Nanny I Want to Mate: A Single Dad Romance

by Mia Kayla

  Mary let out a peal of laughter as Sebastian the crab belted out his song. It reminded me of so many years ago—with Sarah on my lap, my one hand on Nat’s stomach, Mary still forming in her belly.

  A sharp pang hit me directly in the chest. I missed those times—the silent, simple moments that I had been able to enjoy with my family, where we were seated on a cushion of pillows on the floor. We never did sit on the couch like normal people. We would all be laid out on the floor, comfortable, how my family had always watched movies.

  My gaze moved to my right, noting Becky’s smile, wide and genuine as Princess Ariel sang on the screen. Where Mary was snuggled against me, resting her head against my chest, Sarah was seated right next to Becky, shoulder to shoulder, their expressions similar and their eyes glued to the television.

  I missed having this with someone—that comfortableness of enjoying each other’s company in the everyday moments. Having someone by me, with the girls.

  I craved this familiarity with someone else, this closeness. And I just now realized how much I wanted it again.

  I shook my head from the thoughts. I could absolutely not have that closeness with Becky—our nanny. We needed her. I did not need to complicate our relationship, our lives.

  The analytical side of me ticked off reasons as to why it wouldn’t work—one being that Becky was my kids’ new constant. I couldn’t even attempt to have something between us because if it didn’t work out, we’d have to find a new nanny. I doubted Patty had another referral on her list; plus, I refused to go through another agency.

  More than that, Becky just fit with us. And I didn’t want to even think of having to let her go because of my carelessness. That wouldn’t be fair to her or the girls.

  The lights were dimmed, and the only light shining was from the flickers coming from the television. There was electricity in the air, heightened by the darkness, and I couldn’t help but watch her—against my better judgment and that internal argument I’d just had with myself—as she enjoyed the movie.

  I noticed everything about Becky. Her neck was slim and pale. I studied the lines of her jaw, the height of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

  I tore my gaze away, trying to focus on the television, but my stare always managed to return to her. Loose blonde tendrils softened her face, making her look almost childlike. Her facial structure was delicately carved, her mouth full, temptingly curved into a smile. Her lips sexy.

  I scratched at my brow, feeling like a pervert now as I wondered how she tasted, how those sweet lips—

  Shit. Shit. I had to snap out of it.

  I coughed. And coughed again as I shifted to stand. “I’m going to get some water. Anybody want anything?”

  “No, thanks, Daddy,” Sarah said.

  Becky’s green eyes met mine as she smiled. A smile I could easily become addicted to. “We’re out of popcorn. I can pop some and get the drinks.”

  It took a moment for me to breathe and turn in the other direction.

  My lips tipped up into a forced smile, so forced that it felt unnatural. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”

  My feet padded through the plush carpet of our family room to the kitchen, and I rested my arms against the kitchen island as I stared out the window to our backyard—the inground swimming pool, the girls’ tree house.

  There was no doubt I was attracted to Becky. Problem was, I wasn’t only attracted to her beauty. I also loved seeing how she was with the kids. It reminded me so much of Nat’s natural, caring aura. That was dangerous because being attracted to her was one thing, but wanting more from her was another, and little by little, I was starting to want what I’d had with Natalie but with someone else—someone who wasn’t Nat.

  Guilt settled in my gut. It was not the same guilt that I felt with Vivian, as though she was a dark little secret that I was ashamed of.

  No, this … this felt different. As though it was some sort of guilt that I needed to confess, not just a dirty feeling. This felt like I was breaking the ultimate rule—wanting to share a piece of my life with someone else.

  I let my head hang, breathing slowly through my nose and out of my mouth. “This is crazy,” I uttered the words that were screaming in my head.

  There was only one way to settle this. It was the only way I ever settled things when it felt like life was a little out of control.

  I had to talk to Nat.

  And to do that, I had to visit her.

  Chapter 14

  Charles

  I’d been here every month since my Nat passed, sitting cross-legged on the grass, staring at her headstone and wishing and dreaming this weren’t my reality. But it was.

  Natalie Mary Brisken. Beloved mother, wife, and friend.

  Best friend.

  Because that was what she was to me—my best friend. We’d been best friends first throughout high school. She’d been my confidant in all things. I’d known I wanted to be with her forever the moment her asshole of a boyfriend had broken her heart because I wanted to be the guy to put it back together and make sure it never happened again.

  And that was how our love story had begun.

  But this wasn’t how I wanted our love story to end—my life without you in it.

  My fingers brushed against her headstone, and my heart seized. I’d pictured us growing old together, watching our kids grow up and then eventually our grandkids.

  When she had been pregnant with Mary, our life was complete. We’d had Sarah already, and another child would only add to our bubble of happiness. I was at the top of my game, newly transitioned into CEO as my father was stepping down. Everything was perfect.

  Until what was supposed to be another joyous time in our life had turned into tragedy.

  I breathed through my next words. “I know you know what’s happening before I even say it.” It was hard to put into words what I was feeling in my heart—or more so, what was going on in my head. So, I diverted to easier topics, to what I could easily talk about.

