Page 10 of Nanny for the Firefighters
High-profile. The words taste like ash in my mouth. "Thank you, Diane, but I think I'll pass. I'm exploring other career options right now."
Diane's surprise is palpable even through the phone. "Are you sure, Ella? This is a very generous offer."
I muster a polite smile, though she can't see it. It pains me to let go of this offer, but I need to survive with an ounce of self-respect. That's all I have going for me right now. "I'm sure. But thank you for considering me."
I end the call with a sigh, tossing my phone beside me on the couch. No more. I can't keep doing this to myself, spinning my wheels in a cycle that leaves me more jaded with each turn.
On a whim, I decide to step out for a bite, a change of scenery to clear my head. I slip into my jacket, grab my keys, and head to the small bistro down the street. The night air is crisp, and the walk helps to loosen the knots of frustration in my shoulders.
The bistro is cozy, a local favorite with dim lighting and a rustic charm. I slide into a booth by the window, ordering a coffee and the daily special without much thought. As I wait, I gaze out at the passersby, each absorbed in their own little world.
My food arrives, and I'm halfway through my meal when a familiar voice interrupts my solitude.
"Ella, is that you?" The question is tentative, almost unsure.
I look up, and there he is—the man from the other night. The memory is a blur of shadows and whispers, but his face brings it all back. The handsome firefighter. Ethan. I've seen a lot of faces, but his I won't forget—even if I want to, purely for the sake of the inconvenient flutters in my heart.
"Ethan, right?" I reply, my voice steadier than I feel, delivering a performance worthy of an Oscar nominee pretending to vaguely remember someone.
His eyebrow quirks up, a silent, amused challenge to my act. "That's me." He grins, sliding into the seat across from me. "Small world."
"Seems like it," I murmur, stirring my drink with what I hope looks like absent-minded nonchalance, as if I'm dredging up who this handsome fellow might be from the foggy depths of my social calendar.
"Just grabbing some dinner after a long shift. Saw you sitting here and… well, I had to say hello." He's as smooth as the jazz playing softly in the background, and his smile is disarmingly genuine.
I pause, the spoon circling the ice in my glass like it's lost. "Hello, then," I finally say, dropping the amnesia act. "Suppose it's too late to pretend you have the wrong person?" I add with a playful tilt of my head, conceding to the small-town inevitability of our encounter.
We talk as we eat, the conversation flowing surprisingly smoothly. He tells me about his day at the fire station, the challenges and the triumphs. I share a bit about my job hunting woes, glossing over the finer details.
"You're looking for something new, then?" Ethan probes gently after I let slip my frustration with nannying.
"Something like that," I admit. "I'm tired of being the stand-in mom because the actual parents can't be bothered."
Ethan nods, understanding coloring his features. "Sounds tough. But you know, not all of us are like that. Some of us try to do right by our kids."
Us? I frown at him. Have I messed with the wrong kind of man?
He must have gauged my expression because he shakes his head quickly. "No, no—I'm no parent. I can barely keep cats alive, forget kids. My best friend, though, he's a single dad—the best one I know."
Ethan launches into an animated discussion about Marcus Big Mac McIntyre, the chief at Station 23. It's heartwarming to see the way he clearly idolizes him. Unwittingly enough, I find myself smiling more and more as the night grows deeper.
Slowly, our conversation shifts to lighter topics—our favorite books, movies, the quirky art that hangs on the bistro walls. It's easy, comfortable. And for a moment, I allow myself to just enjoy the company, the laughter.
The waitress brings a particularly divine tiramisu. Ethan and I clear our plates, pushing back from the table just enough to signal we're winding down but not yet ready to leave the cozy warmth of the bistro. Across from me, his eyes hold a spark of an idea, like he's been mulling over something more than just our casual dinner chat.
"Ella, before you say anything about what I'm about to propose, just hear me out, okay?" he starts, his hands gesturing to preemptively keep my objections at bay.
I lean in, intrigued. "I'm all ears," I reply, folding my hands on the table, my interest piqued by his serious tone.
"So, you mentioned you're looking for a place and a job, right?" He doesn't wait for my nod, barreling ahead with his thoughts. "And I know you said no more nannying, but what if this gig were different?"
I raise an eyebrow, a silent prompt for him to continue.
"It's for Marcus. He needs a nanny for Lily, his daughter. But it's not just any nanny job," Ethan rushes to explain, seeing the hesitation already forming on my face.
He continues, "He has a guest suite at his house—complete privacy, your own space. You'd live there, help out with Lily, and in return, you get free room and board plus a salary. It would cover all your bills, and then some."
The offer hangs in the air between us, weighty with possibilities. Free room and board plus a salary isn't something to dismiss easily, especially given my current financial crunch.