Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“She’s . . . God, she’s a trip.” I allow myself a small smile when I remember Katie running around the house this morning at six A.M., dressed in her SuperKitty costume. Unitard, mask, light-up Frozen shoes. It’s always the whole kit and caboodle or nothing. “I am a big believer in routine, so we stick to a relatively strict schedule.” Maren’s pen moves over the page as I detail our average day. The early wake up. Potty. Brush teeth, breakfast. Potty again. Get dressed, camp drop off, camp pick up. Snack, some quiet time, playtime outside. Then dinner and bath, followed by potty—what else—and a book in bed at seven-thirty.
“Wow,” Maren says.
I lift a brow. “That gonna be too much for you?”
“Not at all. In fact, this makes my job a heck of a lot easier. I mean that. The kids I’ve nannied in the past have really thrived in this kind of structure, so I’m thrilled to know you have a solid routine in place already. Sounds like Katie gets plenty of sleep, nutritious meals, and lots of quality time with friends and family. The camps she’s attending sound amazing. Well done, Dad.”
There’s a catch in my chest. I press my fingers to it, the muscles there sore from this morning’s bear of a session in my garage gym. “Thanks. To be fair, I’ve had a lot of help. I feel like I’m gone often, so I don’t want to take all the credit—”
“But you should.” Maren’s expression softens. “Mom said you’ve raised Katie on your own pretty much since she was born, right?”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “Feels like I’ve been a single parent my whole damn life, yeah.”
“You work hard. Take the credit. And good on you for getting the help you need to give Katie an excellent start in life.”
I grab my tea and gulp it. “Thanks,” I repeat.
It’s too soon, right, to tell her she’s got the job?
Our oysters arrive. I consider ordering a beer.
I do not drink beer in the middle of a workday. Ever. But being around Maren makes me want a drink. Because I know Katie will love her. How could she not? But that also means Maren will constantly be in my face with her curves and her kindness and that bold fucking way she keeps looking me in the eye.
You can do this.
If it means doing what’s right for my daughter, I can do fucking anything. And maybe if I hire Maren—finally fill the damn nanny position—this weird panic will dissipate and Maren’s gorgeousness won’t faze me.
But then she puts an oyster in her mouth and closes her eyes. The tip of her pink tongue glides over her lips as she slowly savors the bite.
My dick perks up when she literally moans. “Wow. Wow, that’s good.”
Oysters are supposed to be aphrodisiacs. But whoever said that never watched Maren Lucas eat one, because that is the real turn-on.
“Rose?” I lift my hand. “Beer. Please. The Tennessee Brunette.”
The universe must really be out to mess with me today, because next thing I know a young couple is seated next to us. A bald baby with the chunkiest thighs I’ve ever seen is plopped into a highchair at my elbow.
She kicks her bare baby feet as her dad secures a rubber bib around her neck. Then she shouts with glee when he presses a noisy kiss to her cheek.
Emotion, sharp and achy, slices through me. God, I miss Katie being that little.
At the same time, I don’t miss it at all. That first year was brutal. Katie didn’t sleep through the night until she was almost nine months old. And I was on my own. My ex-wife Becca left us when Katie was still a newborn.
These days, Becca will call every few months or so to FaceTime with Katie. I’m over my ex. But I’ll never get over the confused look on my daughter’s face during those calls.
Kid doesn’t know who her mom is. And that kills me.
The fact that Becca broke not only my heart, but my daughter’s too, fucking kills me.
The baby beside me giggles. She’s looking at Maren now. I turn to see Maren playing a game of peek-a-boo with her napkin. She goes all in, making faces, blowing raspberries. The baby laughs harder, a high, happy sound that makes my chest swell.
I immediately grab the frosty beer Rose sets in front of me and down half of it in a single gulp.
“You all right?” Maren asks, napkin poised midair.
My beer lands with a thump on the table. “When can you start?”
two
. . .
Maren
All Bark, No Bite
The next week
“Hey.”
His greeting is curt, almost rude, but my heart still skips a beat when Tuck’s green eyes meet mine. They’re crystal clear, the color of peridot.
They are piercing in the late morning sunshine.