Daphne Collins, a 21-year-old aspiring artist who is attempting to make her way in the world of the bustling New York City. Though when a new nannying job gets offered to her, she takes it, hopeful that it'll give her the extra money and nudge to ma...
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Chapter Song - Someone New by Hozier
Coconut and vanilla. Messy blonde hair. Chocolate brown eyes, and pale skin that stands out of place in the crowd of people with fresh summer tans.
In three years i've felt nothing such as attraction towards another woman. Not ever since my late wife Jennifer died.
But her. Daphne. I can't pin point it...
She's a breath of fresh air amongst the crowd of women my age who are doused in their grandmothers old pearls, and their perfectly steamed Ralph Lauren sweaters. Going on their daily walks around the neighbourhood, gossiping about how they're stupid old husband can't get it up in bed.
The people around here are all the same. Wealthy, snobbish and ignorant. It's not the entire wealthy population of course, but a fair too many.
Yet, there's one thing. She's young. I'm 43, she's 21. Thats a 22 year age gap.
She has a whole life ahead of her. A widowed dad with two young daughters, who hasn't gone on a date in years, probably doesn't appeal to her much.
God, you fucking idiot. She's the nanny and she's 21, cut it out.
But I can't help it. I'd lost all hope on potentially finding someone genuine, it's been quite a lonely few years. I mean I have my girls, who are everything to me. But that doesn't mean I don't want to find another woman, someone who I can talk to, spend time with, lounge with.
It's real fucking lonely.
It also doesn't help that the memory of Jennifer floats through the walls, in rooms. Even though all her stuff is packed away in storage, the only memory of her is in the pictures on the walls and the faint smell of her perfume or chuckle of her laughter.
It drives me insane.
So believe me, I'm nowhere near against wanting to find someone again. I want someone for myself, and a person for my girls to grow up with a motherly figure. Someone who can teach them to speak up for themselves, be confident and strong. I know I can do that, to some extent.
I'm really not a great example though, I don't like people all to much. At all really. Jennifer was the one who organised dinners with 'friends', playdates for the girls and every social interaction under the sun. She was the one who kept me social outside of my work and even there I talk as less as I can.
"Good mornin'," Daphne's chirp voice greets as I walk into the kitchen, a wafting smell of pancakes and maple syrup filling the kitchen.
"Morning," I reply. Her accent is much more, how do I put it? Rugged? No, thats not it.
But her accent and aura is much more 'New Yorker' compared to mine, and people around this neighbourhood. I only really hear it when I take the subway every now and then.
