The Setup and the Substitute by Jiffy Kate
Chapter 6
Sophie
When I approach Neutral Grounds,the coffee shop Owen suggested we meet at, I stop to peek inside to see if he’s already here, while trying not to be obvious. Most of the tables are empty, except for a few up toward the front. Those are occupied by what looks like students who’ve met up for study sessions.
Pulling the door open, I step inside and approach the counter.
A familiar face turns to greet me.
“Well, hey there,” the owner, CeCe, says as she adjusts her apron. “Not used to seeing you this time of day.”
Smiling, I tilt my head. “Yeah, I’m meeting someone here. But I definitely need some coffee.”
“Long day?” she asks.
“The longest,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve been corralling nineteen preschoolers for the last seven hours.” After my assignment with Molly’s class was over, I was sent to a preschool class in the same school.
CeCe’s eyes go wide. “Whoa, too bad I don’t sell alcohol… which I should, because this is New Orleans.”
“You totally should,” I agree. “I’d be your most loyal customer, especially after the day I had today… or week, really.”
“I can only imagine.” She shakes her head, leaning against the glass case that houses all of their amazing baked goods. “My friends all have kids, but they’re still small and there’s not nineteen of them… and it still takes our entire village.”
We’re laughing again when I hear the chime of the door opening. Without even turning around, I know it’s Owen. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
The atmosphere shifted.
Or maybe it was the energy in the room.
Something.
Trying to play it cool, I quickly point to the last remaining chocolate croissant. “I’ll take that and an iced mocha.”
“Good choice,” CeCe says, glancing past me, over my shoulder, as she calls out a greeting. “Welcome to Neutral Grounds. I’ll be right with you.”
“Take your time,” his deep baritone voice comes from behind me, making my breath hitch.
“Hello, Sophie… or should I call you Miss Callahan?”
Letting out what I hope is a casual chuckle, I pivot to face him, hands clasped in front of me to keep from fidgeting. “Sophie, please. Only my students call me Miss Callahan.”
“Thanks for meeting me today,” he says, his piercing eyes somewhat shadowed due to the ball cap he has pulled low. A pair of sunglasses hang from the collar of his t-shirt that clings perfectly to the muscles beneath, completing an aloof vibe I wasn’t prepared for.
Fighting back a blush, I clear my throat and reply quickly to cover any awkwardness I’m feeling. “No problem, but it would’ve been nice to know in advance what I was in for.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s enough double entendre there that I have to turn away from him so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at myself.
Get it together, Sophie.
“One chocolate croissant and an iced mocha,” CeCe says cheerfully, her eyes darting from me to Owen and back to me with a slight raise of her brows—conveying a variety of questions in this simple gesture.
Is this who you’re meeting?
Is it a date?
You should definitely make it one if it’s not.
Oh, God. Please don’t say anything, I silently beg with a smile that probably looks like it belongs to a serial killer. Faster than you can say Sebastian Stan—who Owen actually resembles, except Owen is a little taller and has brown eyes—I pay her, mumbling a thank you as I stuff an extra tip in her jar for not outing me to the Adonis behind me.
“I’ll grab us a table,” I say to Owen as I pass him without a glance.
I hear him place his order as I sit at one of the tables by the window.
Black coffee.
I read an article once that said a person’s coffee order can say a lot about their personality. Take me for instance, I’m a mocha drinker, preferably iced, and according to the article it means I’m sophisticated and bold. I like that.
Black coffee drinkers?They’re supposed to like simplicity, be efficient, and can often be set in their ways.
“You’re right, I should’ve told you a little bit about why I wanted to meet you,” Owen says, interrupting my thoughts and making me jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a scoff, waving a hand in the air. “I was just thinking … about how amazing this mocha is and wondering why I don’t walk over here more often.”
“Is this close to where you live?” he asks, pulling out the chair across from me and lowering his tall frame into it.
God, he’s so tall.
And those jeans definitely draw attention to his muscular legs.
I bet his ass looks great in baseball pants.
Which reminds me, I should consider being more supportive of our local sports teams, namely baseball. I’ve never been to a game. What kind of New Orleanian am I?
When Owen clears his throat, I realize he’s still waiting on me to answer his question.
“Oh, yeah, uh, not far from here.”
As he takes a tentative sip of his coffee and then lowers the mug to the table, I try not to notice how big his hands look wrapped around the ceramic. Resting his elbows on the weathered wood, he glances out the window beside us, watching people for a moment before bringing his eyes back to mine.
“I didn’t mention why I wanted to meet you because I was afraid you’d turn me down before I got the chance to really talk to you about it. So I’ll cut to the chase. Remember what Molly said that day in the ice cream shop?” he asks, pausing.
My mind immediately goes back to that day and begins flipping through the moments like snapshots.
Running after Molly because she forgot her favorite jean jacket.
Noticing Owen before he even had a chance to turn around.
Watching him with his children at the ice cream shop.
“She mentioned wanting you to be her nanny,” he offers.
My eyes widen.
Oh, right.
She did say that.
When I don’t respond, he continues. “I know you already have a job,” he says, leveling me with those brown eyes that are still hidden under the brim of his nondescript black ball cap. I guess it’d be a bit too telling to wear a New Orleans Revelers hat. Now that I think about it, the hat and sunglasses are probably his way of walking around incognito.
