Chapter Two
Iris pushed a chunk of pancake through the pool of thick, imitation maple syrup covering her plate, running the math in her head one more time. It didn't matter how she crunched the numbers; the equation always resolved to the same depressing result. She wasn't going to make rent. Again.
Her landlady had been incredibly patient regarding the last three late payments, but Iris doubted that kindness would extend much further. Mostly because last month, the woman had said, *Iris, this is the last time! I need that rent money.* The message was clear. If Iris didn't come up with the cash in the next two days, she was out on her butt.
She sighed, staring out the large diner window beside her booth. Rain trickled down the glass, doing nothing to lift her spirits. Gladys, one of her favorite yoga students and the owner of the diner, slid into the booth across from her.
"Why so blue today, hon?"
Iris shrugged. "Oh, you know. The usual. Unable to make ends meet in the current gig economy."
At the ripe old age of twenty-six, Iris might need to look into one of those careers everyone was always talking about. The kind that came with retirement funds and actual salaries. The ones that paid in US currency instead of unlimited classes at the Y and free flowers every month. Although, she did love the free flowers.
Gladys frowned.
"But don't worry. I'll figure it out." Iris forced a smile. "I always do."
She always did. Another new job, another cheap apartment, another questionable roommate. Iris had been making it on her own for a while now. Ever since her mom moved to Florida with her latest hot-and-heavy fling, Iris had been pretty much on her own in Dream Harbor. Well, except for her cousin, Rebecca, but Iris couldn't possibly crash on Bex's couch again. The woman had three cats and played the trumpet well into the night. The situation was not conducive to roommate harmony. Iris simply could not handle listening to a jazz ensemble practice until midnight and then trying to sleep with at least two cats draped across her face. Not again, anyway.
A crash followed by a string of expletives from the kitchen startled Iris from her thoughts.
"What the heck was that?"
Gladys gave her a grim smile. "The new chef."
"New chef? For the… diner?" Iris glanced around at the worn booths and old linoleum floors. She loved the place, but it wasn't exactly fine dining.
"We're revamping," Gladys said, straightening in her seat. "And we need a new menu."
Iris popped the last bite of pancake into her mouth. "You're not getting rid of the all-day pancakes, are you?"
"Of course not!"
"Oh, phew." Iris smiled at the older woman over her mug of bad diner coffee.
"Actually…" Gladys perked up. "I might have a solution to your problem."
"I mean… I could pick up some waitressing shifts…"
"No, not that." Gladys waved the suggestion away. Apparently, after breaking multiple plates per shift and eating her body weight in pancakes, Iris wasn't the top contender for waitressing jobs. "I have a better idea. How about nannying?"
Iris leaned back in the booth, waving her hands in front of her as if she had to physically fight off the suggestion. "Nannying children? No way."
"Why not? You're so energetic, and you're a wonderful teacher. You'd be great at it."
"No, I'm great at teaching *adults*. Adults capable of real human communication. Children are a whole other can of worms."
Gladys raised her eyebrows, clearly not buying Iris's deep and abiding mistrust of kids. "Children are capable of communication."
Iris shook her head. "They're unpredictable, and I feel like they're always plotting something. And why are they always so sticky?"
Gladys laughed, shaking her head. "Kids are just people. I'm sure you could manage one little girl."
*Just people?* Just small, incoherent people hellbent on destruction. Iris had spent much of her own childhood with adults. Well, adults and Bex, but she and Bex were nearly the same age. Iris had no younger siblings, no little cousins. She'd never babysat for the neighborhood kids. And she'd had zero interest in baby dolls.
Her best friend growing up was their sweet upstairs neighbor, Josie, who had been seventy at the time. She would look after Iris after school while her mom worked, and Iris adored her. She told the best stories and cooked the best spaghetti. To this day, it didn't feel like Sunday if there wasn't sauce simmering on the stove. Josie had taught her that.
Old folks were fonts of wisdom. Small children were just… wild.
"Who would I be working for?" Iris asked, not that she had any plans to take this insane job, but now she was curious.
Gladys's gaze slid toward the kitchen. "Well…"
Another crash and a shout.
Iris's eyes widened. "The man currently screaming at your staff has a small child?!"
"You heard about what happened to Cate Carpenter?"
