The Omega Nanny Read online

  Bad day, Bear?

  Thomas closed his eyes and smiled into the spray, imagining Felicity’s voice echoing in the bathroom, as if she sat on the wide counter near the sink, her legs swinging in much the same way Jessie’s swung as she did her homework. Smooth skin, the color of a sandy beach wet with water and littered with freckles, and a looser version of Jessie’s curls brushing her shoulders.

  “Yeah,” said Thomas softly. “You don’t want to hear it.”

  Nope. She popped the P, and Thomas turned to rinse off his back. You did right, though. They’ll thank you for it in the long run.

  “Even if they’re cursing my name tonight.”

  Well. Someone has to.

  Thomas chuckled, and turned back into the spray.

  A scrape of metal rings, a whoosh of cold air in the warm shower as the curtain was drawn back, and then the soft feel of hands slipping around his waist.

  Imagined, and Thomas knew it. The memories were six years old, but no less real for that. He could recall the feel of Felicity’s fingers on his skin as easily as he remembered which drawer held his socks and which held his underwear.

  I don’t like any of them.

  “Any of who?”

  The profiles. None of them are right for Jessie.

  Thomas sighed. “Felicity…”

  None of them are right for you.

  “I’m not picking them for me.”

  You should be.

  “I’m not having this argument with a ghost,” said Thomas, and opened his eyes, ending the memory.

  Conversation.

  Whatever it was.

  Thomas turned the water to cold, washed himself as quickly as he could manage, and stepped out of the shower. The room was still overheated from earlier, though the cold water had raised goosebumps on his skin. It wasn’t until he dressed in sweatpants and the horrible sweater Jessie had purchased for him two Christmases before that he stopped shivering. He wiped away the condensation on the mirror to look at his reflection.

  Still handsome as ever, in case you were worried, teased Felicity, and Thomas frowned at his reflection. Dark brown skin, smooth as silk, hair shaved close to his scalp, just long enough to form tight curls but not quite in need of another shave yet.

  A mouth that once upon a time remembered how to smile. Thomas stared at his reflection for a long moment. It was easy to imagine that he saw Felicity slip behind him, rest her head on his upper shoulder, warm and loving, her smile playful and supportive.

  Nothing. Thomas’s skin was cold, despite the humidity that still hung in the air.

  Better watch out that whoever Connie finds doesn’t fall in love with you.

  Thomas turned away from the mirror.

  “It’s not about me, Liss,” he said to the empty room. “It’s about Jessie. And Jessie’s the one who needs someone. Not me.”

  If he imagined the empty room sulking back at him… well, that was just imagination.

  When Thomas entered the dining room again, Connie was setting the table for dinner around Jessie, still at her homework. He leaned over to kiss the top of Jessie’s head.

  “Fa. You made me mess up,” complained Jessie, as she scowled and began erasing another word.

  “Spelled wrong anyway,” said Thomas, and kissed her again for good measure.

  “Dinner’s ready in five minutes,” said Connie. “Thomas, do you mind if I contact this Anastasia woman myself?”

  “You can contact any applicant you like.”

  Connie sighed. It sounded very much like Jessie’s exasperated sigh. “She’s the director of the babysitting service, Tom. I need more profiles, these are all terrible.”

  It was too much like what Felicity had… what he’d imagined Felicity had said during his shower. Thomas frowned at her. “Those were the highest-rated profiles at the service, Connie. You’re telling me none of them were qualified?”

  “They were qualified, sure. They just weren’t right.”

  Thomas groaned. “Fine. You can handle all of it, if you want. Just let me meet the person before you hire them.”

  Thomas thought Connie would like that; he expected her to grin and agree. He didn’t expect her to pause and give him an odd look, and he sure as hell couldn’t figure out what the odd look she gave him meant.

  “Oh,” she said finally, in a tone so laced with meaning that Thomas wondered when the ominous music was meant to chime in, “oh, I will.”

  Thomas stared at her for a long moment.

  “Okay, maybe I should have said that a little less ominously,” Connie allowed, and Thomas just shook his head at her, until she turned and almost bounced her way into the kitchen again.

