It turns out that after a lifetime of taking care of people, I’m not great at relaxing. I flick the TV on and try to find something to watch, but nothing appeals to me. I walk over to the bookshelf in my living room, stocked with some classics from my parents and some books I grabbed for myself along the way. Books I thought seemed interesting and then never made the time to read.

I pull one out and flop down onto the couch with it. But when I do, I feel a lump in my back pocket. And then I’m immediately on edge.

Willa.

I don’t even know her last name. I don’t know much about her, really. All I know is that she won’t be good enough to take care of Luke.

She’s nothing like the uninteresting, responsible, asexual nun who also wants to do fun things with an active little boy I’ve had in mind for the job.

I’m not delusional enough to think that person exists, but I keep hoping for that anyway. And Willa isn’t the answer I was hoping for.

Luke’s mom did a number on us. She continues to do a number on us—on me.

My trust levels are at rock bottom. I trust Mrs. Hill because I know she took good care of my brothers and me. Same goes for my dad. I trust Summer because anyone who can manage to tie my wild-child little brother down can handle an unruly five-year-old.

But this Willa character. I don’t know her. I don’t trust her.

All I know is that she makes my dick twitch, she talks too much, and she has a spare pair of underwear in her purse.

I sit up and pull them out. It’s not like they’re anything offensive. A silky nylon type of black fabric. Pretty full cut. I guess. For panties? What the fuck do I know?

I feel like the biggest perv, sitting here on my couch, scrutinizing a pair of underwear that belongs to the woman who is currently taking care of my child.

I should give them back.

I don’t want to keep walking around with them.

I also don’t want to look her in the eye as I hand them back.

I’m thirty-eight years old and acting like a nervous fucking teenager over women’s undergarments.

Agitated with myself, I storm over to the kitchen and shove them all the way to the back of my “stuff” drawer. The one where random shit goes to die because I’m too lazy to think of a proper place to put it. I pride myself on keeping a tidy house, but that one drawer is my secret shame.

It seems fitting that Willa’s underwear should end up in there.