The One Love Collection Read online

  She sets down her spoon. “Will you be one of my bridesmaids?”

  I shriek.

  There is no other way to describe my reaction but a full-on, high-pitched scream of excitement. I jump off the stool at the counter and squeeze her. I’m at least half a foot shorter, so I look like a pipsqueak in her arms.

  “So is that a yes, Abster?”

  I let go, smooth my shirt, and adopt a too-cool-for-school expression. “Maybe. Depends what the dress looks like.”

  She chuckles. “It’s hideous. I’ve chosen a mint green dress with ruffles and a yellow bodice with puffy sleeves.”

  I smile like a crazy person. “So I’ll look like Easter spat me up. Perfect!”

  She elbows me and takes a drink from her tea. “But seriously, I think I’m going to do a basic black. So you can wear it again.”

  I press my palms together as if in prayer. “Now that is actually the biggest sign of true friendship.”

  “And since black is hot, you’ll look totally hot, so all the single men will throw themselves at you.”

  I raise both arms in the air. “Let it rain down hot men at Harper’s wedding, Lord.” I return to the stool. “And the answer is I couldn’t be more excited or honored to be your bridesmaid. Now, tell me your wedding plans.”

  Over noodles, she chatters about her dream wedding, and I savor every little detail. When we leave the shop, she hooks her arm through mine and says, “Your turn. You tell me stuff. Have you met any amazingly witty, bright, kind, and handsome men in your Spanish class? Wait. No. At the park. Have you found the hottest manny in town and are you going to make totally adorable manny-nanny babies called Annie?”

  I laugh as we thread our way up the crowded avenue. “Shockingly, the hot, hetero, single manny is like a red panda. Rarely spotted in the wild.”

  “I love it when you talk zoology.” Harper brushes a strand of red hair from her cheek. “What about in one of your classes?”

  “Have I met any red pandas there?” I toss back.

  She laughs. “Ha. Any hot guys?”

  In addition to the Spanish course, I teach a few classes at corporations that are helping their employees learn more language skills for international business, and I’ve landed more one-on-one tutoring gigs, too. That’s a nice supplemental income, even though the nanny gig pays well, too. But this is New York. A gal needs a lot to live here, even when she’s scored a sweet deal on an apartment.

  We slow at the crosswalk as the light blinks red. “I haven’t had time to check out the fresh meat in the classroom,” I joke. “Since, you know, I’ve been trying to teach them to conjugate.”

  “You know what they say. First, it starts with conjugation. Then it leads to consummation.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re insane. And relentless.”

  She rubs her hands together like a movie villain with an evil plan. “But what if one of your students liked you? You’d be the hot teacher, and then you could have a forbidden relationship with a student,” she says, whispering salaciously as the warm sun beats down on us. The light changes and we cross.

  “Hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think it’s forbidden when I teach adults.”

  She snaps her fingers. “Dammit. What about Simon, then?”

  The directness of her question makes me slow my pace. “What about him?” I reply, keeping my tone even. I don’t want to reveal that we’re bonding over Eagle Cam updates. The tiny birds of prey are the definition of adorable, and I love sharing the eagles with him. But if I tell Harper that we’re texting like this, she’ll know my heart, and my misplaced feelings will be open for discussion. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

  “Is the job going well?” she asks, tugging my arm so we keep moving.

  “He’s a great boss. Super laid-back and easygoing, and smart, and we have fun together.” And, holy shit, I’ve said too much. I’ve pretty much revealed my hand.

  Harper nearly skids to a stop outside a diner. The scent of bacon wafts out when a customer opens the door. My friend pokes me in the shoulder and narrows her blue eyes at me. “You like him, like him?”

  “No,” I say, forcing a big laugh to prove how much I absolutely don’t feel that way. “Totally not.”

  She crosses her arms. “Denial will get you nowhere. I can tell.”

  “How?”

  “That fake laugh, for one. As well as that litany of his oh-so-fine-I-wish-he-were-mine traits.”

