If You Give a Single Dad a Nanny: Chapter 12

“MOM, I’VE TOLD YOU I’M not going out tonight.” I maneuver around her, carrying a handful of dishes from her and Lola’s earlier dinner. “I have to work on a hundred-page financial report for Harrison that he needs by Sunday.” I don’t mention that I may also have to go to New York this coming week to handle some in-person meetings.

“Harrison’s report can wait,” she says, following me to the sink. “If he complains, blame me. He can’t be angry with his mother.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d love that.” I deadpan. “Besides, I don’t want to leave Lola.” I rinse off the plates and utensils before loading them into the dishwasher.

“She’s already in bed for the night, remember?” My mom places her hand on mine, forcing me to look at her. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with having a life outside of Lola and your job. It’s important that you do something for yourself on occasion.” She’s exceptionally pushy tonight.

“I appreciate your concern, but shouldn’t you be getting home to Dad?” I utter with a hint of annoyance.

“No, he’s at the Old Mill Brewery with some former colleagues, so I’m in no rush,” she says cheerfully, propping her hip against the counter. “Now, will you please stop trying to change the subject? I was merely suggesting you go to the Willow Creek Café and socialize with people your age. Would that be so bad?”

Yes, it would.

Once I’ve finished loading the dishwasher, I start the cycle and dry my hands using the dish towel on the counter. My mom watches me like a hawk, impatiently waiting for me to answer.

“I know everyone in this town, and I can confidently say that I have no desire to spend time with any of them. Most people who go to these things live in their parents’ basement, don’t have a job, or are looking for a free ride—none of which I have in common.”

“Oh shush, you’re being dramatic. I guarantee there will be at least one person there whose company you’ll enjoy. You just need to give it a chance.”

“Mom, I don’t want—”

“Honestly, Dylan, will you stop being so difficult?” She sighs in exasperation. “Please go for me?” She mirrors Lola’s classic puppy dog eyes.

“Good grief,” I mutter.

If persistence were an Olympic sport, my mom would have a gold medal. She has a gift for pushing until you give in to her wishes. While I appreciate my mother’s caring nature, she goes overboard in her eagerness to help. You’d think I’d have mastered the art of saying no by now, but she makes it incredibly difficult to be the one to disappoint her.

“Fine, I’ll go,” I concede, throwing my hands up. “But only for an hour.”

“If you say so,” she says cryptically. “Are you planning to change first?”

“No.” I head into the living room and she follows me.

“Sweetheart, suits are meant for the office, not a night out on the town.”

“Would you rather I didn’t go at all?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she dismisses with a wave. “Can you at least take off the suit jacket and tie?”

“Sure, Mom.” I undo my cobalt tie and shrug off my jacket, draping them over the couch. “Happy now?”

“Yes, you look very handsome.” She leans in to pat my face. “Now hurry along. You’re running late.”

I grab my keys from the basket on the entryway table and head to the front door.

“Have fun, sweetheart.” She beams as waves goodbye.

“See you later, Mom.”

If my mom’s friend, Stacy, didn’t own Willow Creek Café, I’d skip out and join my dad at Old Mill. But I know if I don’t show up to this thing, I’ll never hear the end of it.

On my way to my car, I notice that Marlow’s Jeep isn’t in her driveway, and her house is completely dark except for a lamp in her living room. That’s odd since she’s usually in her loft painting at this time of night, with every light in the house on.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been distracted countless times, unable to resist watching her paint when I should be working. It’s hypnotic watching her lose herself in the process of transforming a plain canvas into something extraordinary. The way her lips part in concentration, the world around her fading away. Every stroke of the palette knife is a testament to her dedication, as if she’s pouring a piece of her soul into the masterpiece unfolding before her.

Without fail, she finishes every painting session with at least one paint smudge on her face. And every time I have the inclination to wipe it off—like I did that night in her studio a couple of weeks ago. I often take it a step further in my mind and imagine tracing the paint down her neck, over her collarbone, across the swells of her breasts.

