“Slowly. Might be less boring if I had someone to lunch with. Do you, by any chance, eat?”
“I do,” Hannah nodded. “Often at lunchtime, in fact. Perhaps we could eat together.”
“Perhaps we could!” Rae slid a mischievous glance towards the parents huddled in the park, most of whom were now openly staring. “Do you think they want an invitation, too?”
“Knowing that crowd as I do,” Hannah murmured, “they’re probably terrified by the sight of us together. Because I am known around town as a lunatic, and you, being from the city, must also be a lunatic.”
“Wonderful,” Rae said happily. “We’ll have to make sure people see us together often. Don’t you think?”
Hannah smiled, and meant it, for the first time in a while. “I do.”
Nate hadn’t been in the best mood recently, but today he was positively cheerful. Shirley’s latest appointment had yielded semi-good news; she was eligible for surgery to remove most of her tumours. And if it went well, she could stop taking methotrexate. And if she stopped taking methotrexate, she would, in her own words. “Stop feeling half-dead all the bloody time.”
So he was feeling pretty fucking good.
Even sitting at the dinner table opposite Hannah wasn’t enough to dampen his happiness—not that Hannah typically made him unhappy. It was more her complete indifference to him, combined with his pathetic longing for her, that usually ruined his day. But right now, as Nate enjoyed the excellent pasta made by his excellent nanny, he could almost convince himself that her indifference was a good thing. Kind of. Somewhat. One of them had to be sensible, after all.
Josh was chattering on about his day at school and how he’d learned his twenty-rows. Nate had no idea what twenty-rows were, but clearly Josh was an expert on the topic. In fact, his son just might be a genius.
“And after maths we went outside and played rounders,” Josh was saying, “and Ava laughed at me because I couldn’t catch, so I put a cone on her head.”
Yes, Nate decided. His son was indeed a genius.
“Joshua,” Hannah murmured in a tone that suggested she disagreed. “What did we say about expressing anger?”
Josh sighed heavily. “Use your words.”
Oh. Right. Yeah. Nate cleared his throat and added, “You mustn’t put cones on people’s heads, Josh.”
Josh sighed again, even more heavily. It was a wonder his tiny lungs could handle that much air. “O-kay.”
“Good boy.” Nate turned to Beth, trying very hard not to look at Hannah in the process. Which was difficult, when Hannah was sitting right there, wearing a bright white shirt (who wore white to eat pasta? The woman was both brilliant and terrifying) and purple lipstick. He’d taken a picture of her in that same lipstick just last week.
Not that she’d noticed. His photograph-Hannah-by-stealth campaign was going extremely well. In fact, it might be the only thing that was going well between them. That, and treating each other appropriately. They were doing great there.
Not that he absolutely fucking hated it, or anything.
“Beth,” he said brightly. “How was your day?”
“It was good!” Beth said. “We found a monster doggy.”
His brows shot up. He looked over at Hannah—which was okay, because he was looking as a baffled parent rather than a lovesick pervert. She met his gaze with a wry smile, which was also okay, because she was just being a capable and caring nanny. “It was a very safe and friendly monster doggy,” she assured him, her tone dry.
Then the moment passed. Now they were just Hannah and Nate smiling at each other, and everything became unbearably intimate and potentially inappropriate again. He looked away.
“It was this big, Daddy,” Beth said, raising her hand to improbable heights.
“This big,” Josh corrected, kneeling on his chair and thrusting his arm into the air.
“THIS big—”
“Alright! Sit down, both of you. We don’t stand on chairs at the dinner table.” He could practically see Hannah having heart palpitations. “It was a very big dog, is the message I’m receiving.”
“Yes.” Beth nodded. “And the lady who owns it says she’s a pirate—”
“She is a pirate,” Josh insisted. “I know she is. She told me.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I do!”
“If she was a pirate,” Beth said, “she’d be on the ocean. Obviously, she’s not a pirate. Is she, Hannah?”
Hannah hesitated, spearing pasta onto her fork. “I’m not sure. Perhaps she’s a retired pirate.”
“Will you ask her?” Josh prodded.
“Send her a message!” Beth suggested. “And tell us what she