Destiny and the Devil, page 5
“It’s not dirty, Juniper. It’s singed. They tried to set me on fire.”
I can’t resist letting a small giggle escape my throat. “Is that all?”
She looks at me curiously. “Are you not scared? Maybe you’re not listening. The previous Nanny… she woke up covered in slime. They were watching DIY videos on YouTube, and they made a few buckets full of slime. They tried to drown her in it.”
“Awww. That’s so cute,” I say with a chuckle. “They sound very creative. I can handle a little slime. Anything else?”
The housekeeper shakes her head. “You really don’t comprehend the severity of the problem. But you will. It’s a live-in nanny position, so if you’re really certain you want to subject yourself to this cruel and unusual punishment, when can you start?”
“My mother has two more days of chemotherapy treatment that I need to drive her to if my father isn’t feeling well enough.” Of course, there are other reasons I kind of really want to go back to the hospital, in hopes of meeting my mystery man again. But I better not mention that. “I can work part-time until then, but I can move my things here on Sunday night and commit to being a full-time nanny and drill sergeant and punching bag, and whatever else you need me to be!”
“It’s your funeral,” Mathilde says, as she shakes her head sadly. She walks over to the large desk in the room and picks up a piece of paper. “Someday, when you’re on fire, and drowning in slime, while snakes are squeezing the life out of you—don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is what they are prepared to offer you for a monthly salary. Is it sufficient?”
When she shows me the piece of paper, my mouth drops open.
“Keep in mind that it’s a difficult, dangerous job, and every single day, you will be risking your life. Is it really worth it? For just a few dollars?”
“Hell, yes!” I say, taking the piece of paper from her and clutching it against my chest. I did not expect to see such a healthy number. I want to run through the hills and throw my arms out wide, and spin and dance joyously, while kissing my paycheck. I probably will, later.
Now I know how Julie Andrews felt. No one ever told me that she was probably dancing like that because of an extremely fat paycheck.
It all makes sense now.
Music plays in my head, and I find myself humming along, deliriously happy.
Then, the doors to the office begin to shake as something thumps against them.
“Oh, no!” says, the housekeeper, wringing her hands. “They’ve found me!” She literally runs and dives under a desk to hide, with surprising speed for a woman of her size.
I am still staring after her with amazement when the doors blast open.
Chapter 11
Two little girls are standing there, wearing oversized camouflage-print outfits, and holding water guns. They look incredibly cute—and I know them.
“Hazel? Holly?” I call out happily. “What on earth! I didn’t know you girls lived here!”
“Miss June!” they both shout, rushing over to throw their arms around my waist in tight hugs, which I return just as tightly. They are creative, brilliant little girls who I adore spending time with at the daycare. Honestly, I could cry from joy—there aren’t any kids in the world I would rather nanny for.
“It’s finally happening!” Hazel shouts. “I begged and begged for Miss June to be our nanny and they finally listened to us.”
“I told you the slime trick would work,” Holly said with a giggle.
“But I thought your last name was Harmony,” I tell them, as I try to hold back tears of happiness. This job won’t feel like a job at all. It will be like spending time with my best friends, and getting paid to have tons of fun with them every day. Seriously! What more could a girl ask for?
“Harmony is our middle name. I’m Holly Harmony Wintergreen. They don’t let us use our real last names in public,” she explains. “Not at school or at daycare. They say if we do, we’ll get kidnapped and held for ransom.”
“But that’s okay with me,” Hazel says. “I don’t see what the big problem is. I know three different types of martial arts. I would love to see a kidnapper try to take me down.”
“I would love to see that too,” I say with a grin. “And that kidnapper better watch his balls, am I right?”
Hazel makes a war cry as she kicks the air, mimicking the ball-busting move she has used on every boy who’s tried to mess with her in daycare. And a few of the girls. Oh my goodness. How rude of me!
“Girls, I am so sorry. Gender equality is very important. Women can grow up to be anything they want to be, even bad guys. I should never assume that the kidnapper would be male, and have balls. And of course, he or she could have balls, but not identify as male! Anyway, getting kicked in the camel toe is also effective as self-defense.”
“Yes, Miss June,” the girls say, nodding solemnly as they contemplate this bit of wisdom. I feel so proud of myself already—first day on the job and I’m already teaching them things.
“Oh, dear,” says the housekeeper, crawling out from beneath the desk. “I’m not sure we should be encouraging the children to be more violent. They are already quite gifted in that department.”
“As two tough little ladies should be!” I tell them. “Rawr!”
“Rawwrrrr!” they both repeat in unison. Oh god, it’s so cute. I’m so happy.
The housekeeper, meanwhile, is terrified. “No, no, no. This is a terrible arrangement. Miss June, I fear you’ll bring out the worst in our girls. I don’t think you have the docile and delicate demeanor suited to a nanny of such refined young ladies of good breeding.”
“Well, we want Miss June,” says Holly simply. “So, deal with it. We’re going to keep setting everything and everyone on fire until Miss June is our nanny.”
“Dear me,” says the housekeeper, making the sign of the cross.
“Girls can be kidnappers too, so I might hold you hostage for ransom,” says Hazel, picking up her water gun. “I will kick you right in the camel toe if Miss June isn’t our nanny.”