  I try to wave it off. “Definitely not,” I fire back, but the flush racing across my cheeks makes protesting pointless.

  “And now, the color of your cheeks.”

  “Fine,” I say with a grumble. “Maybe I like him a little.”

  One of her eyebrows rises. “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot,” I admit.

  Her eyes light up. “Called it!”

  Relief floods me unexpectedly. It’s good to have admitted something I’ve kept bottled up for so long. Maybe I do want to discuss him. Oh hell, do I ever want to talk about him. “Do you think it’s ridiculous to have a thing for my boss?” I hold up a hand as a stop sign. “Wait. Don’t answer. I already know. It is beyond ridiculous.”

  She drapes her arm around me. “I don’t think it’s ridiculous at all. He’s a good guy, he’s crazy about his kid, and he takes her around the city doing cool things with her. But you know that better than I do. What I know is he was determined last fall to find someone who would also do all those cool things with Hayden. Someone who would be engaged in the Natural History Museum when she took Hayden, not in texting her other nanny friends about what to do after work. That’s why I hooked him up with you. And I know the job is important to you, too, so whatever happens just be careful, okay? That’s all.”

  “You mean be sure to use protection?” I say with a straight face.

  Her eyes nearly pop out. “Not exactly what I meant. But, duh. Yes. Obviously.” She pauses, then adopts a serious tone. “But I meant with your heart and your head.”

  “I know,” I say softly.

  “There’s a lot at stake. That’s why I say it.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  She points at me. “I’ll see you Friday right. We’re still going out?”

  I nod. “Of course. Text me the time.”

  She gives me a quick hug then takes off.

  I repeat her warning as I walk across town to Simon’s gorgeous home on the Upper East side.

  Be careful.

  I’m careful as I reach his building and step into the elevator. As I press my hand on my belly, I’m careful to quiet the riot of excitement in my body. I’m careful as I reach his floor and knock on the door, wild nerves thrumming through me.

  Hayden opens the door, swinging it wide. She hugs my waist, nearly tackling me. “Abby! Come join the tea party!”

  She grabs my hand and tugs me into the living room, gesturing grandly to her sky-blue kid-size table with dinosaur designs on it. It’s set for tea, and her father is enjoying a cup.

  I try desperately not to think of him touching my face last night. Or sending me texts this morning. Or bringing me cake.

  But the battle is lost. How could I think anything but sweet, dizzying thoughts when I set eyes on him? The man is utterly adorable at the little table, his knees up high since he’s parked in a tiny chair, having a tea party with his daughter and her stuffed elephant.

  Hayden grabs her chair and pats the extra one for me. I drop my bag, smile at Simon, and slide right in to the party. I fit much better at this table than he does.

  “Would you like more peach raspberry chocolate coconut tea?” Hayden asks the elephant.

  Simon picks up the gray stuffed animal and makes him nod. “Why, yes please. With honey and sugar and syrup,” he says in a deep voice.

  Hayden lifts her plastic teapot and pours for the stuffed animal. She holds up the pot and looks at me. “Would you like some of this special magical potion tea?”
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br />   I nod enthusiastically. “I would love some. What does the magical potion tea do?”

  She stage-whispers as she pours, “It turns your hair purple.”

  My eyes become moons, and I clap. “I came to the right tea party. I’ve been looking for a tea to do just that!”

  She hands me the cup and I take an imaginary gulp. I run my hand over my wavy hair, and Simon pretends to be astonished. “It’s happening already. I can see the shades of violet starting.”

  Hayden shoots him a you’re-so-wrong look. “No, Daddy. It turns out she accidentally drank the rainbow potion tea, and once your hair turns into a rainbow, the leprechauns will steal you away.” She snaps her gaze to me. “Abby! Your hair is turning all the colors in the rainbow.”

  I drop my mouth into an O. “Will it be like this forever?” I dart my eyes around, as if searching for the little men. “Are they going to come get me?”

  Hayden pours more pretend tea in a jiffy. “Not if you drink the antidote quickly,” she says, and thrusts a cup at me.

