Falling For Her Manny Read online

  FALLING

  FOR HER

  MANNY

  #

  a Single In the City novel

  TIA SOUDERS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  FALLING FOR HER MANNY

  Copyright © 2019 THERESA SOUDERS

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  www.tiasouders.com

  First Edition: November 2019

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Falling For Her Manny

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  WAITING ON HOPE EXCERPT

  Join my VIP Readers Club!

  Discover deals on my books, giveaways, new release parties, and more!

  Get a FREE novelette just for signing up!

  Grab your copy of Dashing Through the Snow HERE!

  CHAPTER ONE

  MEL

  If there was anything Melody Clark hated more than cliché sayings, it was when they completely contradicted her current life status.

  Case in point: If life gave her lemons, there was no amount of juice to be squeezed from the bitter rinds to make lemonade. That fruit had already been milked for all it’s worth. At this point, Mel’s fruit produced a slightly acidic water at best. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she could add enough sugar and produce something mildly resembling a drinkable beverage.

  But things were turning around. Maybe. Hopefully.

  Okay, it was doubtful.

  Then again, maybe she shouldn’t be so cynical. She did, after all, have three healthy, beautiful children. She was lucky. At least that’s what people said. Some women desperately wanted children. Yet there she was with three—triplets to be exact. Say it with her. Trip-lets.

  There was no doubt she had wanted her kids. And she loved them, she truly did. With her whole heart, in fact. Sometimes so much, she felt like bursting from the joy of it. But then there were times when the weight of raising them bore down on her shoulders so hard she thought her spine might crack.

  Like when her husband—now ex-husband—left her just after they were born.

  Yeah, remember that sour water? Feel free to cue the violins.

  He lasted a whole afternoon before he bailed, leaving her sleep-deprived and alone. Talk about fun times. Try feeding three newborns at the butt-crack of dawn. Changing diapers was like a conveyor belt of Pampers. After one pooped, the other peed, then so on. It was an endless cycle of soiled diapers and Magic Genie. Oh, and when she couldn’t make rent only two months after said babies were born because that slime-ball left her, she had to find a new apartment. Moving from her modest but cozy apartment in Queens to a one-bedroom in Brooklyn with triplets was particularly fun—and even that was stretching her paper-thin budget to the max.

  There were days her tiny apartment smelled like poop. Ones in which she went without breakfast because she gave the last of the cereal to the kids. Days she thought she couldn’t go on, and half the time for the first two years, she limped by in a zombie-like haze.

  Work was a refuge compared to being by herself at home. Not that she didn’t love her kids. She did, deeply, but she was barely hanging on most days thanks to the stress of bills and sleep deprivation. The flexible schedule of a writer was the only reason she could even afford to stay in the city. That and help from her mother made city life affordable. Otherwise, paying for childcare for three babies, would’ve meant less money for rent. Even an apartment in Jersey would’ve been out of reach.

  But last month, things changed. Her parents moved to Florida, taking her free childcare with them, and this month . . . Well, this month had proven to be more of the same bitter rind. Her kids had always been, shall we say, spirited? But lately, they had morphed from pink-cheeked cherubs into tiny little monsters. Whether it was a coincidence that it coincided with her father’s retirement and her parents’ subsequent move to Florida, she had no idea. All she knew was that this past month had been a nightmare. One of epic proportions. One she hoped she’d wake up from any second.

  Mel inhaled as she approached her tiny flat and braced herself for what she would find. Already, she heard the telltale sound of shouting and the wild chants of her children. She half expected to open the door to all three of them swinging from the rafters and tying the sitter up with jump rope, while simultaneously downing a pint of Ben and Jerry’s—which Mel had been saving for Friday night once the kids were asleep. Or in a moment of desperation when she locked herself inside the bathroom for a short respite to gorge herself on the last of the Chunky Monkey.

  She slid her key into the lock, reluctantly pushed open the door, and her eyes widened as she scanned the living room. Everything was white. Not the paint on the walls or the appliances or the old recliner in sitting in the corner of the room. No. Everything was covered in a thick white substance, while an oddly familiar scent lingered in the air.

  Mel sniffed, tipping her head. Coconut. It smelled like coconut and something tropical.

  April, her nanny, stomped into the living room from the hallway, red-faced and vibrating with anger when she glanced up and noticed Mel. The side of her hair looked like a pelican’s nest. The sandy locks were all matted and bunched into a tight knot. “You’re late,” she seethed.

  Mel swallowed. Recognizing the thin ice she was on, she decided to tip-toe carefully so as not to crack it. “Um, April. What’s up? You’re looking a little . . . white.” She winced.

  April narrowed her eyes to laser beams.

  “Not that I care,” Mel rushed to add at her glare. “After all, I’ve been meaning to mop the floor, and these walls could use wiping down. Everything needs a good, deep cleaning, really, but I’m curious . . .” It was a lie. She hadn’t mopped in months, and with the rate her life was going, it’d be another century. Maybe once The Triple Threat went to college, she’d finally have squeaky clean floors.

