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

“MARLOW?” DYLAN SHOUTS FROM DOWNSTAIRS.

“I’m in my studio,” I yell back.

I’m adding the finishing touch to a red and yellow tulip when he walks through the door with a giant vase of flowers in one hand and a blanket in the other. He looks irresistibly charming in charcoal-gray slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a cobalt-blue tie. His hair is tousled like he’s run his hand through it all day, and he’s grinning from ear to ear.

I’ll never get tired of seeing him smile.

I turn my music off and set my palette knife down on my worktable.

“I missed you today,” he says, coming over to kiss me. “I got these for you.” He hands me a bouquet that includes pink carnations, purple alstroemeria, white poms, purple statice, lavender and pink spray roses.

The past few weeks with Dylan and Lola have been perfect. Dylan is constantly coming up with thoughtful gestures to show that he cares, and my heart nearly burst when Lola told me that she loved me last week.

“They’re beautiful.” I take the vase with shaky hands and set it on a nearby shelf. “What’s the occasion?”

“Yesterday, you mentioned that your last arrangement wilted, so I stopped by Blooms on my way home to get you a fresh one. I know how important having a bouquet for inspiration means to you.”

He remembers me saying that?

I’m overwhelmed with emotions. Of everything Dylan’s done for me, this holds the most significance. Throughout the years, I’ve bought myself countless bouquets, but not once has anyone given me one. It’s everything to me that he listened and did something kind simply because he knew it would bring me joy.

“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you.” My voice trembles as tears well in my eyes.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” He frowns as he wraps me in his arms, wiping away a stray tear from my cheek. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I shake my head at his concern. “These are happy tears. No one has ever gotten me flowers before, believe it or not.”

“Damn, sunshine.” He squeezes me tighter. “I’ll buy you flowers every day, if it makes you happy.”

I’m falling hard for this man.

“Thank you. How did everything go at your parents’ house?” I ask.

“Great. When I left, Lola and Waffles were cuddled on the couch watching Bluey.”

Johanna and Mike asked if Lola and Waffles could have a sleepover at their place tonight. I’m sure it was Johanna’s idea so Dylan and I could have a night alone.

“What if Waffles breaks something or if Lola misses you while she’s away?”

“Whoa, there.” Dylan pulls me tighter to his chest. “It’s only for one night,” he reminds me. “Lola’s had plenty of sleepovers at my parents’ house, and they’re smitten with Waffles. I’m sure he will be on his best behavior if he gets as many snacks tonight as I think he will.”

I take a deep breath to calm myself down. “Is there any particular reason you brought that with you?” I point at the blanket still tucked under his arm.

“There is,” he says cryptically.

I watch as he unfolds the blanket and lays it flat on the ground.

When he’s finished, he stands in front of me so we’re only inches apart. “See, I have this next-door neighbor who’s hot as fuck when she’s in her studio painting. It’s hypnotizing to watch her hips sway to the beat of the music with each stroke of her palette knife.” He gently wipes off a smudge of pink paint from my forehead and rubs it between his fingers as he speaks. “I’ve had this fantasy lately, involving a palette of paints and her being sprawled naked on the ground.”

My breathing quickens, and my cheeks turn red at his declaration. Lord have mercy.

“You’re serious?”

“Only if you’re up for it.”

“I am,” I rush out. “What exactly did you have in mind?” I’m ready and willing for whatever he has in store, knowing it’ll bring me immeasurable gratification.

“Take off your clothes,” he says in a low voice.

His all-encompassing presence sends a shiver down my spine, and I desperately want to please him. He’s constantly caring for me, and I’m eager to do something that’s for him.

Without hesitation, I pull my shirt off and throw it to the floor. As I reach for my bra, Dylan wraps his arms around my waist, placing his hand over mine to stop me.

“Let me help,” he states, leaving no room for discussion.

He leans forward to kiss the swells of my breasts, and I inhale deeply at his touch. He effortlessly unclasps my bra, letting it fall to the ground as he greedily wraps his mouth around one of my nipples, sucking hard and pinching my other nipple with his fingers. The sharp pain sends a jolt of pleasure to my core.

“Oh, god,” I whine as I rise to my toes.

Foreplay is one of my favorite parts about sex with Dylan. He has a gift for being in tune with my body, and he’s learned that I like a little pain with my pleasure.

“I can’t wait to see these covered in paint,” he says as he keeps toying with my nipples.

A thrill runs through me at his admission. He keeps his gaze pinned on me as he tugs down my yoga pants and hot pink panties.

“So goddamn pretty,” he says reverently.

He taps my thigh, signaling for me to step out of my clothes, and I kick them off to the side.

“Lie down on the blanket,” he instructs.

I scramble to obey, crawling to the middle and turning to lay on my back. My palms are sweaty, and I’m restless, not knowing what’s coming next. I peek at him through my eyelashes with a seductive smile, silently conveying that it’s his move.