  I down it in a sliver of a second. “Is my hair back to normal?”

  “It’s all better,” she declares, a bright smile on her face.

  “Whew.” Simon wipes his hand over his brow. “We almost lost Abby to the leprechauns.”

  “I’m so glad we were able to save her,” Hayden echoes, with the intense make-believe relief of a five-year-old.

  Hayden proceeds to serve us purple and black cookies (pretend), then neon cake (also imaginary), and finally an electric biscuit (also not real). They’re all exceedingly delicious.

  “What was your favorite of the treats?” she asks her father.

  “Definitely the electric biscuit,” he answers.

  “Can you get it on the menu at Gabriel’s?”

  “I will do my very best to discuss it with him.”

  I smile at their conversation, and her interpretation of his job. They have such a great relationship. That’s how it should be, yet the ease of their chatting and playing is rare. It’s a testament to him and how much of himself he gives to being a dad.

  While I’m not keen to have kids anytime soon, the fact that Simon is such a good father . . . well, I’ll just say it. It’s a massive turn-on. When I watch him interact with his daughter, it’s as if I’m overdosing on some basic, human female-to-male attraction. Simon isn’t one of those sitcom dads who’s a total buffoon and freaks out when his daughter has to pee, or take a bath, or put on a dress. He’s not the single dad who hired the nanny because he can’t figure out how to parent.

  He’s the opposite. He’s completely capable. He hired me because he’s busy with work, not because he’s one of those idiot fathers who forgets to pick up his kid from daycare, like in a slapstick comedy, and then races all over town to face the stern, disapproving glare of the daycare owner. Simon is the opposite. He knows how to take his daughter to the doctor, how to care for her when she has a fever, and how to shop for clothes.

  My God, the man even knows how to braid her hair.

  Well, regular braid. Not French braid. That may be his Achilles’ heel.

  A few weeks ago, I told Hayden that going to bed in braids was a sure-fire way to wake up with curly hair. She likes my curls and waves, so she’d begged him to style her hair that way. While I’d like to say I taught him how, he already knew a basic braid. But when Hayden had asked for a French braid the next night, he’d turned to me with a helpless shrug. “Any chance you can show me how to French braid my daughter’s hair?”

  He’d had this sweet lopsided grin, and a hopeful look in his light blue eyes that made it impossible to resist.

  “Why, I thought you’d never ask.” I’d showed him how to French braid, and, okay, fine, maybe he had been a bit sitcom dad then. He hadn’t been able to master it, no matter how hard he tried. Hayden’s hair had been a crisscrossed mess, and I’d had to come to the rescue and style it.

  So there’s one thing he’s no good at. No one’s perfect.

  Hayden finishes her last pretend cookie then taps my arm. “Abby, can we go to the park today and play soccer?”

  “Absolutely,” I say, as we rise from the table and straighten up the tea party.

  Simon gestures to his dress shirt and slacks, almost apologetically. “I should go. Meetings and all.”

  He keeps unusual hours, but they work for us. Since he’s often out late at dinners, he’s usually around in the morning to take Hayden to school or classes. Now that it’s summer, he spends the mornings with her, and I don’t come in most days until after twelve. That’s good for me because it gives me plenty of time for my tutoring and teaching in the mornings.

  After a quick hug with Hayden, he says goodbye and takes off, the door clicking shut behind him.

  I breathe a deep sigh of relief when he’s gone. I’d expected today to be awkward, given the rampage of butterflies in my chest when I arrived. But evidently, last night was a mere blip, one of those moments where there’s energy and connection, but nothing comes of it. Fine by me. We might have a little spark, but that doesn’t mean we’ll necessarily catch fire.

  I spend the day with Hayden: kicking a soccer ball in the park, chasing her around the playground, then we ride the merry-go-round, and finally we stop at a food truck and snag hummus and pitas and bottled waters for dinner, relaxing on a park bench as we chat about the clouds and the sky and the trees.

