dad put his foot down and said he’d waited fifty years to have a child and no daughter of his was going to have such an unfeminine name, so they called me Paris instead.” She shrugged, then dazzled him with that smile once again. “I guess that’s okay. It’s better than being called Zurich or Detroit, wouldn’t you say?”
Mac couldn’t say anything. He was drowning in her torrent of words. It took him a few seconds to gasp his way to the surface. If he hadn’t witnessed it, he never would have believed a person could pack so many words into a single breath. Finally, he said, “Wha…why did you say you’re here?”
“Your advertisement, remember? I’m answering it.”
“In person?”
His appalled question caused a moment of doubt to flash in her eyes but it was quickly hidden by bravado. She lifted a delicately square chin and said, “Yes. Your ad sounded quite urgent, so I thought it would be best if I started work right away.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a newspaper clipping and held it up. “Immediate position available,” she read. “Housekeeper/nanny needed for two small children. Competitive salary and benefits offered.” She rattled off the phone number then looked up. “That’s you, right?”
Mac could only nod, still taken aback by her pushiness. “But that ad just appeared in the paper this morning….”
“Oh, good, then I am the first.” She seemed quite pleased with the notion.
“How’d you find me? I only gave the number.”
She waved airily. “Oh, that doesn’t matter, does it? I’m here now and that’s what’s important.” She rubbed her palms together expectantly and turned her head from side to side, peeking past his shoulder. That incredible hair of hers shifted softly, catching the weak morning light and magnifying its power. “Where are the children?”
Mac pushed his own too-long, damp hair out of his eyes and pulled the front of his shirt together—she’d caught him fresh out of the shower—and began to do up the buttons as he observed her and tried to get his brain to work even though it hadn’t yet been jumpstarted with a dose of caffeine. She made him think of that kids’ movie about the nanny who had blown in on the wind. Mary Poppins, that was the name. Maybe he’d better check outside and see if a gale had kicked up when he wasn’t looking.
“In the kitchen,” he mumbled, disgruntled. “Eating breakfast.” He considered telling her to leave and come back when he was ready to see her, but if she’d been into Cliffside, she already knew he was desperate for someone to watch Elly and Simon. No doubt, she also knew a great many other things about him, which made him wonder why she’d come here at all. On the other hand, she’d been in such a hurry, she might not have stopped in town.
“Oh,” she said. With an apologetic grimace, her eyes flickered to her watch. “I guess it is early. I wasn’t sure if you’d hired anyone else yet and if you hadn’t, I wanted to be the first one here today.”
“Believe me, you are,” he grumbled. “Since you’re here, you might as well come on into the kitchen.” He led the way up the short flight of steps from the entryway to the living room, and his gaze darted around self-consciously. It hadn’t bothered him before to let people see the place, bare and uninviting as it was, but something about this bright-eyed woman made him glance back for her reaction. It was a mistake. Her burnished hair and swirling skirt made it look as though someone had trapped a butterfly in the icy gray-and-whiteness of his living room.
Surprisingly, she didn’t say anything about the bareness of the room. After a moment, he wondered if she’d even noticed it because her gaze was fixed on the huge plate glass windows.
“Incredible view,” she murmured, evidently in awe of the vast expanse of ocean visible beyond the glass. The water was capped by flecks of white foam thrown up by the breeze and brightened by the morning sun slanting in from the east. “I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean.”
He’d heard that line before. Annoyed, he said, “If that’s your only reason for wanting this job, you’re in the wrong place.”
She turned swiftly and gave him a direct look from those clear green eyes. “It’s not my only reason. In fact, it’s not a reason at all. I didn’t know about the ocean view, remember? I’m here because I need a job and this is one I’ll be good at.”
Mac gave her the full force of his frown, the one he’d been told made him look like a grizzly bear with indigestion. The butterfly didn’t back down from the impact of it, but tilted her head and gave him another of those expectant looks as if she was asking if he had any other comments to make.
He did. “Well, we’ll see about that. Come on.” Turning, he led the way past the windows, through the formal dining room which held nothing but a built-in sideboard, empty of all but a gray film of dust, and through a wide archway into the kitchen.
He heard her rock to a stop behind him and looked back to see her taking in the sight of the kitchen. It was certainly impressive. On the right, a stainless steel restaurant-quality range and oven stood beside a glass-fronted refrigerator. On the left were a double sink, a vegetable sink, and long, bare white-tiled counters. All the cabinet fronts were painted stark white and had plain steel hardware. A food preparation island in the middle of the room was topped by a concrete slab that he’d been assured was the height of home fashion.
“When does the surgical team arrive?” Paris murmured, then gave him an apologetic look and clamped her lips shut.
He frowned at her again, although he agreed with her assessment. However, he hadn’t been the one to choose the decor, and it didn’t really matter to him. It was a kitchen, he could get food there, after a fashion, and that’s all that mattered, or had been all that mattered until a few days ago. Now he spent more time there and the desolate place was beginning to get on his nerves.
He gestured for her to follow him to a bay window. In the alcove was a chrome and red vinyl dinette set straight out of the nineteen fifties. It was a castoff from his parents’ house and the only thing in the place with a speck of personality. Paris must have thought so, too, because her gaze swept over it appreciatively before landing on his niece and nephew.
Four-year-old Elly knelt on one of the chairs where he had settled her before he and Simon had headed for the shower. She was rocking rhythmically as she leaned over the table and ate from a bowl. Her head full of coppery curls had gone uncombed since she’d arrived at Uncle Mac’s house. Eighteen-month-old Simon, also a curly redhead, was perched on a stack of books and tied securely onto the chair with a necktie that ran beneath his armpits and was knotted behind him. Both children looked up when the adults entered. Their faces were smeared with chocolate, giving them a comical appearance, but neither child smiled. Reacting to the sight of yet another stranger, Elly scooted down from her chair and hurried around to stand protectively beside her baby brother.
It made Mac uncomfortable to meet the solemn blue eyes of his niece and nephew, but he didn’t know quite how to remedy the problem. He’d rarely seen them before their arrival two days ago and he knew absolutely nothing about kids, could barely even remember his own childhood, in fact.
Paris flashed one of her vivid smiles at the two kids who blinked at her hesitantly. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Paris. What’s yours?”
Elly gave Mac a questioning glance and he nodded reassuringly even as he wondered at this about-face. Two days ago, the little girl had been afraid of him. Now she was looking to him for reassurance. Finally, Elly lifted a chocolate-covered hand to point to herself.