  “So, Sarah is doing well. She started reading this fantasy author. Mason did research, and he doesn’t think it’s age appropriate. I agreed with him on that one.” I laughed because everyone needed a Mason in their family. He was the book, food, and television police. “It’s young adult, but there is … yeah … I haven’t had the sex talk with her yet. I was hoping that you could do it for me when the time came to it …” My voice softened, and my chest tightened again.

  My lips turned downward. Big talks, huge milestones that were celebrated—they were just reminders that Nat was gone.

  “I miss you, babe.” My fingers reached for the grass, pulling them out from the roots. A huge lump formed in the back of my throat, and I tried to swallow down the pain. “We have a new nanny …” I let my words trail off. “A highly recommended person from Patty.” My fingers pulled at more grass, uprooting it from the soil. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I mean, obviously to visit you.” A low laugh escaped my lips.

  I could already picture her blue eyes blazing back at me as she said, Charles. Get to the point. Get it all out. It’ll make you feel better.

  I sighed. I never beat around the bush. Not when it came to work, not when it came to my brothers, but I was always afraid to upset Nat. Whatever that was—afraid to tell her I’d gotten into a fender bender when Sarah was in the car, afraid to tell her I had to work late or cancel our vacation because of work.

  Now, that same feeling bubbled to the surface.

  I was always the most vulnerable with Nat—when she had been alive and now. With her, I was my truest, rawest form, and I missed that because everywhere else in my life, I had to be strong—for the company, for my family. But with Nat, she was always my strength, the strong one in our relationship. She always knew what I needed before I did. When I’d had a bad day at work and when I was down, she’d wrap her arms around me and kiss the hollow of my neck. She’d tell me how wonderful I was, make me my favorite dessert, give me a mas
sage. She was my daily dose of sunshine in a stressful day.

  I stared at her tombstone, knowing she heard me—because she always seemed to answer my requests, big or small.

  Tell me about Becky.

  I could almost hear the words in my head, as though it had been whispered. Part of me wondered if it was my subconscious conjuring up what Natalie would say.

  Charles. Just spill it.

  I laughed again, picturing her face, the tilt of her head, her raised eyebrows, as if to tell me, What already? Tell me.

  I closed my eyes tightly, seeing only darkness behind my lids. Where is all this shame coming from? I hadn’t made a pass toward Becky.

  Not yet, the voice said.

  Through the darkness, Natalie’s face came into view, her smile blinding, a warm peace washing over me.

  “I think I’m attracted to her,” I finally said, in a hushed tone.

  I’d told Natalie about Vivian before, in passing, as though I were in a confessional and she were a priest.

  This felt different. As though I was seeking advice.

  “It’s more than attraction actually.” I rubbed at my brow, searching her headstone for something, anything. I didn’t know. A sign maybe.

  “I think … I think I’m beginning to like her. She’s great with the kids, caring and sweet and thoughtful. Protective even though they aren’t hers.” I let out a long sigh, admitting it more fully. “I like her.” Shit. This is real. More real than I’d thought. Plus, I knew the feeling; it wasn’t as intense of a love that I’d had for Natalie, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t get there. “I don’t even know why I’m sitting here, telling you all this.”

  I was lying. I knew full well why I was here, telling Natalie. I wanted her approval. Her blessing.

  It’s okay.

  The voice was stronger this time. As though I’d heard it right next to me.

  My head popped up to see a woman, an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, early sixties. She was kneeling down next to a tombstone two away from Natalie’s. She was laughing, silent but notable.

  “It’s okay,” she repeated, louder this time.

  I blew out a breath. At least I wasn’t going crazy.

  “I know it’s okay. That everything is going to be okay,” she said more firmly.

  I blinked, moving from my knees to a crouched position, wondering if this was the direct sign that I had been looking for because as the woman stared at the tombstone, it was as though her words were being spoken directly to me.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” she repeated. “I know you’ll send me an angel. You always do. You were my angel on earth, and now that you’re not here anymore, you’ll send me an angel, exactly what I need. And then I’ll know I’m taken care of.”

  The woman touched the tombstone and stood, and before she turned to walk away, she caught sight of me staring back at her. She smiled as her grayish hair rustled against the wind. “Everything will be okay.”

  I shifted on the ground, getting up to stand, and smiled back even though this eeriness rushed through me. Something about this woman … it was like she knew me. Knew my troubles.

  I watched her walk past the trees, past more headstones, and get into her car. Then, I dropped to my knees again, and I touched the words on Natalie’s headstone.

  Beloved mother, wife, and friend.

  “Baby, please … send us an angel too. Because I need help with myself, with these girls, with big decisions that I’m not sure how to make.” I paused, feeling deep emotions hit me directly in the chest. “Nat … can you do that for me, please?” My vision blurred, and the heaviness in my chest spread everywhere. I missed her so much that it hurt every part of me. I went on my knees, leaning closer to the headstone. “I know you’re looking out for us. You always do.” I pressed two fingers to my lips and then to the carved word wife. “I love you, baby. Forever and ever. Until we meet again.”