The housekeeper quickly puts two hands down to protect her precious camel toe, and I can’t resist laughing. “They’re joking. Don’t worry.”
“How do you know they’re joking?” she whispers. “They’ve done things. I’ve seen things.”
“It’s okay, Mathilde,” I say, moving over to pat the poor woman on the shoulder. “Don’t worry one bit. These are my girls, I adore them. I got this. Piece of cake.”
Chapter 12
Pressing the app on my phone, which randomizes numbers, I call out: “G-48!”
“Bingo!” shouts an old man in the hospital room, jumping out of his chair with excitement.
Everyone else groans and mumbles and complains.
“I was almost there!” my mother says.
“One number away,” complains another old woman.
“Mr. Harrison wins the bag of Skittles,” I tell them all, after checking his card to confirm he wasn’t cheating.
It turns out Bingo is a big hit among the chemo crowd. It’s not all old people today. There’s also a teenage boy with leukemia, but even he’s enjoying the silly game.
Thanks to the fact that I now have a job, I can afford to give out lucrative prizes like Skittles. Dollar bills will soon be plentiful, so I made that vending machine my bitch. I fed her lots of paper, and she popped out snacks like a good little girl. No fuss, no muss, this time. It’s like even the vending machine can tell that I’m less pathetic now, that things are getting better for me.
But I haven’t seen my handsome stranger yet.
“Why don’t you go for a walk, sweetie?” my mother asks when she sees me glancing at the door. “I can take over running Bingo for now. You seem antsy.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
“Yes, yes, go,” she tells me. “I don’t need you to sit here and babysit me all day. I can run a simple game of Bingo. Go!”
Smiling at her, I exit the room and begin aimlessly wandering the hospital halls.
I’m definitely feeling a lot more positive and hopeful than I was even a few days ago. I guess there’s a lot of comfort and security in having a job that pays well, plus one that I immensely enjoy.
It won’t magically fix my mother’s health, but it’s a step in the right direction. At the very least, it should help us scrape together enough money to pay the mortgage, so we won’t lose Snowfall Inn.
Everything is coming together. I finally have the stability of decent full-time employment. No immediate danger of losing the family home and business. My mother’s health is on the mend.
The only thing that’s missing is a boyfriend.
Not that I need one. But as I wander the hospital halls, searching for my tall, dark, and handsome stranger, I can’t help feeling that anxiety return. What if I never see him again? It has been days without any communication, without even the ability to send him a text. It’s so strange, to have been so intimate with someone, and then to have him completely disappear like this.
I mean, I guess it’s not that strange. Guys do it all the time. It’s probably their preferred method of interaction, for the most part. I just didn’t think that he was like that. He said he wasn’t. And for some stupid reason... I believed him.
But I know that people say a lot of things they don’t mean. It’s okay, in the end. No harm done. If that was the only time I’ll ever get to spend with him, at least it was a beautiful memory.
My legs carry me back to the vending machine where I met him, and I press my forehead against the glass, staring at the snacks.
“Hey, Cheetos,” I say, talking to my old friend. “I know, I would normally be craving you pretty badly, and beating on this machine to try to get you out of there and into my stomach. But I think I was just in a bad place back then, and emotionally overeating to compensate for unhappiness, loneliness, and financial distress caused by a cancer diagnosis in an unkind healthcare system.”
Sighing, I continue talking to the snacks in the vending machine. “But things are looking up now, and I think I can afford more nutritious and less processed food. Which will hopefully prevent me from also getting cancer, somewhere down the road. Even though I don’t share my mother’s genetics. I was adopted, you see. So I’m probably not at risk for the exact same illness—but I guess we’re all at risk as we get older and it’s important to adopt healthy habits now. Seeing what Mumsy is going through—I hope I’ll have a healthy future, free from any kind of serious illness like that. But you never know. So, goodbye, Cheetos. It’s been fun, but I’m going to stick to healthier options from now on. I hope we can still be friends, and still talk sometimes.”
A deep, masculine laugh behind me alerts me to the presence of another human being. “Are you having a deep conversation with snacks in a vending machine?”
I don’t turn around immediately, but a smile slowly overtakes my face. The warmth begins to spread in my stomach again, this time, with a rush of relief. His voice is like music to my ears. “Maybe if I had the phone number of a nice human being to chat with, I wouldn’t have to talk to inanimate objects,” I tell him.
I feel his hands on my waist, and see his reflection in the glass. For a moment, I wonder if I’m just daydreaming that he’s here. Maybe the fingertips gently caressing my ribcage are all in my imagination. Then I feel his lips against my cheek, and I close my eyes happily.
Thank God, he’s really here. I thought I’d lost him.
Turning my face to the side, I let my lips press against his in a gentle kiss. He kisses back at once, wrapping his arms around me. All at once, that same feeling of safety comes rushing back to me—but it’s even stronger this time. Like the emotions have crept deeper into my mind and under my skin, like they have had time to marinate and grow, creating some kind of foothold in me.
When he holds me close, it just feels like home.
“I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch,” he tells me softly. “But I can’t stop thinking about you, June.”