I shake my head, attempting to clear all thoughts of Marlow from my mind, and get into my car. I need to remember she’s my daughter’s nanny, ten years my junior, and that her sunny disposition annoys me.

At least it used to.

There’s a reason I’ve avoided her as much as possible since our encounter in my kitchen last week. She’s messing with my head, and I don’t know how to put an end to it.

Maybe my mom was onto something suggesting I go out tonight. It’s better than staying home, watching Marlow’s studio, wondering where she is, who she’s with, and what she’s doing. Tonight could offer a welcome distraction from her constantly occupying my thoughts.

It takes less than ten minutes to get to Willow Creek Café, one advantage of living in a small town. However, I have to park several blocks away, which is odd because this part of town is typically not busy.

When I enter the café, Stacy is standing at the hostess station. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a low bun, and she’s wearing a teal button-up shirt and black slacks.

“Hey, Dylan.” She greets me with a warm smile. “I would ask if you wanted a table, but I just got off the phone with your mom, so I know you’re not here for dinner.” She winks. “Why don’t you head to the back? They’ve already started, but I’m sure they won’t have any trouble finding you a seat. Good luck in there.” She moves away to seat a couple, waiting for a table.

I venture to the back of the restaurant, shocked to find the events room packed. There must be other singles from the surrounding towns here tonight.

Tables are lined up in rows with women seated on one side, men on the other. It’s then that I notice a chalkboard sign propped up against the door—Welcome to Aspen Grove’s Speed Dating Mixer.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

My mom tricked me into coming to a speed dating event. I should have asked for more details before agreeing to come. We’re going to have a conversation about boundaries when I get home, which is going to be much sooner than she expected because I’m not staying for this.

I’m ready to make a quick exit when I spot a familiar face across the room, framed with golden blonde hair and striking eyes—one blue, one green.

Marlow Taylor.

Her cherry red lips are turned up in a smile. She’s styled her hair into an intricate halo braid, and she’s wearing a vintage plum sweater dress with bell sleeves. She looks incredible, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.

She’s seated across from Eric Schultz, the manager at the local bank, who’s staring at her like she’s going to be his next meal. Rumor has it he’s in the middle of a messy divorce, so he has no business being here.

Marlow is worthy of a man who will treat her right and not use her as a rebound. She deserves someone willing to take care of her and who will be there when she needs them most. I highly doubt Eric fits the bill.

A sense of unease comes over me when Marlow touches Eric’s arm, laughing at something he said. When Eric puts his hand over hers, all rational thoughts leave me and I’m storming straight for their table to save her from him because I—well, I don’t know why. But he’s not right for her.

Marlow’s eyes widen when she sees me coming. “Dylan? Wh-what are you doing here?” she stutters.

I stop next to their table, my gaze locked on hers. “I saw you were here and thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

Her brow furrows at my unusual behavior. “Don’t you have your own speed dating partner you should be talking to?”

I glance down at Eric’s smarmy face and can’t imagine why Marlow would find him attractive.

“I’m much more interested in how yours is going.”

She shifts in her seat. “I was having a nice conversation with my friend Eric here before you interrupted.”

Eric seems less than enthusiastic about being labeled as her friend.

“Why do you care so much?” he demands in a whiny tone. God, this guy is grating on my nerves.

“Marlow is my daughter’s nanny, and I’m looking out for her. Why don’t you leave, or better yet, go find someone you’re more compatible with.” I glare at him.

Eric’s chin jerks back to his thick neck. “Excuse me?”

Marlow lets out a nervous laugh as her gaze ping pongs between us. “Our time is almost up, so if you could—”

“Look, man,” Eric interjects, which is another reason he’s wrong for her. He won’t even let her speak. “You’ll get your chance with Marlow later. It’s my turn now, so get lost.” He jerks his head toward the exit.

I’m not sure why this situation is getting under my skin so much. Like I said, Marlow is Lola’s nanny and I have no claim to her. Still, an intense blaze of jealousy sparked to life when I saw Eric touch her hand. The idea of her talking with him for another second creates an unexpected storm of emotions raging inside me.

