

This is a job, one that I willingly accepted, knowing full well I’d be working in close proximity with him. And the bottom line is that I already love his kids and want to be here for them, which also means being with Owen when he’s home. So, I’ll suck it up and not respond like a schoolgirl with a crush every time he looks at me with those eyes.

God, those eyes.

And that smile.

Why does he have to be so damn good looking?

And such a good dad.

And why do we have to have chemistry, because we do. I can feel it every time we're in the same room.

Exhaling, I close my eyes and duck my head under the spray. Getting down to business, I wash my hair and then the rest of me, putting thoughts of Owen out of my mind. Once I’m dressed, I step back into the hall and quietly make my way to the kitchen, hoping to snag a cup of coffee without another embarrassing incident.

When I get there, I see Owen standing with his own cup, staring out into the window that looks out over the backyard. Not wanting to startle him, I quietly clear my throat to alert him of my presence. He turns, giving me that half smile in greeting.

“Better?” he asks, placing a mug under the coffee maker and pushing start.

Just the smell of the coffee brewing is enough to boost my mood.

“Much better,” I tell him, walking over to wait for my cup to be finished. “Thank you,” I say, waving toward the living room. “For letting me sleep in this morning. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“You deserved it,” he says, leaning back against the counter and crossing one long leg over the other.

I wonder exactly how tall he is?

I’d guess six-two… maybe six-three.

Is that tall for a major league baseball pitcher?

I’ve always heard that height is a direct correlation to—

Stop it, Sophie! I literally scream that to myself in my head and glance up to see Owen watching me, which makes me feel nervous for some reason. Put me in a room with all of New Orleans' powerful people and I can schmooze with the best of them, but put me in a kitchen, alone, with Owen Thatcher and I forget how to breathe, let alone speak.

“I thought you might like to have the day off,” he says, his demeanor shifting, which makes the mood in the kitchen shift as well. We went from being on the verge of one of those moments we seem to have every time we’re together, to what feels like a brick wall.

He turns back toward the window and keeps talking. “I’d like to have some time with the kids today.”

Of course he wants to spend time with the kids. Alone.

And I need some time to go to my apartment and water my plants. And call Greer so she can tell me how completely ridiculous I’m being by catching feelings for my boss.

“Sure,” I say, as I grab the piping hot cup of coffee. Needing to get the heck out of this kitchen, I decide to forgo my usual creamer and drink it black. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He turns back to face me and his brows are furrowed, like he wants to say something but he can’t find the words or he’s holding them back. Shaking his head, he says, “No rush.”

Needing some space between us, I give him a small smile and take my coffee back to my bedroom. After braiding my damp hair, I collect my bag with the few things I’ll need for the day and then take my now empty coffee mug back to the kitchen. Placing it in the dishwasher, I glance around to make sure the rest of the space is tidy.

Once I’m satisfied with the state of the kitchen, I walk back to the living room where I find Molly and Ryan putting together a puzzle with Owen. I stand there for a second, warmth in my chest spread with the sight of them together.

I know Owen is afraid he’s somehow messing them up, he told me as much, but he’s not. He might have a demanding job that requires him to be away from them for a lot of days out of the year. And their mother might’ve left them. But one thing I know for sure, just from the time I’ve known these kids and their father, he’s doing everything he can to ensure their happiness.

Above everything else, he’s a good dad. A great one.

“I’m going,” I announce, hating to interrupt their time together.

The kids both jump up and run over to where I’m standing in the foyer. “How long are you going to be gone?” Molly asks while Ryan wraps his arms around my legs.

“Just for a few hours,” I say, glancing over at Owen.

He didn’t say what time I needed to be back, but I’m guessing he’ll want me to be here by bedtime. I know he’ll have to be at the field early tomorrow morning for their first game against Seattle.

Brushing back Ryan’s hair, I smile down at him. “Have fun today,” I tell them both, so happy they’re feeling better. “And don’t forget to show your dad all the awesome pictures you colored for him.”

“Oh, yeah!” Molly exclaims, turning toward the hallway. “I almost forgot.”

Letting out a laugh, I shake my head, meeting Owen’s eyes again. “See you this evening?”

He nods his agreement. “Enjoy your day off.”

“Bye, buddy,” I tell Ryan, stepping toward the door. “See you later.”

Once I’m outside, I head to my car and climb in. It’s only been a week since I started this job, but I already feel weird leaving the house without the kids. It’s funny how some jobs take you months to feel comfortable in, and others you just fall right into.

As awkward and uncomfortable as mine and Owen’s interactions can be from time to time, everything else about working for the Thatchers feels so natural.

Before I back out of the drive, I scroll to Greer’s number and hit call.

“Hey, bitch,” she answers. “I was wondering if you were still alive.”

I laugh, backing out onto the street. “Sorry, I forgot to text you back the other night. I felt like shit and yesterday the kids and I pretty much just rested all day. Then, Owen came home last night.”

“Owen’s home, huh?” she asks with so much insinuation dripping from her words.

“It’s not like that.”

“Okay.”

Rolling my eyes, I ignore her and carry on with what I called for. “Let’s do lunch. I have the afternoon off.”

“Name the place.”

After we make our plans, I drive the rest of the way to my apartment with the windows rolled down, soaking in the sunshine. As much as I probably would’ve liked, no definitely… I definitely would’ve liked to spend the day with Owen and the kids, I know this is better for me.

A little sunshine.

A little best friend time.

And a little distance to get my head on straight.

When I walk into my apartment, my smile grows even wider. It’s good to be home. Everything is just as I left it the day I got the call from the school that Molly was sick. What a whirlwind the last few days have been. First Molly, then Ryan and me.

Kicking off my shoes, I let out a disbelieving laugh.