  “I am rethinking many of my life choices currently,” Thomas called after her.

  Jessie looked up from her homework. “What does ominously mean?”

  “It means,” Thomas told her, “that your aunt is plotting.”

  “Oh,” said Jessie, as she stuffed her homework into her bookbag. “She’s always doing that.”

  “Exactly,” said Thomas.

  * * *

  Thomas put in a solid two hours of work the next morning before he went to find Nora Epstein in her own office, just down the hall from his. Normally, he waited until it was closer to lunchtime before finding Nora and drinking her coffee.

  Between Connie’s announcement and the matchmaking she was surely planning, Thomas thought he was justified in stopping by earlier than normal.

  “The problem with hiring household staff,” said Nora Epstein as she picked up her teacup between outstretched fingers, “is that it always ends up feeling more like they’re hiring you.”

  Thomas snorted into his mug of coffee. Nora smiled in appreciation as she sat back in her couch. Her dark blue suit was perfectly pressed, without a single wrinkle; her dark brown hair was pulled back into a neat French twist without a single strand out of place. She was every bit the image of a career-minded beta businesswoman who did not allow any sort of nonsense – and despite the truth of that image, Thomas could still see that the light in her eyes was exactly the same as she’d had twenty years before when she and Connie had played with their Barbies and baked cookies after school.

  Nora’s office was large enough that she’d managed to fit an entire living room set in it, and the view of the city was spectacular. The other bonus to sitting in Nora’s office instead of anywhere else was that Nora’s coffee was much better than the stuff in the break room, and she wasn’t stingy about how often Thomas stopped by to drink it.

  Nora herself only drank tea, with a single slice of lemon, and no sugar. Thomas wasn’t sure why she bothered stocking the coffee at all.

  “Well, a nanny would have a tough time hiring me, since Connie’s the one doing the bulk of the interviews,” said Thomas, stretching out his legs. “I’m just giving the final okay once she’s found the right person.”

  “Good of her to go to all that trouble,” said Nora. “Particularly since she has a marriage to plan.”

  Thomas shrugged. “My mother’s doing most of it. If it were up to Connie, they’d be married at town hall.”

  Nora shuddered. “Your mother is a saint. I can’t imagine anything more depressing than a marriage at town hall.”

  I can.

  Felicity sprawled across the chair set at an angle to the couch. No one had ever sat in it that Thomas had seen, mostly because it had its back to the stunning view from the window. Thomas supposed the view didn’t matter so much to Felicity, though. He imagined her grinning at him, eyes bright with mischief.

  Thomas decided to ignore her. “I understand it’s more of a carnival atmosphere – or it was, the first few weeks after the law passed. Maybe not so much anymore.”

  “Exactly why your sister is better off having it somewhere else,” said Nora firmly.

  Spoilsport, said Felicity, amused.

  Thomas kept his eyes firmly on Nora. “I don’t know about that; Connie’s talking about inviting their frien
ds and extended family to watch. Making something of a going-away celebration of it.”

  Nora had been about to lower her teacup; instead, she brought it right back up to her lips and kept drinking, as smoothly as if she wasn’t momentarily startled. Bonding ceremonies between alphas and omegas were normally such private affairs – the idea of public ceremonies for betas tended to shock the most traditional people, regardless of presentation. Thomas grinned, pleased that he’d managed to rock her even-keel nature even a little.

  Oh, I know! Ask her to come, Thomas. Let’s see if she can’t let her hair down for once in her life.

  Felicity sounded almost cheerful at the prospect; Thomas could imagine her bouncing on her knees, clapping her hands with eager anticipation, as much an excited little girl as their daughter. Exactly the way he remembered her, when their bond was still newly formed and tight between them.

  He’d never been able to turn her down, when she was so eager.

  Thomas waited until Nora was done with the cup, and had placed it back on the saucer, before speaking again.

  “I wondered if you’d like to come.”

  Felicity held her breath – or would have, if memories even had breath. Thomas wondered what the hell he was doing listening to his subconscious anyway.