  She bit her lip as her gaze flickered to the nest on the back of April’s head. “What on earth happened to your hair?”

  Anger oozed from April’s pores as her hands fisted by her side. Peter popped out from behind her, his blonde locks matted down with the thick white goo. His knobby knees and arms were coated with the substance. But more alarming than anything was the Pull-up he wore.

  Mel’s brow furrowed as she pointed. “Why is he wearing a Pull-up? I thought he had been doing better?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” April spat. “What’
s going on is that the little demons you call children put gum in my hair.”

  Mel grimaced. She wished she could say she was surprised, but nothing fazed her at this point. Still, her gaze strayed to the side of April’s head. “Gum?”

  “Yes. And while I was in the bathroom trying to pick it out, they got into the sunscreen, which they managed to rub into every single square inch of this place in record time.”

  “Sunscreen?” Mel choked out. Apparently, she was only capable of speaking in single words.

  Her eyes scanned the tiny apartment anew. It would take days to clean up this mess. It’d be easier to up and move. It wasn’t a half-bad idea. In fact, she was working on it. Kinda.

  “I mean, who keeps that much sunscreen anyway?” April barked. “There had to be nearly a dozen bottles.”

  “I found it at the Bargain Den in Jersey on sale. Two for one,” Mel said in the way of explanation. With three kids, you went through sunscreen by the gallon. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Only now did she recognize the error of her ways.

  “Then, when I started freaking out over the sunscreen,” April continued, “Peter, here, had an accident.”

  Mel’s gaze flicked to Peter and she groaned. “He’s been doing so well. I thought we were over the hump—”

  “He had two, to be exact. And what do you mean he’s been doing better?” she shrieked. “He’s had an accident every day this week.”

  “What?” Mel rocked back on her heels as if slapped. She had no idea. April hadn’t mentioned it, so she just assumed. . . What a crap-mom she was turning out to be.

  She glanced around the room helplessly. “Where are Kinsley and Brady?”

  April stomped back down the hallway to the bedroom Mel shared with her three offspring and waved her arm toward the bed. With trepidation, Mel peeked inside. The sight of her other two children bouncing up and down on her coveted down comforter frayed every last nerve she had. Thick white paste coated the pale blue duvet, and her pillows lay like deflated balloons, their feathers falling from the sky like rain.

  Her stomach sunk. Those pillows had been a gift prior to the triplets, a luxury she could never afford now. Not on her own. Not unless she got the promotion at POPNEWZ she’d been praying for. The days of 1000 thread-count Egyptian Cotton sheets and two-hundred-dollar pillows were long gone. Sayonara comfort.

  Gripping the roots of her hair, she turned to April. All she could think about was how amazing those pillows were. “Were you even watching them?” she snapped.

  April flinched, then recovered quickly, her anger returning like a thunder strike in her blue eyes. Her jaw tightened, yet she opened her mouth to speak. Mel had no doubt it was to tell her just how much she loathed working for her when, as if on cue, Brady hopped off the bed and went to a heap of something Mel didn’t recognize on the floor and proudly lifted it up. “Look, Mommy, I’m Tarzan.”

  Mel frowned, then with dawning horror, recognized that whatever Brady had used to make his Tarzan loincloth had been expensive. It looked like leather—expensive, creamy imported leather. The kind she could never afford. And the kind she undoubtedly did not own.

  April shrieked and flung herself forward. “My purse! I got this on a trip to Italy, you little twerp.”

  Bingo.

  “Look, now I’m pretty, too,” Kinsley said from behind April. Her crooked smile was painted an electric pink.

  Mel’s mouth dropped open as April turned on her daughter and whipped the lipstick out of Kinsley’s grasp. “I. Quit,” April gritted out.

  “No.” Mel raised her hands. “No. No. No. You can’t quit. Please, let’s talk about this. We can get you a new purse.” Mel frantically turned to her closet and tore a purse off the hook. “See? Here you go. You can use this one until we get you something better.”

  April stared at the limp pleather grasped between Mel’s fingers in distaste. It may as well have been a giant bag of poo for how she was looking at it. “I know it’s not Italian leather per se, but I got it at Target. I only paid twelve bucks, but that was marked down from forty-five.” Mel waved the purse, her smile faltering at April’s glare.

  April turned, practically running from the bedroom to the living room where she paused by the front door, her hand on the knob. “Don’t call me. Ever.”

  “Wait!” Mel stepped forward, shooting an arm out, bracing herself against the door. “Stay. I’ll give you a raise, and we’ll forget all about the sunscreen and you calling my kid a twerp . . .” Who was she kidding? Unless she got one of those rumored promotions—which was a longshot—she could barely keep herself afloat, let alone pay April more.