  When we return to her house in the early evening, I run a bath for her, then make sure to brush my teeth. It’s always good to brush after meals, right? Especially after eating hummus. I’m not doing it because I want fresh breath for her dad when he returns home in a few minutes.

  Even if that flutter in my chest when I hear the door unlock threatens to give me away.

  6

  Simon

  Hayden crashes in seconds. It’s her special skill, falling asleep instantly once she hits the covers. The clock reads a little past eight, and I should let Abby go, but I want to snag a few minutes with her to catch up on their day. One of my favorite parts of working with her is hearing her recap what they did, and what Hayden learned and enjoyed that day, from new Spanish words and sayings to fresh interests and dislikes.

  But as I head into the living room where Abby’s packing up her purse, my phone bleats. I glance at the screen. It’s Gabriel’s business manager, Eduardo. I answer, holding up a finger to let Abby know I’ll be fast, and I want to chat with her.

  She settles into the couch and flips on her iPad. On the phone, I rattle off some of the details Eduardo is looking for, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Abby toggle over to the Eagle Cam. Her face lights up when she flicks to an earlier shot of the mother eagle watching over the eaglets as they practice standing up on their wobbly, fluffy frames. I walk behind the couch and lean closer, watching the little birds practice being bigger birds.

  Baby eagles are covered in tufts of gray feathers. They don’t take on the iconic brown body and white head of the nation’s symbol until they’re older than four; I’ve learned that from my eagle research. But already their talons are huge. It’s a funny sight, the bird of prey equivalent to a puppy dog with humongous paws. I imitate a loping dog, and Abby laughs quietly.

  Then, Gabriel’s guy asks me a question, half in English, half in French. I know enough French to be dangerous, so I fire off a response, suggesting we develop a plan tomorrow.

  Abby whips her head around and stares slack-jawed at me.

  What? I mouth.

  She blinks, shakes her head, and whispers, “You just asked if he wants to swim naked in the summer.”

  Oh shit.

  “Je suis désolé.” I apologize to Eduardo, who’s laughing.

  “That is okay. I prefer to swim naked with a woman,” he says drily.

  “As do I,” I add.

  After a few more minutes of awkward conversation, since he doesn’t seem to like speaking English, and I’m, evidently, far too dangerous when I attempt French, we agree to reconnect
tomorrow. When I hang up, I flop on the second couch, across from Abby. Her lips are quirked up as if she’s waiting to chuckle.

  I hold my arms out wide. “What? In most circumstances, swimming naked is fun,” I say, like I can justify my faux pas.

  She launches a couch pillow in my general direction. I catch it in one hand.

  “But not with someone you’re doing a business deal with,” she says, laughing.

  “Fine. You may be right there.” I sit up and run my hand across the back of my neck. “So you speak French, too?”

  “Oui.”

  That both surprises me, and doesn’t at all. “I knew you spoke Spanish and German, along with Mandarin, and that you’re learning Italian, but I didn’t know you spoke French. You just said you were learning it,” I say, since we talked about her language fluency in the job interview.

  She shrugs and smiles, like a little elf. “I was learning it then. Now I’ve learned it.”

  My jaw drops. “Learned it? In seven months?”

  She nods. “I had a good base of knowledge from high school and college. I did some online tutorials, practiced with an app, and boom. Now I know it.”

  “That’s all it took?”

  She nods proudly. “I picked it up super fast.”

  “That’s cheetah speed.”

  She beams. “It’s my party trick. Learning new languages, lickety-split. My mom is Spanish and my dad is—”

  I jump in. “German.” She smiles wide and nods. “I knew that about your parents. You’ve told me before.” I don’t want her to think I’ve forgotten a basic detail. Women like good listeners. I happen to have awesome ears, and it can’t hurt for her to know how well they work.

  She fluffs out her blond hair. “Hair color from Dad.” She gestures to her hazel eyes, making a V over them with her fingers. “Eyes from Mom.” Then she gazes upward, as if she’s staring at something tall. “Height, though? No idea where that little bitty thing came from.” She shrugs. “Both my parents are giants, and I topped out at five-two. But you know what’s great about being short?”