A Cinderella Twist: A Contemporary Royal Romance Page 8

  She sighs, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. “That reminds me, I forgot to tell you he almost went to live with the chimpanzees at the zoo last weekend.” She shakes her head, following me to the coffee maker and the cup she left behind there on the counter, half full. “Let him go with his grandma, you know, the paternal one.” She makes a face. We’re not big fans. “And less than an hour later, I get a call from zoo security telling me they found my child and could I please come and get him.” She takes a sip before she goes on. “Never did hear from Grandma Sue.” Hence, why we’re not big fans.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe you should have left him. Aiden could have been happy there.”

  She looks unimpressed with my suggestion.

  Then we both laugh.

  “Speaking of boys who make us crazy. How are things going with Chase’s brother?” She wiggles her brows in a way that almost makes me start giggling all over again. But just almost. Nothing about Lachlan makes me want to giggle as of late. Ever since he melted a brief hole in that steely demeanor of his and let me see his soft and vulnerable side, his history, and above all, his pain, I’ve been running out of good reasons to categorize feelings for him as a bad thing. Outside of the obvious distance factor, he’s not providing much to help me talk myself out of totally falling for him. And that, is clearly not an option.

  “I told you, Nora. Nothing is going anywhere or any which way with Chase’s brother. He’s just visiting. And I’m just helping him out,” I recap the points I covered already on Monday night when she caught me on a Lachlan high after our surprise playdate at the swing set.

  “And I told you, Greer,” she says in what I know from experience to be her mom voice, “I hear you talk about loads of boys day in and day out and I’ve never seen you light up while talking about them the way you did the other night talking about this one.”

  I make a face. “Loads of boys?”

  She grimaces right back at me, eyes bulging a bit for effect. “Chase.”

  “Is gay. And he still lights me up plenty.”

  “Abbas.”

  “Is my whory neighbor, he doesn’t count. Plus, he’s sleeping with Mal.”

  Nora seems temporarily distracted in her countdown. “Wait, what? No, I won’t be derailed.” She shakes her head, determination rebuilding on her face as she does. “But I’m gonna wanna come back to that.”

  “As expected.” I gesture for her to go on. “But you were saying about loads. And boys.” Now that we’ve covered the two most obvious names, which admittedly, I mention a lot, I’m willing to bet her list is a lot shorter than she anticipated.

  “Right. Trevor. Max. Benton. Luke. Ronnie. Wes.” She counts using the fingers on her right hand, then moves on to her left. “Justin. Steve. Philip. Vince. Morris.” When she runs out of fingers, she stops. Also, it’s a good thing I’m not much for gambling.

  “Did you memorize the playbill from my last performance?” I ask, brow crinkled, and eyes narrowed.

  “Only three of them were in your last play,” she retorts. “And I don’t know that from the playbill, I know that because you told me.”

  “I didn’t realize I overshared so much,” I grumble, moving through the kitchen toward the pantry. This coffee needs something dunked in it and Nora always keeps a secret stash of cookies on the top shelf.

  “Oh, you definitely do,” she goes on, following me across the room. “But it’s totally normal. Only natural to have an excess of words desperate to be used after spending the day with five kids. Trust me, I do the same thing on the weekends when my mother calls to catch up on Sunday nights.” She waits for me to retrieve the cookies before she goes on, “Now that we’ve established I was right and I know what the hell I’m talking about, can you start talking about the thing I actually wanted to hear about? I have, like, five minutes before I have to kiss my kids goodbye and run from the apartment.”

  I sigh, taking out a cookie and holding it in my cup to let it soak up an appropriate amount of coffee before I pop it into my mouth and surrender to the inevitable. “I can’t like him.”

  “Why not?” Then she seems to remember. “Is this about your career before boys thing?”

  “I told you about that too?” Seems like a poor choice, confiding in her about my goals to give up nannying.

