Page 7 of The Write Choice

“No,” I say again, though my tone is less convincing.

The room is silent for long enough that I’m pretty sure he left, but then he’s next to me, grabbing Christine’s tiny shirts and folding them. I stop what I’m doing and watch him.

He doesn’t look up from his task as he asks, “What?”

I clear my throat. “Nothing.”

He glances at me, then back to the shirts. “You know,” he starts cautiously as he lays a folded pink shirt on top of the pile, “we could find someone to help out when we get to Leade Park.”

This isn’t the first time he’s brought this up. We’re probably the only people in our social circle who don’t have hired help. At first, I balked at the idea. I didn’t come from money, so I’d never considered hiring a housekeeper or nanny. And besides, I was obsessed with Mason when he was born. No one was going to care for him as well as I could. By the time Christine came along, I was determined to give them as close to a normal upbringing as possible.

Now, both Mason and Christine are at school, and Brandon rarely works from home, so these chores are all that fill the hours between drop off and pick up. And yet, they never seem to end.

I scoff and turn back to Brandon’s stack of laundry. “What would I do with my time if we hired someone?” My tone is no-nonsense, but it’s a cover. I genuinely have no idea how I’d fill the hours.

Brandon rests his huge hand on top of the tiny clothes and slides his gaze to me. “Anything you want.”

I try not to let my surprise show on my face. It’s not him telling me to do whatever I want that’s shocking. I’m more taken aback that, given the opportunity, I don’t actually know what I want to do.

I shut down my expression and shift to Mason’s pile of clothes. “I can’t do anything I want,” I grumble. “What I want is to stay in New York.”

I can see Brandon’s shoulders sag. From the corner of my eye, he looks crestfallen, and I feel bad for saying it, even as I press my lips into a firm line and laser-focus on the laundry.

“Katie—” he starts, but he’s cut off by my phone ringing. I grab it off the nightstand and answer it without looking at the number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mrs. Conley? This is Riverside Premier Preschool calling,” a woman’s voice comes through the line, and she already sounds apologetic.

I know where this is going. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Yes, this is she.”

“I’m so sorry to call in the middle of the day, but your daughter, Christine, vomited after her snack today and is running a low-grade fever. You’ll have to come get her as soon as possible. She won’t be allowed back until she has been fever-free for twenty-four hours,” the woman says.

“Yes, of course.” I glance at Brandon, who has stopped folding to look at me, his brow furrowed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hang up, sliding the phone into the pocket on the side of my leggings and grabbing my purse from the top of the dresser.

“What’s going on?” Brandon asks.

“Christine is sick. I have to go get her, and she can’t go back to school until she’s better for a whole day, so I get to be home with a sick toddler tomorrow.” I check to be sure my wallet is in my purse. “I swear, we’re only paying them for a new virus every other week,” I grouse as I throw my purse over my shoulder and move to leave the room.

Before I can get out the bedroom door, Brandon gently catches me, his hands curling around my upper arm as he turns me to face him. He’s so tall; I can’t help but tilt my chin back to look up at him.

“Let me,” he says softly, the warmth from his touch seeping through the layers of my sweatshirt. The feel of his hand on my arm is so distracting, and his offer to help is so foreign that, for a moment, I’m confused.

“Let you what?” I breathe. The sensation of our bodies so close together has me thinking I’d let him do pretty much anything right now, which sends a wave of heat directly between my legs.

My willpower might not be as strong as I thought it was.

A corner of his mouth tips up as his eyes darken. Oh, he definitely feels this too. He leans ever-so-slightly closer to me, his hand tightening on my bicep. For a second, I’m positive he’s going to kiss me, and even though I’m angry and frustrated and disappointed, I desperately want him to.

But then he blinks a few times and breaks the spell. “Let me go get her.”

I blink a few times and take an involuntary step backwards. His hand drops from my arm to his side.

“Oh. Um…” I trail off, looking down at the ground. My instinct is to tell him no, to reassure him that I’ve got this because I always do. But if I’m going to demand that he’s around more, then I should put my money where my mouth is. I look up at him, and his expression tells me he’s eager to do this. “Yeah. Sure.”

He nods once and brushes past me out of the bedroom. His keys jingle as he grabs them off the key hook by the door. I come out of the bedroom to stand in the hallway. He pauses when he sees me.

“Thanks, Brandon,” I say, my voice hushed.