  Nora went still, where she was leaning over to place the cup and saucer on the low table in front of them – and then looked over her shoulder at Thomas. Her lips were a thin line, and her eyes had a wide look despite the way her eyebrows were creased over them, as if she was troubled and trying to consider her words carefully.

  “Thomas…”

  “Not a date,” Thomas said firmly. “Just… I’m sure Connie’s invited you already, I just thought perhaps we could go together. Share a car since parking is likely to be terrible.”

  Oh, very smooth, Thomas.

  Nora sat back up and rested her hands on her knees. “We might have been friends as children, Thomas, but just because we’re both betas doesn’t mean we’re still friends now. My attending the ceremony with you does make certain… implications.”

  That’s the point.

  “I don’t see why,” said Thomas, firmly reminding himself that Felicity was a memory, not an actual ghost prompting him to do silly things. “You’re my friend, you’re Connie’s friend, Connie seems to think this occasion merits having a few hundred people over for drinks and dessert—“

  “A few hundred?”

  “I honestly have no idea, I just know Mom’s talking about catering. Nora, I’d like you to come. I’m going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, or driven up the wall by relatives cornering me.”

  “Ah,” said Nora, and Thomas couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed. “I see. I’m your beard.”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Nonetheless, the designation is appropriate. All right. I’ll go.”

  Thomas grinned. “Hold on. You don’t want to go because Connie’s a friend, but you’ll go to make people think you and I are dating?”

  “Actually,” said Nora primly, “I’m going because your mother is talking about catering.”

  I like her, said Felicity.

  Thomas laughed.

  * * *

  “This is hopeless,” wailed Connie. “Honestly, it’s like the applicants keep getting worse.”

  Luckily, the coffee shop was busy and loud enough that no one seemed to be paying Connie’s histrionics much attention. Having breakfast at The Coffee Pot was a regular Saturday morning treat. Thomas liked the omelets and lattes and occasional scone, Connie always had a bagel with lox and cream cheese, and Jessie was methodically putting away a plate of pancakes with a hot chocolate on the side while ignoring the bowl of fresh fruit that came with her meal.

  “What’s wrong with them?” said Thomas, cutting into his omelet. “I need ketchup.” He glanced up at the bar with a frown, where the line stretched to the shop’s entrance.

  “Nothing’s wrong with them. It’s just none of them are right.”

  Thomas sighed, giving up the idea of ketchup. “Are they breathing? Do they have basic childcare experience? Can they effectively ensure that Jessie doesn’t burn down the house?”

  “That wasn’t me, that was Grandfa,” said Jessie, with a mouth full of pancake as she scribbled a crayon drawing on the paper placemat.

  “There’s more to childcare than breathing and experience,” said Connie, just as Thomas was able to catch a busboy’s attention. He was young – no more than twenty or so – and weighted down with a plastic bin of used plates, cups, and silverware that he struggled to keep upright. He was slender and tanned with a curly mop of brown hair on his head. Despite the crowded shop, and the strong scent of coffee from the bar, Thomas could still catch the faint whiff of something fresher from the busboy’s skin. It was instantly familiar, and Thomas had the idea that if he let it, it might draw him further in.

  Thomas wasn’t going to let it. He just read the busboy’s nametag so he could call his name out. The sooner the busboy looked their way, the sooner he could get what he wanted and back to his breakfast.

  “Kevin, could I get a bottle of ketchup?”

  Kevin’s grin was almost infectious, cheerful despite the heavy load in his hands. “Oh, sure. Be right back.”

  Connie took no notice of the exchange. “I mean, we want a nanny who can handle basic first aid and CPR, at a minimum. And can drive Jessie to her activities, and handle medications and isn’t afraid to climb after her out on the roof—“

  Thomas looked up from his eggs. “Connie. You don’t know basic first aid or CPR.”

  “Shut up,” said Connie. “I have higher standards in a nanny than you do.”

  Thomas shook his head. “You can’t expect every applicant to have every qualification. You’re going to have to compromise at some point if you want to hire anyone at all.”

