The next morning brought clear skies and sharp sunlight streaming through the windows of the Reed mansion. The rain had washed away the haze, but something still lingered in the air—something Emma couldn't name.
She moved through her morning routine with practiced ease. Feed Emily. Change her. Play for a bit in the nursery. But her mind wandered—to the music room. To the way Alexander had looked at the piano, as if it held all the pieces of a life he no longer let himself remember.
She shook the thought away and refocused on the giggling baby in front of her.
Emma (singing softly): "The wheels on the bus go round and round…"
Emily (laughing): "Woun' an' woun'!"
Emma grinned and tickled her sides, making Emily burst into another round of delighted shrieks.
Emma: "You're the best audience I've ever had."
She was still playing when the nursery door creaked open.
Alexander stood there, dressed casually—for once—in a slate-gray sweater and dark slacks. No tie. No jacket. It was almost... disarming.
Alexander (neutral): "She's lively this morning."
Emma (nodding): "She loves music. And silly songs. I think she's going to be a performer."
He stepped into the room, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Emily wobble on unsteady feet.
Alexander: "She used to cry every morning."
Emma's head tilted slightly.
Emma (gently): "What changed?"
Alexander (quietly): "You."
The word hung there, heavier than either of them expected.
Emma looked away, heart thudding. She could feel heat creeping up her neck.
Emma (softly): "She just needed attention. Affection. Routine."
Alexander didn't respond immediately. Instead, he walked over and crouched next to Emily, holding out a small stuffed elephant.
Alexander (softly): "Here."
Emily reached out, took the toy, and promptly offered it to Emma instead.
Emma (laughing): "Oh, thank you, darling."
Alexander rose to his feet again, eyes lingering on Emma.
Alexander: "I've been… meaning to ask something."
Emma (curious): "Of course."
Alexander: "You said you're taking evening classes. What for?"
She blinked. That wasn't the question she expected.
Emma: "Early childhood education. I want to teach someday. Maybe even open my own daycare."
He studied her for a long moment.
Alexander: "You could."
Emma (surprised): "You think so?"
Alexander: "You're… patient. Observant. Calm."
Emma (teasing lightly): "You've been watching me?"
He looked momentarily thrown off, then smirked.
Alexander: "You're in my house. It's hard not to."
There it was again—that flicker of something beneath the surface. Dry humor. Warmth. Humanity.
And just like that, it vanished.
Alexander (shifting): "I'll be in the study. Call Mrs. Hopkins if you need anything."
He turned to go.
But before he reached the door, Emma found herself speaking.
Emma (softly): "Mr. Reed."
He paused.
Emma: "You can call me Emma."
His back remained turned.
Alexander (after a moment): "Emma."
Then he left.
And Emma sat there, heart racing, wondering what she'd just opened.
---
That afternoon, Mrs. Hopkins peeked her head into the kitchen while Emma cleaned up after lunch.
Mrs. Hopkins (smiling knowingly): "You've got him talking."
Emma (raising a brow): "Barely."
Mrs. Hopkins: "Barely is more than anyone else has managed in years."
Emma dried her hands, thinking.
Emma: "He's… not what I expected."
Mrs. Hopkins (nodding): "Most people only see the surface. Cold. Strict. Rigid."
Emma: "But underneath…"
Mrs. Hopkins: "He loved his wife deeply. When she died, he locked the whole world out. Except Emily, maybe. And now—well, now there's you."
Emma blinked.
Emma: "I'm just the nanny."
Mrs. Hopkins gave her a look that said you're not just anything, but didn't push further.
---
Later that evening, Emma passed by the study with Emily in her arms. She hadn't meant to linger, but the door was cracked slightly open, and Alexander's voice drifted out.
Alexander (on the phone, frustrated): "No, that's not acceptable. I told you I needed those numbers yesterday."
Pause.
Alexander: "Then fire him. I don't care. I need people I can trust, not excuses."
Emma hesitated. She didn't want to eavesdrop, but something about his tone—tired, not just angry—made her pause.
Alexander (quieter now): "No. I don't have time for dinner. Just reschedule it."
Another pause.
Alexander: "Because I have other priorities tonight."
Emma took a step back, heart fluttering for reasons she didn't want to name.
She didn't mean to overhear. But the words stayed with her anyway.
Other priorities.
---
After Emily was asleep, Emma found herself in the small sitting room on the third floor—the one with the oversized windows and view of the garden. She liked this room. It was quiet. Soft. Forgotten, maybe.
She curled up with a book, but the words blurred. Her thoughts kept drifting back to that moment in the nursery. And the piano. And the phone call.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She was supposed to do her job. Save her money. Get her degree. Stay out of the way.
But Alexander Reed was no longer just her employer. He was becoming a person. Complicated. Hurting. Real.
And that made things infinitely more dangerous.
She didn't hear him until he spoke.
Alexander (from the doorway): "You like this room."
Emma jumped slightly, snapping the book shut.
Emma: "It's peaceful. I didn't think anyone else came here."
He stepped inside, hands in his pockets.
Alexander: "I used to. When I needed to think."
Emma (smiling faintly): "I think that's exactly what it was made for."
A quiet moment passed.
Then:
Alexander: "You're good with her."
Emma: "Thank you."
Alexander (looking away): "She used to scream when I entered a room."
Emma's heart ached.
Emma (softly): "She doesn't now."
He looked at her then—really looked. And the distance between them felt suddenly too short. Too charged.
Alexander (carefully): "You've changed this house, Emma."
Emma (barely a whisper): "So have you."
Another pause. The air thickened.
But then—
Alexander (stepping back): "I should get some sleep."
Emma nodded, heart pounding.
Emma: "Goodnight, Mr. Reed."
He hesitated.
Then:
Alexander: "Goodnight, Emma."
And with that, he disappeared down the hall.
Emma sat alone in the quiet room, her book forgotten, her chest tight.
The ice was cracking.
And she didn't know if that was a miracle—or a mistake.