Crazy Hot (The Au Pairs 4)

"Oh. Thank you," she said gratefully, keeping her eyes to the ground. She blew her nose on the handkerchief, taking in the sweet smell of freshly ironed lavender. It was as large as a formal dinner napkin and softer than Kleenex. Who even carried handkerchiefs anymore?

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"I'm sorry. I think I've soiled this," she apologized, balling it up in her hand. She looked up to see who'd given it to her, expecting a white-haired old lady with a plaid hat, but instead found herself looking at a tall, towheaded boy built like a football player, with broad shoulders and a rugged bearing. He was about her age, Jacqui guessed. He had quintessential all-American good looks, from his thick blond hair and clear, cornflower blue eyes to his straight, roman nose.

"I'm Pete Rockwood," he said, holding out his hand.

She shook it. "Jacqui Velasco." She held out his handkerchief. "Thanks again."

"Not at all. Keep it. You need it more than I do." He smiled gently.

Jacqui nodded and looked up at him again. He had a camera around his neck--a small digital Canon Elph, but still. He was clearly a tourist. Somehow she didn't feel the usual disdain she felt for the provincial hordes that swarmed upon Manhattan in the summer months. He was too . . . cute for disdain.

"You take care now." Pete gave her another kind smile and turned to walk away. Jacqui was shocked. He wasn't even going to stay and make small talk? In her whole life, she'd never met a single guy who'd given up the chance to flirt with her. She couldn't decide if she was impressed or insulted.

"Hey!" she called

out after him.

He turned around.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

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"To St. Patrick's. My family's waiting there."

"Oh ..." Jacqui said. She didn't want to keep him, but she didn't much feel like being alone right now either. "Well, what are you doing here, then?"

Pete smiled and gestured to the scene before them. "I just wanted to see the pond, you know. Have a little J. D. Salinger moment. I'd always wanted to see the ducks. We have ducks in Indianapolis too, but it's not the same."

Jacqui felt like she'd just been knocked in the chest. He'd been thinking of The Catcher in the Rye too? "Do you have to meet them right now?"

Pete walked back and sat down next to her on the bench. "I guess not." He removed a plastic bag full of bread crumbs from his back pocket and handed her some. Together they started tossing the crumbs to the ducks on the water.

"Sorry to keep you; it's just . . . it's been a crappy day." She tossed a crumb to one of the hungrier-looking ducks.

"Yeah? What happened?" Pete turned and looked at her, really looked at her, waiting patiently for her to tell him.

Jacqui didn't know why, but she felt like she could trust this Pete Rockwood. Maybe it was something about taking comfort in a stranger, someone who didn't know anything about her, but before she knew it, she was unburdening herself to him, everything coming out in a torrent--her hopes for NYU, the Perrys' shocking abandonment, her doomed future.

Pete listened quietly, asking the right questions, never interrupting

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her or making snap judgments. Throughout all of her experiences in America--with the super-rich Hamptonites, the spoiled and self-involved New Yorkers--no one had ever treated her so . . . nicely. He was so gentle and sweet, strong and solid at the same time. What was this Indianapolis place, and were all the guys there like Pete?

His voice broke into her thoughts. "You know, you've been dealt a bad hand--but as my granny says, when life hands you lemons, make lemonade." Pete grinned, and his teeth were so white he looked like he should be in a Crest commercial.

"Lemonade?"

"You know, figure out a way to make things work for you." He shrugged. "It's not an exact science. But something will come up. It always does." He smiled shyly and his hair fell into his eyes.

"Are you always this optimistic?" Jacqui asked.

Pete nodded. "Yeah, actually. I mean, that lady--Anna, right?--she said she'd give you a great reference. And that there's a family that's going to need you." He picked up the camera and held it up to one eye, squinting. "Well, you'll probably have a job by tonight." He snapped a few photos of the ducks and the surroundings but never once asked to take her photo. Another first.

"You think?" Jacqui wrinkled her brow doubtfully, although Pete's positive outlook was starting to rub off on her. Anna had said someone would need her. After all, this was Manhattan. A