  I sat at the kitchen table in the pitch-dark. Who knew what time it was? Three in the morning maybe. We’d been in our regular schedule for the past few weeks, and the girls had adjusted fully to Patty being gone and Becky being in charge.

  Earlier, I swore I’d heard Becky scream, which was why I’d gone down to the kitchen, waiting and hoping she’d get a glass of water but she hadn’t.

  It was cruel in a way—that people had to handle their nightmares alone in their heads.

  Meeting her down here, in the dark, that night she’d cut her toe had made me feel better. For the first time in a long time, I hadn’t felt alone—as though she understood me as we bonded from the nightmares of our past.

  The house was fully asleep, and you’d only realize it was a scream if you were awake at such a god-awful time, which I was.

  Yesterday, I’d heard her. I swore it hadn’t been my imagination. I’d stood by her door, all of me wanting to go in and hold her, which was absurd and obviously could never happen.

  I wanted to hold her because I understood about nightmares, how real they were, how when you were stuck in one, it felt as though you were never, ever going to get out. It was like reliving the worst moment of your life over and over again, and that was why, at times, I was afraid to close my eyes.

  Only when I was bone tired did I reluctantly fall asleep, against my will, only to wonder if this was going to be another night that I was going to wake up in a cold sweat.

  Suddenly, I heard footsteps padding down the stairs, and I sat straighter in my chair. When she flipped on the lights, her eyes eventually spotted me at the table.

  “I … I don’t want to be scared again.” Her voice shook, and her arms were wrapped around her waist, as though she were holding herself together.

  I didn’t know if she meant me scaring her or the nightmare.

  Her hair was in a sexy bun on the top of her head, and she wore a gray sweatshirt that was way too big for her frame and plaid pajama pants.

  “Another nightmare,” I guessed, not really asking because I already knew.

  She nodded.

  Immediately, I stood, walking to the fridge. “Sit. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  I sat opposite her at the table, passing the glass to her.

  When she placed the glass against her lips, I noticed her fingers were trembling.

  There was an innate need in me to comfort her. Maybe it was because that was what I was used to doing—comforting people, tending to people, making sure everyone was okay.

  But this need was stronger … and it took all the energy in me to keep steady and not reach for her, so I gripped my own glass, my fingers threatening to break it.

  Her eyes were glued to the table. “It’s the same dream every night.”

  My fingers tapped against the glass as I held my breath, waiting. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to push her, but needing to know what haunted her every night.

  Her eyebrows pulled together, and her stare turned distant, empty even. It was as though she was reliving a memory, the same way I did in my nightmares.

  “I’m drowning. I can’t breathe.” A shudder escaped her as she continued, “And the thing is …”

  Her expression turned slack, and the hollowness in her tone ate at my insides. Whatever was going through her head in that moment was unbearable; I could tell because I’d lived through the same pain. Maybe the cause of that pain wasn’t the same, but the end result was the same—heartache, anguish, despair.

  “And it’s only a nightmare ’cause I can’t die. As hard as I try to give in to the darkness … it won’t take me.”

  Her words haunted me and the whoosh of air from my lungs was audible. This time, I couldn’t help it, as my will wasn’t strong enough, and I reached over and placed a hand on hers.

  She laughed then, shaking that unbearable wretchedness she’d felt away, as though it never truly existed. “It sounds stupid, right?” She lifted her eyes to mine. “But the suffering is too intense that I just want death to take me under. It makes no sense. It’s just
a dream.” Her eyes flittered to something over my shoulder. “I think it just keeps happening because I can’t swim.”

  I didn’t answer because something inside of me, that gift I had of reading people, told me that this recurring nightmare went deeper than what she was leading me to believe.

  “You can’t swim?” I knew how this worked. I knew the power of deflection, of asking a different question to get to the bottom of what you really wanted to know.

  She shook her head, and my thumb moved in lazy circles on top of her fist.

  “I can’t. I almost drowned, and that’s why I’m deathly afraid of water.” She took a sip of her drink. “If I never had to take a shower, I wouldn’t.”

  I registered the lightness in her tone, the words she’d uttered that was meant as a joke but I didn’t laugh. I wanted to know more. I needed to know more. “When did it happen? When you were a kid?”

  Her eyes flipped to mine, her smile slipping, most likely at the seriousness of my tone. She shook her head, pulling her hand from under mine. “When I was twenty-one.”

  The change in her demeanor told me I shouldn’t ask any further questions, so I gave a little. A little of myself.

  “My nightmare is from the day Nat died, which weirdly was supposed to be one of the best days of my life—because it was the day Mary was born.” My heartbeat picked up in my chest. It always did when I spoke about Nat and the tragedy that had taken her life. I never spoke about her death to the kids, to my brothers. I wanted my girls and everyone around me to remember how she’d lived, not how she’d died.

  “I’m sorry, Charles. I know that must have been hard.” Sympathy shone through her eyes. “And to live through it again in your nightmares.”

  My eyes focused back on my glass, half-empty now. “But I get it—you wanting to just give in to the darkness.”

  There were times that I just wanted to lie in bed, take a sabbatical from work, from life. No one would fault me from wanting to. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not when the weight of the company and my girls’ lives were on my shoulders.