Luck is on my side when a timer goes off, concluding this round of speed dating. The moderator instructs the men to move to the seat to their left so they can begin the next round.

“I think that’s your cue to get lost.” I practically shove Eric out of his seat.

He stands there gaping at me, but finally takes the hint to leave, moving on to his next victim at another table. Luckily, Marlow’s next would-be date doesn’t attempt to approach us after I shoot him a baleful glare.

I sit in the chair Eric vacated. “Hi, I’m Dylan.” I feign an introduction as I extend my hand out to Marlow. “Why are you here, sunshine?” The nickname comes out unintentionally, but I rather like it.

“Don’t call me that,” she counters, ignoring my gesture.

“Why not? It suits you.” I lean forward.

“Maybe you should leave.” She motions to the exit.

I rest my elbows on the table, drawing closer. “I didn’t know you were looking for a boyfriend,” I say, ignoring her comment entirely.

“Who said I was looking for a boyfriend?” she retorts.

“The whole point of speed dating is to find someone you’re compatible with. So, if you’re not looking for a date, then why are you here?”

I can’t help but wonder if she’s interested in someone here. If it’s Eric fucking Schultz, I can’t be held accountable for decking him in the face for touching her.

I draw in a deep breath while tugging at the collar of my shirt.

“You okay, Dylan? You seem a little tense.” Marlow’s gaze searches my face, probably looking for the answer as to why I’m acting this way.

“I’m fine,” I say as I flex my hands. “Now why don’t you tell me why you’re here if it’s not to find a date.”

She fixes me with a hard stare. “My personal life is none of your business. Besides, even if I were looking for someone to go out with, I hope you’re not putting yourself in the running.” A teasing smile passes her lips.

I raise a brow. “And why is that?”

More importantly, why does the idea of going out with Marlow sound so appealing? Typically, I’m quick to avoid the topic of dating altogether, but surprisingly the familiar sense of panic that accompanies the subject is notably absent.

“Because you’re far too grumpy for my taste, you don’t smile enough, and you’re not a fan of ‘80s pop music. Plus, you don’t like Cheez-Its which is an automatic disqualifier in my book.” She rests back in her chair with a smirk.

“I’m not grumpy,” I mumble.

Sure, I’m usually gruff when interacting with my employees and prefer to keep to myself aside from my family and Lola, but that doesn’t mean I’m grumpy.

Marlow raises a brow, seemingly unconvinced by my response.

“Fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I admit that I’m a little grumpy, but you’re forgetting my redeeming quality.”

“What might that be?” She cocks her head to the side.

“I can braid hair. I’m told that makes every woman swoon.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting one very important detail,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

“Which is?”

“You can’t do fishtail braids.” She teases.

Lola must have told her that.

God, I’m enjoying this playful conversation way too much.

“Well, at least—” I stop short when I notice the rest of the room has fallen silent.

Everyone in the room is far more interested in our conversation than their own.

“Why don’t we talk outside?” I suggest in a hushed tone.

“There’s no need,” Marlow says as she pushes her chair back. “I was just leaving.”

She strides out of the room, grabbing her coat from the rack on her way out. I chase after her, jogging to keep up with her brisk pace.

Marlow doesn’t say a word until we reach her car that’s parked a block down the street. She reaches for the door handle but pauses, spinning on her heel to fix me with a questioning glance. “What do you want Dylan?” She sighs.

“Will you please tell me why you came tonight?” I ask with sincere interest.

It’s going to bother me until I have an answer. Despite denying my attraction, it’s there, bubbling beneath the surface. The notion that she really did come here looking for someone to take her home makes my stomach turn.

“Did you forget that we were in the same room? What were you doing at a speed dating event?” She jabs her finger into my chest.

“I had no idea there was going to be speed dating.” I don’t miss Marlow’s skeptical look. “My mom told me there was a get-together at Willow Creek Café and insisted that I stop by. I should have suspected something was up when she practically pushed me out the door.”

In hindsight, I see that I was overly trusting. I didn’t think pushing for more information was worth the effort.

Who am I kidding? This is my mother we’re talking about.