  “That you’re not dating until you’re no longer my nanny?” She nods grimly. “Yeah. And I’m assuming you didn’t mean that to imply all my kids were grown and your services were no longer needed.”

  “If it helps at all, I have zero prospects of making this goal a reality anytime soon. The rate I’m going, your kids will be grown. And I’ll have nannied for them and their kids as well.” I reach for another cookie. “And yes, it’s that thing. I don’t know why everyone is making it sound like it’s a dumb thing. It’s not a dumb thing. It’s a responsible thing.” Which reminds me. “You know what else is a responsible thing? Not falling for a guy who is only in town for a week and then goes back home. To another country.”

  “This country have closed borders or something?”

  “I don’t know,” I scoff. “No. Probably not.”

  “You’re scared of airplanes?” she goes on. “Don’t know how to facetime? Still use a landline to make international calls? What?”

  “No, to all of those things.” I can hear the exasperation in my voice, and I try to calm myself before I say anything else. “It’s just...”

  “Your dream means more to you than anything,” Nora finishes for me.

  I bite my lip, wondering if it’s selfish to feel this way. Then I remember it would be more selfish to deny it and pretend otherwise. “It does.”

  She leans in to take a cookie from the box. She must have finished her coffee at some point during this discussion, because she takes a bite of it dry. Still good, but not preferrable if coffee and dunking are available options. She crunches away for several moments before she speaks again. “Who says you have to choose?”

  Then she winks at me before turning to walk out of the kitchen, heading down the hall to the bedrooms to say goodbye to Aiden and Liz before running out the front door as she predicted she would.

  Once it’s just me and the kids, the morning shapes up in a normal fashion as we fall into our regular routines and no one expresses anymore interest in my love life. Perks of hanging with people in their single digits, I suppose.

  Lachlan shows up with Monroe just as I’m fixing lunch and the whole exchange ends up taking only a few minutes with me tied up in cooking and him having to run right back out to make it to his appointment with Triston.

  Mo blends into our little trio easily, making for a happy foursome as we head out for a little adventure before the big kids come home from school. The weather’s not enticing enough to head for the playground, so instead, I bundle everyone up, strap Mo and Liz into Nora’s stroller and take them all for a walk down to my father’s bookstore.

  It’s just a block and half from the apartment, giving us the perfect amount of movement to burn off some of Aiden’s afternoon energy without burning him out completely.

  “Is it story time?” Aiden calls in sync with the jingling bells on the shop doors as he goes bursting inside.

  “It’s always story time,” my father says from behind his counter at the center of the store. “Or it will be, just as soon as you find the perfect one.”

  Aiden doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s been here often enough to know the layout inside and out, and he wastes no time running straight to the back where the children’s section is set up, complete with a large sofa and plenty of bean bag chairs, blankets and pillows. There’s even an electric fireplace sitting between the bookshelves along the wall. This time of year, it’s for heat as well as ambiance.

  I’m way past the suggested age for readers, but it’s still my favorite part of the shop.

  “Have you added to your collection?” my father muses, taking in both girls peering up at him from the stroller, rosy
cheeks and smiles for days.

  “This is Monroe,” I introduce her. “She’s Chase’s niece. Her and her dad are visiting and I’m just helping out today while he has an appointment.”

  “Well, you picked the perfect day to come and see me with your new friend,” my father says, reaching into the stroller to unbuckle Mo and lift her out, her little arms reaching for him, eager to be freed. “I just got a brand-new rocking chair for the kids’ corner and I’ve been wondering who was going to help me break it in. Liz and Monroe will be perfect for the job.”

  “Dad, you have no idea. Both these girls are obsessed with swinging,” I tell him, getting Liz from the stroller just as soon as my father and Mo are out of the way.

  “I found a book,” Aiden yells, hurrying toward us. Waving two books in the air.

  “Don’t you mean you found two?” I tease, laughing at him.

  “One is for story time and one is for me,” he informs me, looking at me like I’m not nearly as smart as I think I am.

