If You Give a Single Dad a Nanny: a single dad, grumpy sunshine, small town romance

“DADDY, SPAGHETTI IS MY NEW favorite food. Oh, except for Cheez-Its. I love Cheez-Its,” Lola exclaims.

She takes a giant bite of a meatball, a splash of sauce getting on the napkin I insisted she tuck into her shirt to avoid getting any on her outfit.

“What about the broccoli?” I frown, gesturing to the three florets on her plate. “You love broccoli.”

Lola’s never been a picky eater, unless you count her food having to be cut into the shape of a unicorn or rainbow whenever possible. As a toddler, she was a huge fan of sweet potatoes, kale, and any other vegetable I put on her plate. If she’s growing an aversion to healthy foods, I’m not above sneaking them into her meals.

“I like broccoli,” Lola says with her mouth full, “but I love Cheez-Its and spaghetti.”

I glance over at Marlow, who’s twirling a forkful of spaghetti on her plate, pretending she’s not listening to our conversation. I lean over and put my arm around her chair.

“Hear that, sunshine?” I whisper. “Lola’s new favorite food is Cheez-Its. Any idea why that might be?”

She looks at me innocently. “Because they’re delicious?”

I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“In my defense, you did leave me with a giant box of Cheez-Its when you were away on your business trip. Did you think Lola wouldn’t find them and not ask me to share?” She raises her eyebrow.

“Touché.”

She gives me a smirk, returning her attention to her plate.

I’m not used to having anyone over for dinner aside from my parents and siblings. I’ve never invited a woman over before. Kendra always left the second I got home from work, and anyone I’ve gone out with, I’ve met at a restaurant. Marlow is the exception. She’s slowly breaking down my walls.

I was pleasantly surprised how things went at Brush & Palette. Marlow was nearby when Lola wanted her help with something, but let me take the lead, which I appreciated. My weekends with Lola are important and I’m grateful Marlow understands that.

After Lola’s class, we stopped by Main Street Market. Willis had just put out a fresh batch of his famous meatballs. I got a dozen and figured I had to make spaghetti to go with them. Lola and I unanimously decided to invite Marlow over for dinner.

“Daddy, can I watch an episode of Bluey?” Lola asks after she’s cleared her plate.

“You can watch one,” I tell her. “It’s a school night, so you need to go to bed on time.”

“Yay,” she shouts, racing into the living room.

Unfortunately, she’s already a whiz with technology, which means she can access her favorite shows on her own. I had to set up parental controls last year after I found her watching My Little Pony on multiple occasions in the middle of the night. Now, she can only access the TV during certain hours.

“Should I put these in the dishwasher?” Marlow nods to the dirty dishes on the table.

“If you wouldn’t mind putting them in the sink, that would be great. I haven’t gotten around to unloading the dishwasher.” I carry the bowl of leftover spaghetti over to the counter.

“I can do that,” Marlow says as she stands up. “It’s the least I can do after you cooked such an incredible meal.”

“Thank you.”

As she collects the dirty dishes and carries them over to the sink, I get a container from the cupboard and fill it with the rest of the spaghetti. I’m sure Lola won’t mind having it for leftovers this week, considering it’s now one of her favorite foods.

“Ouch,” Marlow yelps.

I spin around to see her standing by the dishwasher, clutching her left hand. I’m alarmed when I notice there’s blood dripping from a cut on her finger. I grab a dish towel from the counter and rush to her side, wrapping the towel around her finger.

“What happened?”

“I cut myself on your vegetable slicer.” She glares down at the offending object on the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Come sit down.” I usher her over to the table and pull out a chair for her to sit.

I grab the first aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol that I keep under the sink. When I get back to the table, Marlow is holding the towel tightly against her finger, looking at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just the most prepared person I’ve ever met.”

“Unfortunately, having all the supplies doesn’t equate to proper medical training. My expertise extends only to treating unicorn plushies and little girls who have a thing for wearing bandages like an accessory.”

Marlow grins. “Healing a unicorn is impressive, so I’ll take my chances.”

I open the first aid kit and take out a couple of cotton balls, a bandage, and the antibiotic ointment before kneeling in front of her.

“Can I see your hand?” I ask as I apply alcohol to a cotton ball.

She nods, removing the towel, and holds out her finger for me.

Taking her hand in mine, I gently press the cotton ball against her wound. She winces, letting out a low hiss at the contact.

“I’m sorry that hurt,” I say as I lean in and softly blow on the cut. The last thing I want is for her to be in any more pain than she already is.

“It’s alright. Your touch makes it better.” Her heated blue-green gaze meets mine, and I momentarily pause.

