How To Wife Your Nanny A Billionaire Single Dad Romantic Comedy- Melinda Minx Page 0,45

into her face.

“I will,” I said, “when I’m sure it’s going to last.”

Silas looked at me, but he knew better than to press this further. “Who do you have for lunch?”

“Self-help guy.”

“Stanton?”

I nodded.

“You know what,” Silas said. “Let’s trade. I’d much rather smoke a cigar with Stanton than flirt with an 80-year-old great grandmother.”

“What?” I asked. “What about all the fiancée shit?”

Silas shrugged. “Cozy Cat Lady knows she’s not ever really going to marry you, man. She’s just flirting for fun.”

11

Lacey

Noah left us for lunch, and we stayed in the pool. Naomi and I went down the slide at least ten more times, this time in two-person rafts. We alternated front and back until Naomi eventually decided she liked the back the best.

We checked out the other pool, but it didn’t have as much fun stuff to do for kids, so we started toweling off and getting dressed.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

She nodded. “Do we gotta wait twenty minutes to eat?”

“I think it’s the other way around,” I said. “And don’t tell your Daddy I said so, but that’s just a trick adults made up to trick kids into not swimming so that the grownups can relax and eat their food.”

Naomi smiled wide at me for sharing this forbidden piece of grownup knowledge with her. She held her finger to her lips and mimicked a “shush,” which I assumed was her way of telling me she’d keep it secret.

There were so many different restaurants on the ship to choose from, but since I was with a kid, I just went to the most generic buffet, figuring they’d have something for both of us.

They had freshly baked bread, including deliciously buttery croissants and crusty baguettes. They had all kinds of stuff to put on the bread, including an array of cheeses, butters, and even very expensive looking smoked salmon.

I got us a little bit of everything, and a big plate of fresh fruits.

“Your Daddy said you like fruit,” I said, setting everything down onto a table with a window view of the sea.

“Yes,” she said. “Ohhh, is that a avocado?”

“It is!” I said, sliding a plate toward her.

They had these little stations where a chef was slicing fresh avocados, drizzling some extra virgin olive oil onto them, and sprinkling them with sea salt. Naomi grabbed one and took a bite. “Mmmm, yummy!”

I ate one too. It was perfectly ripe, and the olive oil had notes of fresh cut grass, and the sea salt had a nice texture to it, which ultimately tied everything together and really set off the flavors.

“Ew, Miss Lacey Larsen,” Naomi said, “you’re eating fish?”

“This is smoked salmon,” I said. “It’s so delicious.”

“Fish is gross.”

“Well, I’m going to eat it. I think it’s delicious on this croissant. It’s so nice and buttery, and then the fish tastes so nice and fresh, it’s like I’m eating the ocean.”

“Daddy said I’m not allowed to drink the ocean water.”

“Well, you could try eating the salmon to get a taste of it. Unless you think it’s too gross, that is.”

“I don’t think it’s gross,” she said.

I cut the croissant in half and handed it to her. “Of course not.”

She looked at it skeptically with furrowed brows. She clutched it with both hands, and she looked up to me for approval just before it reached her mouth. I smiled to her, but tried not to make too big a deal of it.

She took a timid little bite, but the croissant did its job, and the buttery goodness baited her into a second, much larger bite.

She chewed, and I saw her face react when the fish taste finally hit her, but she swallowed it down and nodded to me. “I think it’s maybe good.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

She didn’t pick it up again or take another bite, but I considered it a victory. Getting kids to eat new foods was often just about getting them to try it, and to not associate it with being “gross” or “icky,” and the next time she saw smoked salmon, she might be willing to try it again. Maybe next time she’d like it more.

A woman in a smart button-up shirt and a black skirt approached our table. Her hair was in a tight bun, and she looked maybe ten years older than me. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Naomi and I eyed her nervously.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m Lisa Woods,” she said, “from Red Sun Press.”

Oh. Red Sun Press. They were the bad guys. Well, not bad guys, but Noah’s