  “My mistake.” I press my lips together tightly to keep from laughing anymore. “Alright then, lead the way to the kids’ corner so Papa Reads can start his story telling. I’m excited to hear what you picked out for us,” I tell him, pointing ahead in the same direction he just came from.

  “I call purple bean bag,” he shouts, zipping off again.

  My dad chuckles, following close behind him.

  Me and Liz are last in line, taking our time as we walk through the rows of shelves and I peek through each aisle checking for new displays and titles I haven’t read yet.

  When we reach the back, Aiden is busy dragging his purple bean bag over to the rocking chair which my father is already seated in, gently swaying forward and back, much to Mo’s delight.

  “I guess that means we get the sofa,” I tell Liz, snagging a quilt from the blanket basket on the way. “Let’s go snuggle in and find out what book Aiden picked out for Papa Reads to share with us today.”

  Liz smushes her cheek to mine at the word snuggle. She just started doing it a week or two ago, but it’s my new favorite form of affection from her.

  LACHLAN

  THE LITTLE SHOP OF Stories is every bit what you’d expect from the name. It’s cozy and warm and welcoming in every way possible. Between the smell of coffee and hot chocolate mingling with cinnamon and clove, the quiet music playing in the background and the wall-to-wall shelves of books and book-related art and illustrations, it’s the homiest store I’ve ever set foot in. The living room furniture placed all throughout doesn’t hurt matters either, nor does the fact that Monroe’s giggling is the first thing I hear upon entering.

  For a moment, the last two hours disappear. The days before, melt away, and even the weeks leading up to coming here, begin to blur. Then my phone rings, jarring me back to all the things I want to deny, and with them the looming decision I know I’ll have to make before the week’s end.

  “And?” A voice demands as soon as I answer. It’s a familiar voice. A pushy voice.

  “McKenna,” I say as pleasantly as I can muster. “So nice to hear from you.”

  “Skip the formalities, your highness. Just get to the point. I’m two flights of stairs away from a surprise visit with a mom I’ve been rooting for despite my better judgment and I could really do with a pick-me-up before I knock on her door and all my worst fears become reality. Again.”

  I hesitate before I answer. I hear her talk about her work all the time, but somehow, I never heard her day to day quite like this. Something clicks, and I suddenly get why this situation with Monroe is so hard for her. Because for the last seventeen months, she’s been one of the kids McKenna didn’t have to worry about.

  “Well, you were right about the checklist,” I tell her, rubbing the back of my head while I tuck back into the section of self-help books in hopes of securing a few minutes of privacy. So far, no one seems to know I’m here yet and I’d like to keep it that way until I finish this conversation. “It was pretty useless in the practical sense. According to the list, Triston is the perfect potential parent, and I shouldn’t think twice about handing him his daughter and wishing them well.”

  “I told you the list sucks,” she mumbles, breathing heavier than normal while she climbs the stairs. I’m guessing she was at this for a while already before she called me.

  “It really sucks,” I reconfirm. “It especially sucks, because the closer I got to seeing he was meeting all the state’s standard requirements, the more I realized he was meeting none of mine.” I look around quickly, just to make sure I’m really alone, then I hiss, “He’s a total douchebag, McKenna. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

  “You really want me to answer that? Because last time I told you what to do, you kind of stopped talking to me for two weeks and then showed up in person to tell me you decided to do the exact opposite of what I said.” Silence follows. She must have reached her floor.

  “You’re right.” I sigh. “I don’t want you to answer that.” I shake my head, hand moving around from the back of my head to the front to massage my forehead. This conversation is starting to give me a headache. It’s only slightly less off-putting than the way my stomach turned every time Triston referred to Monroe as ‘the kid’ and Riley as ‘that chick’, like he couldn’t remember either of their names.

  “Didn’t think so.” I can hear McKenna start to move again. She must be about done with me. Even though I’m fairly certain I didn’t deliver the pick-me-up she was looking for.