Taking care of Marlow brings me a sense of satisfaction that I’ve been missing. Now that I know what it’s like, there’s a part of me that yearns to be the one she trusts to heal all her wounds, the one to kiss away the pain.

I’ve tried and failed to maintain professional boundaries, and despite our best attempts at disregarding our feelings, an undeniable magnetic pull repeatedly draws us together.

I shift my focus back to her finger and tenderly pat the area dry with the towel before applying the antibiotic ointment and carefully wrapping a rainbow bandage around her finger.

“Thanks for saving me,” Marlow teases, her eyes still fixed on mine. “This has to be the coolest bandage I’ve ever gotten.” She nods to her finger.

“You have Lola to thank for that.” I close the lid of the alcohol and set the used cotton ball on top of the towel. “If it’s not from Bluey, a unicorn or rainbow, she wants nothing to do with it.”

Marlow laughs. “She’s just a girl who knows what she wants, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

I place my hand over her uninjured one. “Lola is a spirited kid, and it can be challenging for people to relate to her. Kendra was her nanny for two years and was often at her wit’s end because Lola had specific preferences for how she liked certain things done. But not you. From day one, you’ve accepted her for who she is, and I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know.” I idly draw circles on the back of her hand with my thumb, appreciating the warmth of her skin against mine.

“I know what it’s like to be judged for doing things differently than others. As a kid, I wished more than anything that I had someone willing to be patient and see things from my perspective.” Marlow tucks her hair behind her ear. “I want to be that person for Lola. She deserves nothing less.”

I stare at her with awe. Marlow possesses a unique gift for recognizing the positive in people, and my daughter is no exception. She consistently showers Lola with sincere compliments and words of encouragement, and I couldn’t be more appreciative.

I’m captivated by this confident woman who views the world through a kaleidoscope of colors. God, it’s no wonder I’m falling for her when she’s so caring, generous, and cheerful. I admire that she marches to the beat of her own drum, refusing to let the world tell her who she should be. Little by little, she is making her way into my heart, and she’s completely unaware of it.

A blush rises to Marlow’s cheeks as I reach out to caress her jaw, tracing her lips with my fingertips as silence lingers between us. Her eyes shimmer with the same longing echoing in mine.

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” I whisper.

More than anything.

“But you can’t because Lola’s in the other room,” Marlow says. “We’re in way over our heads, aren’t we?” She briefly shuts her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Hey.” I press a kiss to her forehead, encouraging her to look at me. “We’re just two people who know what we want, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” I say, quoting her words from earlier.

“And what is that you want?” she asks, her gaze filled with uncertainty. “We’ve tiptoed around this conversation for weeks, and I don’t think you’ve ever said.”

“For starters, I really want to kiss you, and if we’re being blunt”—I glance down the hall to make sure Lola’s still in the other room—“I want to strip you bare and fuck you.”

Marlow’s breath hitches at my admission. As I study her, the curves of her breast taunt me. Her plump lips are slightly parted, tempting me to kiss her and draw out an inhibited moan from that fucking sexy mouth of hers.

“I want that too,” she admits as she places her hand over mine. “But I’m still not sure where that leaves us.”

“Who says we have to define anything right now? We’re two people drawn to each other and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to explore that. I’m tired of fighting this, aren’t you?”

Why can’t I bring myself to ask Marlow to be in a committed relationship? The last thing I want is for her to see other people, yet a shadow of doubt hangs over me, warning that if this doesn’t work out, I’ll be left alone again.

Marlow nods. “I don’t want whatever this is”—she motions between us—“to affect Lola negatively. She’s your number one priority, and that’s how it should be. Can you promise me that however this plays out, you won’t use it against me? I’d like to be her nanny for as long as I’m in Aspen Grove… if you’ll have me.”

A heaviness settles in my chest at the thought of her moving away.

“Of course I want you to be Lola’s nanny for as long as you’d like. Besides, Lola and Waffles would revolt if we tried separating them.”

“I think you’re right.” She nervously bites her lower lip. “I wanted to ask, if you’re open to it, I’d like you to continue training Waffles.”

“Really?” My face freezes in disbelief. After my failed attempt last Friday, I wasn’t sure she’d want me to try again.

“Yeah, you were right. It’ll do him some good to learn to listen to commands.”

“I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, Dylan,” she says, smiling. “Speaking of Waffles, I better get home and feed him. He won’t be happy that I made him wait for his dinner tonight.” She hesitates as her eyes trace my face, lingering just slightly on my lips.

Unable to help myself, I close the gap between us, allowing my lips to briefly graze hers.

“Mark my words, Marlow Taylor, when we finally get a moment to ourselves, I’m going to do much more than kiss you.”