“What does he need? A babysitter?” The room is quiet for several beats while my dad stares at the tabletop between his hands. Eventually, his fingers tap the surface of it—something he does when he’s deep in thought. A habit I’ve picked up from him over the years. His almost black eyes lift, and a wolfish grin takes over his entire face. “Yeah, Summer. That’s exactly what he needs. And I know the perfect person for the job.” And based on the way he’s looking at me right now, I think Rhett Eaton’s new babysitter just might be me.