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I respond. My Captain Daddy von Sexy.
He spins me around so that he can press his lips fully against mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck. His body feels warm and strong, just as it did before, and he fits against me perfectly.
I am not sure how it happens, but in the next moment, I find his hands have slid under my thighs and lifted me, and my back is pressed up against the vending machine as he kisses me deeply. His tongue gently invades my lips, tasting heavenly even without the chocolate. It’s the way every girl dreams of being kissed. Deeply, passionately, properly.
Oh, god.
It melts all my doubts and fears away. Little fireworks of celebration begin to go off in my belly, because the spark of romance that was ignited has not fizzled out. It stayed alive, and he came back, just like he promised. He didn’t disappear. He found me again.
When a person seems to approach the hallway, their shoes clicking on the linoleum, we pull away slightly, staring into each other’s eyes in a love-drunk way. It feels like there’s some kind of magnetic force that won’t allow his body to be a few inches away from mine. I realize how ridiculous we must look embracing like this, but I don’t even care. I feel like a teenager pressed up against the lockers in high school—except I never really did that sort of thing back then.
My mystery man carefully puts me down, and smiles down at me sheepishly, taking my hand in his and lifting it to kiss my knuckles. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asks.
“Sure,” I respond. “Your friend’s office?”
“He’s working today. How about we go for a drive?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Chapter 13
Just like in the elaborate lie I told my mom's chemo buddies, my date opens the car door for me. He drives a shiny white Tesla that looks freshly washed, sparkling even in the mild winter sunlight. The leather seats are comfy, elegant, and upscale, and I sink into them with ease.
“I never thanked you for your gift of dinner at The Willow,” I say to him, once he enters the driver’s side of the car. “My mother loved it so much—it meant so much to us.”
“Oh, it was my pleasure. I hope I can join you there one day,” he responds.
He looks so handsome and relaxed sitting in this sleek vehicle. The car seems like a perfect extension of who he is, and I feel quite thrilled to be introduced to more of his identity.
I mean, surely the car a man drives says a lot more about him than a name he didn't get to choose? A fully electric model shows that he cares about the environment, and he's not an idiot like me, wasting tons of money on gasoline. But something about sitting in the vehicle feels very solid and dependable—far more than my beat-up old clunker.
I guess it makes me feel like he could also be really solid and dependable. Like when he says I'm going to see him again... and then I do.
What if that kept happening? What if he kept showing up every time he said he was going to be there... always? What if he never let me down or disappointed me? Music pops into my head again, without my permission.
Somewhere in my wicked, miserable past...
What if he’s one of the good ones, like my father and Rudy? What if great men really do exist who are somehow single, somehow straight, but just as noble and wonderful as all the heroes in stories and movies? What if he's the person I've always hoped for and dreamed of?
I must have done something good...
Okay, no. I try to shake away the silly thought. I'm getting way too ahead of myself here.
It's a second date, for heaven's sake. I need to get that silly nonsense out of my head. Keep it casual, June. Casual. Stop getting so serious. Jeez! It's just a friggin' Tesla, not a white horse-drawn carriage leading you to a wedding chapel. Okay? Okay?
"How do you feel about Starbucks?" my mystery man asks, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
See? He's not thinking about wedding bells. He's thinking coffee. Get a grip. I clear my throat to bring me back to reality. "I love Starbucks. But I only have about two hours until chemo is over."
"Then we'll have to make every minute count," he says as he puts the car in gear and begins driving.
I look around the dashboard in confusion, wondering how he even started the vehicle. I didn't see him insert a key anywhere, or even push a button. I want to ask him questions about the car, but I'm too embarrassed to reveal that I've never been in a Tesla. I feel a bit like a country bumpkin.
Anyway, despite how elegant the car is, at least it's not as ostentatious as some of the models in my new employer's garage. This still feels like a normal ride that you can take grocery shopping. I peeked in the massive, temperature-controlled garage in the Wintergreen manor, and it just looked insane. More like a showroom of souvenirs than cars you would actually want to drive anywhere. Just a collection of mostly unused toys, I guess. I didn't really have time to go into the garage and properly explore yet—I'll try to do that later.
When we pass a gas station on the way to Starbucks, my sexy suitor smiles. “It’s been so long since I filled up my car with gas. When I see gas stations now, it feels like I’m looking into the past. They seem so archaic.”
“That’s crazy,” I respond, feeling a bit intimidated by him. He knows so much more than me—he seems so wise and worldly. I feel like he’s centuries ahead of me, living in the future, while I’m back in time, stuck consuming fossil fuels instead of renewable energy. Depleting our planet’s resources and accelerating climate change while also going broke.
“I wish I could avoid going to a gas station ever again,” I tell him honestly. “The commuting back and forth between the hospital and Silver Mountain is taking a toll on my bank account.” I feel embarrassed once I reveal this information. I don’t want him to know how terribly poor I am. Or that I’m probably causing the apocalypse with my carelessness. “I guess my car must also be a gas-guzzler,” I say, trying to cover up my mistake. But then I feel even worse. “I mean, I wish I could afford a hybrid—I’ll try my best in the future.”