"Of course." Everyone had heard. It was a tragedy. Iris had gone to school with Cate, though the two had never been close friends. Still, hearing about something like that happening to someone so young was always stop-you-in-your-tracks terrible. It was the kind of story that made you question what the hell you were doing with your own life.
"Well, apparently they found her little girl's father."
"And the father is the maniac in your kitchen?"
"He's not a maniac," Gladys said with an exasperated sigh. "He's a world-renowned chef, and he's whipping my restaurant into shape."
"Hmm."
Gladys shrugged. "He needed a job to support his daughter. We were the only place looking for a cook."
"So, you now have a chef?—"
"A world-renowned chef."
"A world-renowned chef flipping pancakes?"
Gladys grinned. "He's going to reinvigorate the entire menu."
"And how does Lionel feel about that?" Iris would have loved to be there when Gladys told her husband that the diner would now be run by a fancy-pants chef. The look on Gladys's face told her it had gone about as well as Iris would have expected.
"He'll come around," she said, folding her hands on the table. "Now, what do you think about the job?"
"Gladys, I would love to help. Really. But I have zero qualifications to be a nanny."
"Nonsense! You're CPR certified, you're creative, energetic, fun, responsible…" Gladys ticked the qualities off on her fingers. "And most importantly, you are available."
Iris shook her head. "No way. I'm sorry."
"What other options do you have?"
"I'll probably… I could just…"
Gladys's expression grew more smug the more Iris faltered.
"I will figure it out." She'd pick up some shifts at Mac's, or maybe Jeanie needed a new barista at the PS Café. Maybe she could sell a kidney or something. Anything but spending her day with a small child. Kira had already promised to hire her again for the holiday season, so she just had to make it another eight months or so. Easy.
"You're being ridiculous. Did I mention it would be a live-in position?"
"Live-in, like I wouldn't have to pay rent?"
That smug smile grew. "Exactly. No rent. And the girl is in kindergarten. She won't even be home for a big portion of the day. You could still teach your classes."
The math was rapidly shifting. If Iris didn't have to pay rent, and she could keep teaching her classes while getting paid for this nanny gig, she could maybe, finally, for once in her life, get ahead on her finances. Maybe she could stop scrabbling by.
Damn that sneaky Gladys and her good ideas.
"So, what would I actually have to do?"
"Well, I imagine you'd be getting her ready for school and picking her up. You'd be in charge in the afternoons, before her dad gets home, but I'm sure you could manage it, Iris."
"Why are you pushing this so hard?" This whole town was filled with pushers and busybodies, gossips and well-intentioned folk just dying to get into your business, but Gladys wasn't usually the type to interfere. She had her own husband, two daughters, more grandchildren than Iris could count, and this diner to run. She didn't have time for other people's nonsense.
The woman's face softened. "They're struggling, and so are you. Why not help each other out?"
Iris was about to say that she wasn't struggling, but the look on Gladys's face shut her right up. Of course she was struggling.
"That little girl lost her mother, and the man in there is doing the best he can—"
Another crash cut off Gladys's words, but her intention to tug at Iris's overdeveloped heartstrings worked anyway. What was she supposed to say? *No, I won't help the poor little girl who lost her mother?* That would be terrible.
That, combined with the threat of all-night trumpet practice, pushed Iris into saying, "Okay, fine. I'll do it."
Gladys beamed. "Wonderful! I'll tell Archer. Oh, here he is now." Gladys's gaze slid to the kitchen door as it slammed open.
It was him. The angriest man Iris had ever seen emerged from the commotion of the kitchen. If it was possible to scowl with your whole body, that was exactly what he was doing. Even his distinguished, white chef's coat did nothing to soften the glower in his dark eyes. Dirty blond hair flopped over his forehead like he'd been tugging at it and it had finally given up. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was a disapproving slash across his face. Tension radiated off him. It was the same guy who'd looked like he wanted to murder her for coating him in a kale smoothie. Not exactly the nurturing-dad type.
"Archer!" Gladys called, her voice filled with the good cheer of her success. "I found you the perfect nanny!"
Archer's storm-cloud glare turned to Iris.
She gave her potential new boss a weak smile and a wave.
If he recognized her from the smoothie incident, he gave no indication. "Send your résumé," he barked, then turned and stormed back into the kitchen.
What the hell had she just gotten herself into?