He was gorgeous. Shopping at the supermarket, taking packages to the post office, walking the children through the park—in all these instances, she would have stopped dead in her tracks if someone who looked like him walked by. But then, people who look like Adam Fletcher must not shop or mail packages, she thought. His dark blond hair looked as though he’d just run his fingers through it, and he was wearing a thick sweater with a collar, jeans, and loafers, a watch the size of Texas that looked more expensive than any she’d ever seen in real life peeking out from under his sleeve. His face was clean-shaven, his lips pressed into a pleasant expression, and his eyes, as blue as ocean waves, were looking straight at her…Waiting for her to say something? Was she supposed to speak first?
“Hello,” he said, before she could get her thoughts straight. He reached out for a handshake. “Adam. Adam Fletcher. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” she said clasping his hand. She could feel the warmth through her glove. She’d never read up on how to handle a handsome boss before. As she was mentally adding it to her list of books to find, she realized that she hadn’t said anything more than “hi,” so she quickly added “I’m Carrie Blake. It’s nice to meet you.” He just said “Nice to meet you.” Ugh! she thought. She squared her shoulders, smiled, and nodded like her book had said.
Chapter Two
To ease anxiety, it’s often helpful to find healthy distractions. Somehow, she didn’t think that Adam Fletcher was the kind of distraction her book had in mind. In the past, Carrie had usually dealt with mothers. They’d all fit a general description: working mother, trying to meet the demands of business while also raising children, pulling long hours. She’d never had a man contact her before Adam, let alone a nice-looking man. She was used to walking around in her pajamas in the mornings and getting herself breakfast before she’d even gotten ready for the day. What if he didn’t like her hairspray in the bathroom or her makeup on the counter? These were all things that another woman would understand because she lived it, too. What would it be like sharing a house with a man? He’d said on the phone that he was a single dad, but it hadn’t sunk in until now. Unfamiliar, unfamiliar, unfamiliar—there was nothing usual about this situation, and she hadn’t read far enough in her Managing Anxiety book to know what to do next. Surely there was a chapter on how to handle oneself in unfamiliar situations. Usually it only took a few days for her to feel confident and comfortable, but she had a feeling that this may take her a bit of getting used to.
Adam ushered her inside, shutting the door behind her, and Carrie took in the entryway. The floor was some sort of marble tile that stretched up the curving staircase. She followed the dark wood banister with her eyes all the way to the balcony, where she reached an enormous chandelier, two stories up. It was an explosion of wrought iron in the shape of leaves and branches that stretched up to teardrop-shaped light bulbs, their light most likely on a dimmer switch because they were almost flickering. A dark wood entryway table sat against the side of the staircase, and on it was an iron lamp that sent a buttery yellow light around the room. Beside the lamp, she saw a heavy, silver frame, containing a photo of two babies with wispy hair and milky skin, both dressed in white linen outfits. One was a bibbed overall and the other was a little dress with white smocking across the front.
“Ah,” he said, causing her to shift her gaze over to him. When she did, the nerves came back like a flood. “Those are the twins, David and Olivia. They’re older now—four—as I mentioned when we spoke on the phone.”
She had to piece his words together to make meaning of them because she’d never been in the presence of someone so well put-together, so confident. She looked back at the picture. Looking at their little faces, the dimple on the boy’s right cheek, the blue of the girl’s eyes behind her long eyelashes, it melted her nerves away. As she took in the photos, it occurred to her that there weren’t any Christmas decorations in the house, and she wondered if they didn’t celebrate.
Carrie couldn’t imagine not celebrating Christmas with kids—it was her favorite holiday. Nothing compared to their faces lighting up with the magic of the season. Seeing them under the lights of the Christmas tree, reading stories in their pajamas, and leaving cookies on a plate with a cup of milk for Santa Claus, watching them unwrap presents in a wild, ripping frenzy, as if they couldn’t get to the inside fast enough. She loved the Christmases she could spend with children, and she always felt a little cheated when she was given time off.