Page 23 of Falling for Her

“Hey, how was today?” she asks softly.

“It was long,” I huff out, pulling the towel out of my hair. “I thought I was doing a great job. And then Lincoln came home and basically told me I wasn’t.” The sting of tears threatens, which makes me pissed that I’m letting him get to me.

“What do you mean he told you that you weren’t doing a great job?”

“He came in and asked why Asa was on the couch.” I tell her what happened. “Like, how am I supposed to know that you want him in his bed? I thought he would be happy to see his son after a long day.”

“So, what did we learn on day one?” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Well, we learned I need to ask him what time Asa needs to be in bed, and that Lincoln is a jerkface.” She bursts out laughing as I spray my leave-in conditioner and comb it through my hair.

“Well, tomorrow is another day.” I can hear she’s tired.

“When are you going to stop working so many hours?” I pick up my dirty clothes from the floor. “You know you need double the sleep.” Turning off the bathroom light, I go to my bedroom.

“How would you know that?”

“Theo told me.” I try not to laugh when she groans.

“I’m fine.” I hear chatter on her end of the phone. “Listen, I have to go. I have a call. But I’ll call you tomorrow when I wake up.”

“Be safe,” I tell her, and she disconnects. I put my clothes in the laundry basket in the closet and slip under the covers. I prop two pillows behind me and open my phone, going straight to the search bar. “What to do with an eight-year-old boy?”

The circle thing shows me it’s loading the answers. “Let’s see what you got.” I skim the results. “Okay, outdoor adventures like biking. I can do that. I wonder if Lincoln has a bike?” I open up my notes app, typing: Questions to ask Asa’s dad. Do you have a bike? I open the browser again. “Camping. That is a fuck no. Never in my life will I ever do that. Or we could build a model rocket.” I snort-laugh, pulling up the notes app. I picture Lincoln’s face when I ask him in the morning, “Can I build a model rocket?”

I’m about to go back to the browser when I hear rustling coming from right outside. My head turns toward the window, and I hear it again. I sit up in bed, listening, not sure if it’s a normal sound since it’s my first night here.

When I lie back down, I hear it again. I turn on the light on the side table, throw back the covers, and walk to the window. My hands shake as I move the curtain to the side. I don’t know why I’m expecting eyes to be looking at me. All I see is darkness. I let the curtain fall back in place and get back in bed.

The noise starts again. It could be the rustling of the trees. I get back up, go to the front door, and open it. It’s literally what they tell you not to do, what all the scary movies warn you about. I turn on the flashlight on my phone.

“Hello?”

A gust of wind blows through. I step out and look around the yard. All the lights in the house are off. “Get your ass back inside and lock the fucking door,” I tell myself. I go back in, slam the door, and lock it. Then I run back to my bedroom and jump back into my bed.

I turn off the light and lie back, pulling up my browser again. I was exhausted ten minutes ago; now I’m wired, listening to every single creak from outside. I turn off my phone, keeping it in my hand as I look over at the window. I don’t know what I’m looking or listening for, but four hours later, I’m still wide-awake.

When the alarm rings the next morning at 7:15 a.m., my eyes slowly peel open. I moan as I shut it off. I get up with my eyes still closed. I’ve never brushed my teeth with my eyes closed, but then I’ve never had to set my alarm to get up to go to work. I’ve set alarms for school or to catch a flight, but never for work.

I rinse out my mouth and then cup my hands under the water and wash off my face before pinning my hair on the top of my head. I pull on a pair of loose brown shorts, my white bra, and a white tank top. “Does this say I’m a nanny or a babysitter?” I ask my reflection in the mirror. “Maybe put a shirt on.” I slip on my long-sleeved button-down linen shirt before sliding my feet into my Birkenstocks.

My alarm rings again to let me know it’s time to go. I walk out of the apartment and am five steps from the back door when I think maybe I should walk to the front. I’m about to turn around when the back door opens.

“Morning,” Lincoln greets. He’s dressed pretty much the same as he was yesterday, in black cargo pants with a black shirt.

“Hmm.” I walk up the steps, feeling like a zombie. He backs up into the house, and I smell coffee. “Coffee,” I whisper, heading to the kitchen and opening the cupboards to look for a cup. I find one right beside the coffee maker, pour some in, and smell it. “Ahhh,” I sigh.

“So, not a morning person?” he asks me.

“I need coffee in me before I talk to you.” I pull open the fridge, find the milk, and add it to my cup.

He pulls out his stool, sitting down with his own cup in front of him.

“Is Asa up?” I ask.

He shakes his head, and I take a sip of the coffee. “So can I talk now?” he asks jokingly. “Or do you need two sips first?”

“I need about two cups before I can deal with you.” I look over at the clock on top of the stove. He probably has to leave soon. “But I don’t think we have the time, so we might as well speed through it.”