I watch with rapt attention as he strides across my studio to the wall of shelves, examining my stock of art supplies. When he gets to my vast collection of paints, he grabs a circular artist’s palette and squeezes a different color of paint into each well. I bite my lip in anticipation when he chooses a fan brush from a cup filled with paintbrushes.

I wonder what he plans on doing with that.

When he’s finished collecting his supplies, he sets them down next to me before standing at his full height, gazing down at me.

“Such a pretty canvas. What am I going to do with you?”

He better intend to do more than look because I’m all keyed up and need his hands on me soon. I’m entranced as he tugs off his tie and unbuttons his dress shirt and takes it off, offering me a front-row seat to his chiseled abs, leading down to his V-line.

I nibble my lip as he pulls his pants down, leaving him standing in a pair of black boxers. I know exactly what he’s packing underneath, and I won’t lie. I’m ready for it. He smirks at me as he steps out of his underwear, his cock proudly jutting out, pre-cum leaking from the tip.

I’m not the only one affected by this little game of his.

He tosses his clothes out of the way, and takes his glasses off, setting them on the closest shelf. When he faces me, he’s holding his tie up for me to see.

“I want to restrain your hands while we play. Is that okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, I trust you.”

During our time together, he’s stripped me of all my defenses. He’s helped to reveal a part of me I never knew existed, and I’m enjoying exploring that side of myself with his help.

He kneels in front of me, bending forward to take hold of my wrists. He lifts them above my head, binding them with his tie. It’s loose enough that I can get it off if I want to, but why would I? There’s something intoxicating about being at this man’s mercy.

Dylan looks at me with an insatiable hunger in his eyes, appreciating his own handiwork.

He sits up to grab the paintbrush and dips it into the red paint. I gasp when the bristles touch my breast, the cold paint sending a shockwave through my system. He draws swirls until he gets to my nipple, stroking back and forth in a teasing motion.

Next, he dips his brush into the yellow paint, disregarding the tinge of red mixed in. He draws wavy lines on my other breast, slowly dragging the brush along the sides. He furrows his brow in concentration as he moves the brush to my chest, writing out words of affirmation as he whispers them one by one.

“Beautiful… kind… strong… courageous…” He glances up at me when he draws out one more word. “Mine.”

He tosses the brush to the ground and traces each word with his fingertip before gripping my hip, the paint from his hand smearing on my bare skin.

“You’re such a mess,” he murmurs. “A beautiful fucking mess.”

With his other hand he shoves three fingers inside my cunt, the crude sound of my arousal filling the room as I shamelessly grind against his palm.

“Oh, god.” I lift my hooded gaze to meet his heated stare.

“Damn, you’re fucking drenched.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Does getting dirty turn you on, messy girl?”

I whimper, unable to find my voice.

He pumps his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm while massaging my clit in languid circles. My body coils tighter with each thrust, a wave of euphoria washing over me. I beg with my eyes, a silent plea to pick up the pace. I’m frantic for him to move faster. I cry out when he unexpectedly yanks his fingers out of me.

“You’re such a greedy little thing,” Dylan goads me. “When you come, it’ll be around my dick.”

He takes hold of his cock, sliding it up and down, coating himself in my arousal. My breath quickens when he lines himself up with my core, impaling me in a single thrust. He doesn’t move, taking a moment to gaze down at us joined together, inhaling sharply when he takes in my body covered in his paint. I moan in delight, savoring the fact that I’m stuffed full of him.

I mold my mouth to his, and he grasps my jaw in his hand, deepening our kiss. Time seems to stand still as we’re wrapped in our private haven where there are no expectations, requirements, or worries. Just two people driven by a shared passion for each other.

“Dylan, I’m close,” I pant.

“Beg for it, sunshine.”

When I don’t respond fast enough, he slows down his pace, pushing into me in short, shallow strokes. I don’t miss his smug smile as I squirm against him, my body desperate for release.

“Beg. For. It.”

Another surge of arousal crashes through me at his demanding tone.

“Please let me come, Dylan, please,” I whine, urgently needing a reprieve.

“That’s my good girl,” he croons.

He pounds into me without restraint. All rational thinking is gone as the primal sound of flesh slapping against flesh resonates in the air. I fly higher into oblivion, digging my fingernails into my palms, relishing in the feel of my arms bound above me. I give him a look of lust-filled appreciation, sending my silent words through him with each push.

Thrust.

I’m yours

Thrust.

This is just the beginning.

Thrust.

I’m falling in love with you.

“Come, now.” Dylan’s command is irrefutable, and after a few strokes of my clit with his thumb, I detonate like a bomb. Tremors pulse through my body as my orgasm rips through me, and his guttural groan is a sign he’s found his release.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” Dylan murmurs as he gazes down at me. “My masterpiece.”

He leans forward to loosen the tie around my wrists and rubs them in a circular motion.

“You okay? Was that too much?”

“It was perfect,” I assure him with a sated smile. “I like your idea of painting very much.”