  “I’ll figure something out,” I promise. More to myself than to her.

  “I know you will. Just make it something we can all live with.” Then the line goes dead, and McKenna is gone, off to face her next disappointment. I don’t even know which one of us feels worse realizing that I now have to count myself among them.

  I don’t have much time to wallow in self-pity over my current status as deadbeat parent in McKenna’s book though. As soon as I turn around to re-emerge from my hiding spot in the self-help section, I’m face to face with Greer.

  “Third shelf down from the top, fifth book from the left,” she says, pointing behind me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Boys Cry Too.” She raises both brows until her forehead wrinkles. “I assume you’re over here looking for some help in that department.”

  I roll my bottom lip over my teeth and bite down on it with the top row, trying to hide my response before I’m even certain of what it will be. When I realize I’m amused, I start to release my lip again, letting it fall naturally into a smirk. “Must spend a lot of time in this section to be able to offer such specific directions.”

  “Tarot cards are two shelves down.” She shrugs. “Boys Cry Too just happens to be at eye level every time I walk over here to peruse the new decks.”

  Tarot cards. Yeah, I guess I can see that.

  “Hey, didn’t I leave my child in your care?” I ask, changing the topic now that I’ve run out of ways to turn the tables on her with the self-help book section.

  “Did you?” She flicks her wrist nonchalantly. “I see so many of them throughout the day, it’s hard to keep track.”

  “Greer,” I try to sound stern, but it’s hard to look at her when she’s so delighted with herself and still pretend to be serious, let alone mad.

  “Relax, Papa Bear. She’s perfectly safe and happy.” She turns and starts walking. “Come on, I’ll take you to the back to see her.”

  As soon as we start moving toward the center of the store, I can hear Monroe’s giggling again. Wherever she is and whatever she’s doing, she’s most definitely happy. And I’m happiest when she is. It’s the one thing I keep coming back to through all of this. Even if I can’t hear her giggle day in and day out, and even if the thought alone makes some small part of me die inside me every time it crosses my mind, I know, ultimately, if I’m convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt, she’s happy, I’ll be able to live with it. Even if I don’t get to live with her. I can be
dead on the inside and still live with it.

  Greer stops abruptly. I’m completely unprepared and run into her so hard, I nearly knock her into a large display of book themed coffee cups.

  “Whoa,” I call out, just as I grab her shoulders to catch her in an attempt to avert any damages. “What are you doing? Why are you stopping?”

  She barely acknowledges the near collision with ceramics, let alone the actual crash between us. Instead, she’s facing me, hand on my chest and pushing me backward until I’m tucked away in yet another section of the store, I’d rather not be found in. This time, I’m surrounded by shelves upon shelves of romance novels, and from the looks of some of the covers, not the sweet sort.

  “I think I need to hear about how things went with Triston before I take you in there,” she says, looking every bit as serious as she sounds.

  “What? Why?” I shake my head, already trying to move past her and get back on track to finding my kid. I’m close enough now. I can follow the giggles to locate her. But, before I can get anywhere, her hand is back on my chest, forcing me to a standstill. She’s strangely strong for how tiny she is. “Greer, this really isn’t any of your business,” I tell her, trying my best to sound polite but firm.

  “Actually, while I’m responsible for your child, your wellbeing is absolutely my business. Because I can’t hand her back to you unless I’m sure you’re sound enough to care for her, and frankly, right now, you seem a little out of it.”

  I have no idea where this is coming from. “I can assure you, I am perfectly sound and totally with it.”

  “Then why were you talking to yourself the whole way through the store?”

  Was I?

  “What was I saying?”

  Apparently, I’m not helping my case. “If you don’t even know, that only proves my point.” She leans in closer and whispers. “The last part I heard was about being dead on the inside, k? And maybe you can live with that, but I can’t. I can’t just let the next few days pass until you leave and never come back and then spend the rest of my life wondering, if you’re just out there, going through the motions, dead on the inside.”