  “Ketchup!” sang Kevin, depositing the bottle on the table as he sailed by them.

  “Thank you, Kevin,” said Thomas, distracted by the scent that trailed after him. His nostrils flared for a moment as he tried to place it, before giving up in order to shake the ketchup out onto his omelet.

  “Ew,” said Jessie, eyeing the ketchup and pulling her pancakes away, just in case it splattered onto her plate.

  “You put peanut butter on your pancakes and drench it in maple syrup,” accused Thomas.

  Jessie reached for another forkful of pancake, with a very defiant air. “Why’d you call him Kevin?”

  “Because that’s his name.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Jessie, and returned to her drawing.

  “It’s on his nametag,” Thomas told her. “Learn to read.”

  Jessie stuck her tongue out at her father and kept on drawing.

  “Oh, god,” groaned Connie, and covered her face with her hands. “Forget it. I won’t marry Brent. I can’t leave the two of you alone, you’ll end up raising a serial killer.”

  Jessie looked up. “Am I killing the raisin bran, or the toasted wheat?”

  “Napkins,” announced Kevin, dropping the pile of napkins in the center of the table as he passed by. This time, Thomas recognized the scent that almost clung to Kevin, sharp and sweet like watermelon and basil – and something else that made Thomas set down his fork in order to ponder it a bit more thoroughly.

  Kevin’s scent marked him as an omega. And that was completely unusual.

  Omegas didn’t tend to work in coffee shops – much less unbonded omegas, at that. No wonder it had taken a moment to place his scent; most omegas wouldn’t have dared work in a public space. Thomas wondered if Kevin was being brave or just especially foolhardy.

  “Hi, Kieran!” said Jessie brightly.

  “His name is Kevin,” Thomas automatically corrected her, but Kevin stopped his forward motion to grin at her anyway.

  “Hey, it’s Jessie! I mistook you for a world-renowned artist.”

  Jessie sat up a little taller in her chair, and smirked at h
er father before responding with a pleased expression. “I’m a cereal killer today. What kind do you think should be my first victim?”

  Thomas groaned and covered his face, trying to figure out how to explain the misunderstanding, when he heard the busboy respond.

  “Oh, definitely flavorless oaties. The ones that masquerade as the honey-nut kind.”

  “I need brown for those, I only have blue and green,” said Jessie, holding up her crayons.

  “I’ll bring you more,” said Kevin/Kieran, and spun back into the crowd again.

  “Oh, he’s good,” said Connie admiringly as she watched him go. “Jess, didn’t he babysit for you once?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Thomas frowned. “Is that how he knows Jessie?”

  “Kieran, right?” asked Connie thoughtfully, and pulled out her phone. She began to swipe through one of the apps.

  “He’s an omega, Connie,” said Thomas.

  “I’m just looking at his profile!”

  “For me or for Jessie?”

  “He knows first aid,” said Connie as she read. “And CPR.”

  “Can he drive?”

  “You can’t expect every applicant to have every qualification,” said Connie loftily, and Thomas resisted the urge to kick her under the table.

  “I can expect them to not be an omega,” said Thomas pointedly. “What happens when he goes into heat?”

  “Aha! When. You’re already thinking about hiring him.”

  Thomas groaned. “I’m pointing out the inevitability that he would go into heat. It’s not exactly an if situation.”

  Connie picked up her bagel. “Mom could watch Jessie. Or, I don’t know, this is a bit of a crazy thought – you could watch Jessie.”

  “I like him,” announced Jessie.

  “We don’t even know his proper name,” said Thomas, almost desperately.

  “Crayons!” announced Kevin/Kieran, depositing several yellow, orange, and brown crayons on the table in front of Jessie.

  Jessie looked up at him, craning her neck. “Why’s your nametag say Kevin?”

  Kevin/Kieran rested a hand on the back of Jessie’s chair and shrugged. “Because even when it did say Kieran, everyone called me Kevin anyway. And then it melted in the dryer because I forgot to take it off when I washed my apron, and the real Kevin had just left so I took his nametag. Easier than making another when people weren’t going to call me by the right name anyway.”