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

I PACE THE LENGTH OF the floral runner in my entryway, stopping at the edge before turning around and striding to the other end. It’s 5:55 a.m., and I told Marlow to be here by 6:00 a.m.

This is a terrible idea.

I temporarily lost my sanity last night when I saw her walking by herself in that ridiculous pink puffer coat of hers. My protective instincts kicked in, prompting me to suggest she choose warmer outerwear and stress the importance of being more alert of her surroundings.

That should have been the end of it, but naturally, my mother misread the situation, assuming my actions had a different meaning. Which led her to agreeing with the silly notion that Marlow should be Lola’s nanny. I’m sure she’s hoping that our being in close proximity will lead to something more. She’s going to be sorely disappointed when this doesn’t work out how she envisioned.

While I might have misjudged Marlow, I have reservations about her watching Lola. She openly acknowledged her lack of experience with kids, and I can’t get past the comparison she made between caring for my daughter and taking care of her dog.

Frankly, if the nanny agency hadn’t reached out yesterday to tell me that it could be months before they can find a replacement for Kendra, I wouldn’t have agreed to give her the position, even temporarily. However, given my current predicament, I’m not in a position to turn down her offer. It’s just not feasible for me to work from home indefinitely right now.

Which brings me back to my original thought. This is a terrible id—

A light tap on the door brings my pacing to an abrupt stop. I open the door to find Marlow on the porch with a floral satchel slung over her shoulder. She’s wearing a bold pink, purple, and white color-block sweatshirt, and matching pants paired with her silver sneakers. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, secured with a shimmering red scrunchie.

She’s gorgeous.

A thought that plays on an endless loop in my brain, overpowering any semblance of logic. And I am uncharacteristically nervous that this woman is now invading my personal space.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she questions.

“Oh, yeah, come in.” I step aside, motioning for her to come inside. “We have a ‘no shoes’ policy in the house so if you’d leave yours on the rack”—I gesture to the shoe rack in the corner—“I’d appreciate it.”

Marlow visibly winces, probably recalling the only other time she’s been in my house.

“Of course,” she says in a hushed tone. She tugs her sneakers off and puts them on the shoe rack like I asked.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I figure Lola is sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

Her expressed sentiment brings a wave of relief. At the very least, Marlow genuinely cares for Lola, and I firmly believe she wouldn’t do anything to put her in harm’s way.

“You don’t have to worry about that. She’s a deep sleeper and has a sound machine in her room. She rarely wakes up before her alarm goes off. Let’s just say she’s not an early morning person.” That’s putting it lightly. My child did not inherit my preference for starting the day early. However, since she started first grade, she’s adapted to waking up in time for school.

Marlow lets out a melodic laugh. “She sounds like a girl after my own heart. I’m not a morning person either. I’m more of a night owl.”

And yet she took a job that requires her to be here before sunrise?

“If that’s the case, why did you take this position if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Because Lola asked me to,” Marlow states without skipping a beat.

Her answer catches me off guard. “You’re telling me you agreed to be Lola’s nanny because she asked you to? What about the money?”

She folds her arms across her chest, clearly offended by the insinuation.

“Believe it or not, Dylan, I do very well for myself,” she shoots back. “I offered to help because it’s the right thing to do. The only reason I’m not walking out that door”—she motions outside—“is because it would hurt Lola if I did.”

I’m momentarily speechless. Despite not being a morning person, and having financial stability, she willingly agreed to this simply because my daughter wanted her to. It’s becoming apparent that I should refrain from making assumptions about her altogether, although it’s easier said than done.

“Fuck, you’re right.” I run my hand through my hair. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions. It was wrong of me.”

“Did you just drop the f-bomb? I thought parents were supposed to avoid using expletives,” Marlow quips.

“Yeah, well, I’m still a work in progress,” I mutter. “I got in the habit of swearing as a teenager, and going cold turkey when Lola was born was impossible.”

Marlow lets out a snicker. “You’re older than I thought.”

“I’m thirty-three, not sixty, thank you very much.”

“That’s ten years older than me,” she says in disbelief. “I have to say I’m impressed you don’t have any gray hairs yet… oh, wait, I found one.”

Marlow moves closer, leaning in to graze her fingertips through the hair along my temple. Her brows furrow in concentration as she supposedly counts my gray hairs. She runs her hand along my scalp, and I briefly close my eyes, savoring her touch. Her hands are gentle and soft, and I’m aware of the faint scent of citrus and rose.

Wait… what am I doing?

My eyes snap open as I realize how inappropriate this is. Marlow is here to watch Lola, and my reaction to her touching me is anything but professional. She must be on the same wavelength because her eyes widen, and she jerks her hand away just as I instinctively step back.

“I uh—sorry. Is there anything I should know before you leave?” she asks.

“Yeah, follow me.” I lead her past the living room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. “Lola needs to be out of bed by 7:30 a.m., she eats breakfast at 7:45 a.m., and has to be out the door no later than 8:10 a.m. All the information you need is in here.” I grab the binder from the kitchen island and pass it to Marlow. I woke up early to update several sections, including to add her contact info that she gave me last night.

She glances at the binder and back at me. “What is this?”

“Lola’s binder. There’s a detailed schedule of our daily routine, a list of her likes and dislikes, approved meal options, emergency contacts, our house rules—”

“Oh, is this all?” she teases.

“If you have something to say, just say it.” I sigh.

“Dylan, this thing is two inches thick.” She holds the binder up in her hand for emphasis. “Lola is six. All I need to know is if she has any food allergies and where to drop her off at school.”

“It’s all in the binder.” I tap it for emphasis.

She lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine, I’ll read through the binder. Now, don’t you have a helicopter to catch or something?”

“Oh, shit.” I check my watch to see that I’m running late.

I would prefer to work from home on Marlow’s first day, but that’s not an option since I have several in-person meetings scheduled today. I’ll have to trust that she can handle things on her own this morning.

“I hope you watch your mouth in front of Lola. Or should I expect the principal to pull me aside during school drop-off and ask why Lola is swearing in class again?” She chuckles.

“Who told you about that? It only happened once, and that was over a month ago,” I scoff.

This is one of the downsides of living in a small town. News spreads like wildfire, and it’s all anyone can talk about for months.

“My friend Quinn owns Brush & Palette, the local art supply store. All the teachers and parents from the elementary school shop there, so she’s well-formed about town gossip.”

I cross my arms. “Did she also tell you that Henry Livingston’s parents got a call from the principal because he was flipping off a classmate? He thought it was a gesture used when you like someone because his parents used it so much. Oh, and Judy Callister snuck in her phone to school last week and played her favorite song for her friends. Apparently, it drops the f-bomb every other sentence. Did I mention both kids are in Lola’s first-grade class?”

Marlow shakes her head in amusement. “Yes, well, according to the gossip mill, Henry’s parents have been in marriage counseling for years, and Judy’s dad is a record producer who works with several famous musicians based in Los Angeles. In your case, it’s quite the scandal that a chief financial officer can’t control his language,” she places the binder back on the counter.

My phone buzzes, alerting me to a message from the pilot asking me where I am.

“I have to go. Promise you’ll read the binder before Lola wakes up?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves me off. “Lola is going to be fine, I promise.”

“I’ll check in once I land in the city,” I tell her before rushing out the door.

Dylan: How’s everything going? Is Lola okay?

Marlow: She’s perfect. Just like the last thirty-six times you’ve asked.

Dylan: I left you alone with my kid. Of course, I’m going to check in.

Marlow: But thirty-six times in an hour?

Dylan: Has she had breakfast yet?

Marlow: I’m hurt by your lack of confidence.

Marlow: Here’s proof that we’re doing fine without you.

Marlow: Sent Attachment

Dylan: What the hell, Marlow? Why is Lola eating Lucky Charms? Did you not read the binder? She needs a healthy and nutritious breakfast before school, not sugar cereal. Where did you find that anyway? And are those unicorn marshmallows???

Marlow: Yup, aren’t they adorable? Lola’s obsessed.

Marlow: And FYI… I brought the cereal with me 😇

I’m on the verge of going back to Aspen Grove until I look closer at the photo Marlow sent.

Fishtail braids.

She has woven Lola’s hair into perfect fishtail braids, with sparkly red bows tied to the ends.

Lola’s at the kitchen counter, perched on a bar stool, her mouth full of cereal. She’s decked out in her favorite unicorn sweater, grinning from ear to ear. My heart swells with warmth at the sight of her. Regardless of my mixed feelings toward Marlow, Lola is thoroughly enjoying herself. And her fishtail braids.

Another text from Marlow pops up.

Marlow: I better go. We have a schedule to keep, and I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the warden if we’re late.

Dylan: Text me when you drop Lola off at school.

Marlow: Sure thing, boss. 👍

Even in text messages, she’s snarky, and her sunny disposition shines through. It’s incredibly irritating so I’m not sure why I’m smiling at my phone.

I tuck it in my pocket as I exit the elevator on the top floor of the Stafford Holdings office building. With only five minutes before my first meeting, I have to hurry if I don’t want to be late. My plan is thwarted when I get to my office to find Cash lounging in my chair, his hands interlaced behind his head.

“Do I need to remind you that breaking and entering is a crime?”

“Good morning to you, too,” he says casually.

I place my briefcase on my desk and take out my laptop, but he doesn’t make a move to leave.

“Any specific reason you’re in my chair with a goofy grin on your face?” I ask skeptically.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.” He drops his arms and leans forward. He’s always had a flair for theatrics.

“Well, are you going to tell me what it is?”

“Mom called Presley last night and told her that Marlow is Lola’s new nanny.” He pauses for effect. “The same Marlow you were complaining about a couple of days ago. Care to explain?”

“Why don’t you tell me how you got this information first?”

Because I sure as hell didn’t tell him.

“Naturally, Presley called me as soon as she finished talking with Mom so we could chat.”

“Naturally.” I deadpan.

Presley was born seven years after Cash, but despite their age difference, they’ve always been close. Since Presley moved to New York, Cash and her talk almost every day, which apparently include conversations about my new nanny.

“So, what gives?” he prods, drumming his fingers against the glossy black wood of my desk.

“There’s nothing to tell.” I tuck my laptop under my arm in preparation to head to the conference room. “I haven’t been able to find a permanent replacement for Kendra yet. And when Lola practically begged Marlow to be her nanny, Mom intervened and said she thought it was a good idea. Marlow’s only helping temporarily until I find a long-term solution.”

“Uh-huh.” Cash doesn’t look convinced. “And what happens when Lola falls in love with Marlow?”

Unfortunately for me, she’s probably already halfway there.

“I’ll figure it out,” I mutter.

“And what happens when you fall in love with Marlow?” His hazel eyes bore into me as he brushes his shaggy brown hair away from his face.

That’s not going to happen.

“I think you’ve had enough fun for one day.” I round the desk and grab him by the collar of his black shirt. “Get out.”

He laughs as I practically shove him out of my office, not caring that a group of employees have stopped to watch our exchange.

“Have a wonderful day, Dylan. Don’t think I didn’t notice you avoided my question.” Cash says with a smirk, whistling as he waltzes down the hall.