Marlow stares at me, absorbing my answer, and then she laughs. “This is too funny. Your mom—” She covers her face with her hands, and every few seconds she tries to explain further, but bursts into another fit of laughter.

“Should I be concerned?” I give her a puzzled look.

She shakes her head as she takes a moment to collect herself.

“I ran into your mom earlier today, and she strongly suggested I come here tonight to get out of the house,” Marlow explains. “She can be very persuasive when she wants to be.”

I tilt my head in confusion. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She nods. “I’m pretty sure your mom tried setting us up,” she says, echoing my thoughts.

I wish I could say I was surprised.

“Why did you stay?” If I hadn’t seen her, I would have left. I’m curious why she didn’t do the same.

She shrugs. “I figured I might as well make some new friends while I was here.”

When I get home, my mom and I’ll be having a conversation about minding her business as far as Marlow is concerned.

“I hate to break it to you, sunshine”—I take a step toward her—“but none of those men wanted to be your friend. They were far more interested in taking you home.” Just the idea of her spending the night with another man causes a burning sensation in my stomach.

Her mouth forms a perfect O at my assessment.

“It’s not surprising… considering you were the most beautiful woman in that room.”

“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers.

Maybe it’s the full moon, or the romantic glow of the town square twinkling with golden lights. Maybe I’m lonely and she’s just too tempting. Whatever the reason, I can’t stop myself from rasping out, “Why not? It’s the truth.”

Marlow takes a step back, bumping into the side of her car. I pause for a beat, debating if I should walk away.

Fuck it.

I close the distance between us, placing my hands on the roof, caging her in. The tension is thick in the air as I lift my hand and trace her lips with the pad of my thumb. Her breathing picks up, and her eyes fill with desire. She’s utterly irresistible.

“Dylan, what are you doing?” she murmurs.

“Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you,” I say softly.

It’s not the first time. I imagine she tastes like strawberries and pink lemonade, sparking my curiosity to test my theory.

She remains still as I cup her jaw, caressing her cheek. Her pupils grow wide as I lean in to brush my lips against hers in teasing strokes, refraining from outright kissing her. Her hands land on my hips, gripping me. The touch sparks a flicker of desire that ignites within me like a wildfire.

Her mouth is wickedly tempting, inviting me in for a proper taste. I’m seconds away from caving in when the sound of a door closing nearby shatters the bubble surrounding us.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I step back.

Marlow blinks rapidly, releasing a deep breath before turning and opening her car door, in a daze.

“It was a terrible error in judgment, that’s all,” she rushes out. “I got caught up in the moment when you called me beautiful. And then you looked at me with that ridiculous smoldering gaze of yours, and I fell under your spell.” She holds her hand up to stop me when I try to get closer. “But I’m over it now, so you can stay right where you are.”

God, she’s adorable when she rambles.

More than anything, I want to tell her she’s wrong, and convince her to admit that she wanted that kiss as much as I did. But she’s already nervous, and I can’t risk losing her because of my selfish desires. Lola loves having her as a nanny, and I can’t do anything else to put that in jeopardy.

“You’re right. I got caught up in the moment, and I apologize if I made you uncomfortable,” I say as I rake my hand through my hair.

She nervously chews on her lower lip. “Like I said, it was a lapse in judgment on both our parts,” she reiterates. “Listen, it’s getting late, so I better go.” She hops into the driver’s side of her Jeep.

“Yeah, okay, see you on Monday.”

She gives me a small wave before driving off. I’m left standing alone on the curb, the scent of her strawberry lipstick lingering in the air.

Without a doubt, Marlow Taylor is a genuinely good person. She’s thoughtful, kind, generous, and always willing to lend a helping hand to those in need.

I’ve spent so long avoiding emotional connections out of fear of getting hurt, and Marlow is the first person aside from Lola who’s made me truly feel in the past six years.

She’s slowly chipping away at my resolve without even trying, which might explain my impulsive reactions tonight. My physical attraction paired with the emotional pull toward her is an explosive combination, leaving me to question what would have happened if she hadn’t stopped me from kissing her tonight.