Could a first week as a nanny be any crazier?

Never mind, I’m sure it could’ve been, and I don’t like to tempt fate, so I’ll forget I even asked.

What matters is we made it and everyone is on the mend, including me. I feel so much better today, thank goodness. Walking into the kitchen, I put my kettle on the stove and heat up some water. I’d like to have a glass of wine, but since I’m still taking antibiotics, that’s probably not a great idea.

Once that’s going, I fill up the watering can and start to make my way around my apartment, giving my green friends a drink. Then, I open the double doors leading out to my balcony and give those guys the same treatment.

As usual, the melody of the French Quarter drifts up to my apartment.

From the sound of the tea kettle whistling in the background, to the faint jazz floating up from the street below and the way the morning light filters through the windows… it’s an entire mood. And it’s good for my soul.

“So, tell me everything,” Greer demands a couple hours later as we sit at a sidewalk table at one of our favorite restaurants. “What’s it like working for a baseball player?”

The waggle of her eyebrows tells me everything I need to know.

She’s already fabricating risqué stories in that pretty little head of hers.

“It’s a lot like a job,” I deadpan. “But one I really love, so far.”

Her lips draw into a pout. “You’ve gotta give me something. Have you at least caught a glimpse of him in his skivvies?”

“No,” I say, laughing. “He’s only been back since last night and when he’s home, he’s totally focused on his kids.”

Greer’s expression softens. “That’s really great. I’m glad he’s not a douchebag.”

“No, he’s definitely not a douchebag.”

So far from it.

“That’s why I called, actually,” I admit. “Well, I wanted to see you and have lunch, but I also need you to tell me I’m ridiculous for crushing on him and that I need to get over myself. Maybe you could set me up with that guy from your office,” I suggest. “What was his name?”

“Josh?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding fervently. “Josh. You said he’s nice, right?”

Greer stares at me suspiciously and she’s quiet for a minute, which isn’t really like her, except for when she’s thinking hard or trying to figure out a problem. “You like him.”

“Who, Josh?” I ask, frowning. “I don’t really know him, but you said he—”

“Not Josh,” Greer says, rolling her eyes. “Owen. You like him.”

My cheeks immediately start to heat up and I hate it. It’s always been my tell; I can’t help it. For a second, I think about denying it, but this is Greer and she’s known me forever and I can’t lie to her. Besides, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to see her today—to have someone I could spill everything to, hoping if I get it out of my head, it will help me get over whatever this is.

“Yeah, I like him,” I admit.

About that time, the waiter shows up to refill our water glasses and asks if we’d like anything else. Greer opts for another glass of wine, but I decline and continue to nurse my water.

“Well, that is a predicament,” Greer says, leaning back in her chair. “I mean, I knew you thought he’s hot, but I can tell this is a little more than that.”

I cringe. “I tried not to let it be, but every time I’m around him, I like him a little more. If he didn’t need me so much and if I didn’t love his kids so much, I’d quit, but I can’t do that. Not to him and not to those kids. He was right, they need stability.” Pausing for a drink, I sip my water and then place it back on the table. “Owen's a great dad, but he can’t be there all the time. But man, when he’s home, he’s so… present. And if that isn’t one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is.”

Glancing up, I see Greer looking at me with a dreamy expression.

“It’s weird, huh?” she chuckles, turning her attention toward the people passing on the sidewalk. “One minute, it’s the fun guy who can get you into the best parties, and the next thing you know it’s the guy you can imagine being a great dad someday… or already is.”

“What am I going to do?” I practically beg, needing her ever-present wisdom.

She sighs deeply. “This is a tricky one, my friend. The landmines are plentiful and I guess you’re going to have to decide how much damage you’re willing to sustain. I mean, there’s the guy, right?” she asks, placing her elbows on the table. “He’s a professional baseball player and everyone knows those guys come with their own amount of baggage. But then, you add in two kids and a baby mama who abandoned them. Not to mention, you’re now the live-in nanny.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m screwed.”

“Basically.” Nodding, she takes a large drink of wine. “But,” she says with an elongated pause, holding a finger in the air for dramatic effect. “If anyone can navigate this situation, it’s you. You’ve never shied away from what you want. Look at you. I mean, you should be in some stuffy boardroom or married to a politician, but you didn’t accept any of those cards dealt to you. No way, you blazed your own path, stared expectation in the face, and made it your bitch.”

At that, I laugh. “You’re probably the only person who doesn’t think I’m an idiot for not following in my family’s footsteps and living up to the Callahan name.”

“You are not an idiot,” she admonishes. “You’re smart and you follow your heart. I admire that about you more than you’ll ever know.”

Smiling across at my friend, I feel lighter. “Thanks for always being supportive.”

“I also admire that fierce sexual goddess hiding under those flowy dresses and bohemian vibe,” she mutters, cutting her eyes to me and giving me a mischievous smile.

“Shut up,” I say, fighting back a smile and losing miserably.

We both laugh, because she’s not wrong. I’m not sure if I’d go as far as calling myself a sexual goddess, but I’ve never been scared of my sexuality. I love living in the moment and I love feeling good. I’ve explored and experimented and I have zero regrets.

“But,” she says, almost covertly, “If it was me, I’d guard my heart and stay the course. You only have to do this for six months. In the grand scheme of things, that’s a blip on your radar. Then, you’ll be off on your next grand adventure and all of this will be a memory in your never-ending scrapbook of life.”

I know she’s right.

She’s always right.

And it’s exactly what I need to hear.

Her wise words are still ringing in my ears an hour later that evening when I walk back into the Thatcher house—a renewed resolve at my back. Until I see them—Owen, Molly, and Ryan—standing in the dining room.

Bright, welcoming smiles.

A home cooked meal on the table.

And flowers, just for me.