Page 13 of Worth the Try
“Bought it a long time ago, Xave,” comes Cash’s answer.
“You were probably in middle school,” I say, shifting the box I’m carrying into one hand while I open the guesthouse door with the other.
“How oldareyou, Ansel?” Kari asks, following me in with Elodie right behind her.
I glare at her. “Thirty-two. Of which you are well aware.”
She grins and pops her gum. “Yeah, but I love making you feel old.”
“Don’t start with me,” I warn. “You forget that I know how old you are and I’m not afraid to say it.”
“You wouldn’tdare,” she hisses.
I move behind her, snickering, and set the box on the bar that separates the kitchen and living area.
Beside us, Elodie stands quietly off to the side with a box in her hands, worrying her lip as she takes the place in.
I step forward and take it from her, and the movement doesn’t quite seem to register at first. When it does, she blushes again and blinks up at me.
“Thank you. This is—wow,” she gushes, looking around. “When you said it was the pool house?—”
“Guesthouse,” I correct with a smile.
“Guesthouse,” she says and nods. “I figured it was going to be small. Not…whatever this is.”
“Can I let the cat out?” Rosie asks.
Elodie kneels to get on Rosie’s eye level. “Not yet. Let’s wait until the door is shut. Do you want to help set up some food and water for her?”
“Yes!”
Kari calls her over to do just that, and I look back at Elodie as she stands. “Want the tour?”
“I should probably help get the rest of my things,” she protests.
“You shouldn’t.” I gesture for her to follow. “These guys can earn their pizza.”
“Oh, shoot!” She hits her forehead with her palm. “I forgot to order it! How many should I get? Is anyone gluten-free?”
I bite back a smile. It’s sweet of her to think about something like that. “I’ve already ordered. It’ll be here soon.”
Her eyes widen, the green—blue? No, hazel—irises flaring in the sunlight streaming into the living area. “Oh, no! No, no, no, I can do it. I can afford it—especially with what you’re paying me, which is still?—”
“Entirely acceptable for a live-in nanny,” I finish, then hold up a hand and blink away from her blue eyes. Or hazel. Whatever. In fact, it doesn’t matter what color they are. I shouldn’t be paying attention to their color, period. “I promise, everything is fine. I know everyone’s favorite order, and feeding five rugby players isn’t for the faint of heart.”
“It isn’t?”
I give up on fighting the grin. “It most certainly isn’t. Come on. I want to make sure you like the place.”
She follows me as I walk her through. “The bathroom only has a shower stall, but?—”
“Oh, that’s fine. I never, well, Irarelytake baths. I mean, look at me.” She laughs self-consciously. “I’m huge. Not huge like you—not that you’re huge, I mean youare, but not in a bad way—not that being huge is bad. Ugh.” She blows a breath, puffing the frizzy strands of hair around her head into motion. “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t fit in bathtubs. There.” She looks away, muttering something that sounds like,smooth, Elodie.
I decide to ignore the entire thing. Too many traps that Elodie’s best friend has drilled into me, ironically enough.“Never comment on someone’s size. Especially a female’s.Especiallya female reporter’s.”Plus, I am not thinking about the size of her body. Or her body, period.
I’m also not going to mention that I have a master bath with a tub so big it could easily hold three of me, or that Rosalie literally began her swimming lessons in it because of how big it is, or that she takes a bath in it every night. Because Elodie will figure that out the second she needs to take Rosalie through her nighttime routine.
“The bedroom is here.” I scoot past her and down the short hallway to open the door. It’s modest, with a dresser on one wall and a queen-sized bed flanked by built-in corner bookshelves on another wall. A teal-blue reading chair and stool are in the other corner. “You’re welcome to redecorate if you want to,” I start, then stop.