I hate to tell him, there’s no covering up everything he’s got going on and the fact that he’s somebody.
There’s just something about the way he carries himself.
I guarantee he can’t walk down the sidewalk and not get at least a few people to do a double take, thinking to themselves he looks familiar. They may not be able to place him, but he definitely makes them stop and notice.
“And I’m not trying to take you away from something you love, but to be honest, I’m desperate.”
Inhaling deeply, my shoulders rise and then fall as I exhale. “You want me to be your nanny?”
“The pay is good and includes health benefits,” he says, sounding more and more straightforward as he continues. “But I’m not going to sugarcoat it, the schedule is hard. One hundred and sixty-two games a year, half of those on the road. You’d basically be living at our house full-time. My days off are few and far between, but when I do have one, you’ll be free to go home or whatever you’d like. As you know, we’ve had a few issues in the past, but I think it was more a conflict of personalities than anything. Molly and Ryan already like you, so that part would be easy. You wouldn’t have to use your own vehicle and I’ll reimburse you for any and all expenses.”
His offer is honest and, quite honestly, intriguing.
“Can I ask where their mother is?” I know it’s not any of my business, but he is offering me a job and I’d like to know everything I can about them so I can make an educated decision.
“She left about ten months ago,” he says solemnly. “It’s complicated, but she’s not in the picture.”
At least she’s just not in the picture. My mind had come up with a few scenarios and, as sad as it is that she left, I’m glad she’s not gone forever.
“I really like Molly and Ryan,” I admit, letting the wheels in my head turn as I speak. “They’re great kids. And I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. But I’m still trying to get my foot in the door with the school system and I can’t really do that if I’m not in the classroom.”
However, I’ve always loved experiencing new things, and something about this feels like it could be an adventure, one that could possibly look good on my resume.
Sure, it’s not teaching, but it’s hands-on experience taking care of children.
We sit there in silence for a moment—me sipping my iced mocha and nibbling my chocolate croissant while I mull over the pros and cons swirling in my head.
Pro: It probably pays more than substitute teaching.
Con: It’s not a teaching job.
Pro: I’d get to hang with Molly and Ryan every day and they’re really great kids.
Con: My family will assume this is another fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants decision or that I’m not serious about being a teacher.
“So you haven’t found any other promising replacements?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“No.”
I’m sensing Owen has possibly reached his word limit for this conversation or he’s not happy with my response, because he’s now leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, amplifying the muscles in his biceps.
Sighing, I lean forward, trying hard not to ogle him and just have a real conversation—putting my attraction aside for the sake of Molly and Ryan. “Maybe I could fill in for a while, like a substitute… I’m good at that,” I say with a small laugh, trying to bring some levity back to the conversation. “But I have to be upfront with you and let you know I’m going to continue to pursue a teaching job. It’s what I went to school for and what I feel like I’m supposed to do with my life.”
Plus, there’s that whole proving myself to my parents thing, but we won’t go there.
“Fair enough. But I’d need you to give me at least six months,” Owen says, turning his gaze from the window back to me, a hard set to his exceptionally chiseled jaw. “Molly and Ryan need stability. They’ve been through a lot over the past year and I really want to give them that.”
I get the feeling there’s so much more to that statement, but like me, he’s not going there.
Six months.
It’s almost May, meaning school will be out in a few weeks. It was my goal to land a full-time job before then so I’d have all summer to plan and prepare, but my prospects are low and the reality is it probably isn’t going to happen.
Six months would also mean my time would be up in October, leaving me jobless in the middle of the school year.
“Baseball season is over in October,” Owen explains. “It would give me the off-season to take my time and find someone new.”
I can only imagine how difficult this is for him, leaving them with a virtual stranger while he’s gone for days at a time. It makes my heart hurt for him and for Molly and Ryan. He’s right, they do need stability. And he needs the peace of mind that they’re being well taken care of while he’s gone.
“If you’re willing to sign the contract,” he continues, “I’ll pay you ten grand a month, all expenses covered, plus a bonus at the end of the six months.”
Ten thousand dollars a month?
Whoa.
Also, holy shit.
It’s crazy that I spent so much time and money to teach children, and here Owen is, offering me a small fortune to basically be a glorified babysitter.
I mean, I realize there’s more to it than just babysitting, but still.
I’m only making about five hundred dollars a week right now. So ten grand is a huge pay increase. With the extra money, I could replenish my savings and be set for a while, not needing to dip into my trust fund for a long time.
Besides, what’s six months?
I once backpacked around Europe for six months.
So, I can definitely be a nanny for two amazing kids like Molly and Ryan for that long.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I look up from where my eyes have been glued to the half-eaten croissant to find Owen watching me with intently.
Something about the way he’s staring at me could be misconstrued—mistaken for something other than a person waiting for a response to a job offer.
At least, not this kind of job offer.
Can I do this?
Can I be this guy's nanny?
His expression cools some, almost like he’s having his own inward battle of wills. There’s definitely a palpable attraction between us. I’ve always been good at reading people and Owen Thatcher is interested, but he wants something else more.
“I’ll do it.”