“Let’s get cleaned up, and then I’ll whip up something to eat.”

“That sounds nice.”

He lifts me into his arms, and I wrap my arms around his neck. As he carries me downstairs, I rest my cheek against his chest, inhaling the scent of mint and cedar, thinking this is what home must smell like.

I’ve had a silly grin on my face for the past two days. My night with Dylan was, hands down, the most erotic sexual experience I’ve ever had. There was something exhilarating about being filthy and on display for him as he rutted into me with abandon.

The time we’ve spent together has offered me a glimpse of what life would be like with him and Lola, leaving me with a sense of peace.

Lola’s play is tonight, and I couldn’t be more excited to celebrate her big moment on stage. Dylan had to go into the office, so he’ll meet us at the school tonight.

As luck would have it, the painting he bought at my exhibition was just delivered to his house. I met the delivery person and had them leave it in Dylan’s living room. It’ll look so good in here once it’s hung up and I know Lola will love it too once she sees what it is.

“Shoot,” I mutter to myself.

If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late to pick her up from school. I put my shoes back on and jog over to my place to get Waffles. He’s waiting at the door, barking when I grab his leash and clip it to his collar.

“Come on, boy,” I usher him outside.

We’re halfway down the block when Gavin calls me.

“Hey, Gav. The painting was just delivered to Dylan’s house,” I inform him. “Thanks so much for shipping it back here.”

We’ve texted almost every day since my exhibition. He mostly wants status updates on Dylan and me and pesters me about doing another show. He was elated by the success of this last one and was disappointed when I told him I wasn’t planning on doing another exhibition for a while. I’ve been painting the last few weeks whenever inspiration strikes, not because of a looming deadline, and it’s been rejuvenating.

“That’s great, but it’s not why I’m calling,” he says impatiently.

“It’s not?”

“No. I have the most fantastic news.” Excitement radiates from his voice.

“What is it?”

“I just got off the phone with James Miller, the founder of the Paris Art Collective. His wife attended your art show and purchased the snapdragon piece as a birthday present for James. He’s beyond impressed with your artistic ability and wants to offer you a three-month artist residency at the Collective,” Gavin practically shouts with excitement. “Starting next month.”

“Are you serious?” I dance for joy on the sidewalk, not caring if anyone sees me. “How do you know? Please tell me this isn’t a joke.”

I’ve dreamed of doing a residency at the Paris Art Collective ever since I started painting. Some of the best artists in the world teach there, and it would be an incredible opportunity to improve my technique. It’s a highly competitive program, so I never thought I’d get an invitation.

“James called The Artist asking about you. His team is sending you an official offer via email next week. Babe, this is the real deal,” he assures me.

“This is unbelievable. I’m so—” I stop short when Waffles barks, pulling me out of my daydream. We’re near the marquee in front of Lola’s school.

Who would take care of Waffles if I accepted the offer? What about Dylan and Lola?

In the past, I always picked up and went somewhere new when an opportunity presented itself. Until now, I’ve never had people that I care about to consider.

“Marlow? Are you there,” Gavin asks.

“I don’t think I can go,” I whisper.

“What, why?” he asks, his tone frantic. “Wait… does this have something to do with that GQ hottie of yours and his darling little girl that you showed Matthew and me pictures of at dinner in New York?”

“I think I’m in love with Dylan,” I confess.

“Oh, Marlow. I’m so happy for you but also sad because I don’t want you to miss out on this chance. Do you want to talk more about it?”

“No, not right now,” I say softly. Dylan and I haven’t discussed our future yet, but I don’t want to disappoint him by leaving like Maddie did. It doesn’t matter that I would only be gone for three months. I worry that he won’t see it that way. He trusts me implicitly, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that, not even for an opportunity of a lifetime.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I continue. “I would never have gotten an offer from the Collective if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s not true,” Gavin scoffs. “If they hadn’t seen your work at The Artist, it would have been online or at another gallery.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Listen, the official offer won’t be sent until next week, so why don’t you wait a few days before making a final decision? I fully support you trading in a life of travel for small-town living if that makes you happy. I just don’t like seeing you put your career and dreams on the back burner.”

“Thanks, Gavin.”

“Of course, babe, I’ll always have your back.”

I can’t find the right words to express how I’m feeling right now. If I accept the offer, it could jeopardize the chance of building a life with Dylan and Lola. And I can’t help but worry how Waffles would adjust to life in Paris after living in a small town like Aspen Grove for so long. This is his home… and it feels like mine too.

The school bell rings, and seconds later, kids spill out of the school’s front entrance.

“Gav, I have to pick up Lola from school now. Why don’t we talk about this later?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m here if you need me.”

I see Lola coming down the steps. Her backpack bounces as she hurries toward me with a toothy grin. I plaster on a smile when she looks my way, not wanting her to think anything is wrong.

I’ll tell Dylan about my offer from the Collective after the play. I’m not letting anything get in the way of Lola’s big night.