  “No.”

  “We’ll be moving soon. I-I-I’m buying a new house. It’s beautiful. At least four times the size of this apartment. You can stay there rent-free in the finished basement, even after the kids go to their summer program.”

  April rolled her eyes. “Oh, awesome. So I’d have to endure your little heathens twenty-four-seven.”

  She tried for the knob, but Mel held firm, palm planted firmly on the door. “No. It wouldn’t be like that, I swear.”

  “Still no.” April yanked on the door, this time, pulling it open. Her desire to flee had apparently granted her superhuman strength.

  “There’s a backyard. You can tan in the summer,” Mel said in a sing-song voice, never expecting to even give her pause. But April slowly turned, her body half out the door.

  “Are you talking about the house pinned above your desk? From the magazine clipping.”

  Hope burst in Mel’s chest. Maybe she’d stay, after all. “Yes. Yes, that’s the one. It’s beautiful, right?” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the exact one. That particular house was a daydream, nothing more. Mel didn’t even know if it was still for sale. She cut that clipping out a year ago and hung it, kind of like a vision board for life goals. But she might be able to afford a modest version of that one somewhere, eventually.

  April snorted. “Like you could ever afford that place.”

  This girl was wise beyond her years. Either that or she could sniff out desperation like a hound dog.

  “And even if you could,” April continued, bursting Mel’s bubble, “it’s not for sale.”

  Blinking the real estate lust from her eyes, Mel grappled for the door as April slipped away. Stepping out into the hallway, she hurried after her retreating form. Panting, she placed a hand on her arm, turning her. She wasn’t below groveling. “April, please. I need you. I’ve gone through three nannies in the last two weeks, and none of the daycares with openings will take us back. You can’t quit. You’re my last resort. I just need you for six more weeks until Peter is back on track and KidzCare takes us back.”

  It wasn’t exactly a glowing endorsement, but it was all she had. Plus, the truth had to count for something, right?

  Apparently, not for April.

  She looked Mel dead in the eyes. “That’s not my problem,” she said, then left without a backward glance. “Oh, and I’ll send you a bill for my purse,” she called behind her.

  The air whooshed from Mel’s lungs, and she slumped back against the walls, deflated. Tipping her head up to the ceiling, she uttered a silent prayer for strength, then made her way back inside the stuffy confines of her apartment. Her three children stood inside the entryway, staring up at her with equally shameful expressions.

  “Welp, looks like we’re on our own,” Mel said. “Again.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  BLAKE

  Blake’s watch read 9 a.m., yet he wished it were later. Maybe then it would be acceptable to clutch a cold beer in his hand instead of the tall black coffee scorching his fingers through the thin paper cup. Perhaps then, he’d get through this conversation with his brother, Grant, minus the guilt. A nice IPA would help his delivery go down a little smoother. Especially while Grant was staring at him like he’d grown a third head. Alas, a caffeine jolt would have to suffice.

  Grant’s expression of disbelief morphed into a
smirk before he choked on a laugh. “You’re joking. Good one.” He clapped Blake on the back.

  “I’m not.” Blake stared back, unwavering.

  “Are you insane?” Grant said, his voice rising an octave. “Or have you just completely and irrevocably lost your mind?”

  “Isn’t that kind of the same thing?” Blake pointed out.

  Avoiding Grant’s unwavering death stare, Blake ruffled a hand through his dark hair, then turned to the coffee bar and picked up the carafe of cream, adding a shot of it to his dark roast. Maybe if he ignored him, Grant would let it drop without giving him a hard time.

  He snapped the lid back on his cup and took a sip of his coffee. The whirring of the espresso machine droned in the background. The sound of conversation buzzed as people came and went, enjoying their fancy coffees and eating pastries. The ching of the cash register periodically punctuated the noise like an exclamation point.

  “Is this about Jen?” Grant asked, his eyes darkening to the same deep brown as Blake’s.

  Here we go. Blake felt his muscles tense in response. His brother never failed to hide his dislike for Blake’s girlfriend.

  When Blake didn’t answer, Grant shook his head, stepping out of the way when another customer reached for the almond milk. “What am I saying? Of course this is about her. Everything you’ve done since you met her has been about her.”

  “You’ve just described a relationship.”

  “You know what I mean, dude.”

  “It’s not about her. It’s about me.” Okay, it was entirely about her, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “It was my idea. I want to prove to her that I can be a family man, the kind of guy that’s serious about settling down and getting married.”

  “And quitting your job is going to prove that, how?”

  “I’m not quitting. I’m stepping back for a month. Huge difference.”

  “Right. Stepping back from your company, the one you built with your bare hands. Sounds smart.” Grant’s eyes flickered with contempt. “Nice timing, by the way. You’re going to leave us when we’re the busiest we’ve been in years since opening up B’s Bikes. If I recall, you were the one that begged me to come onboard straight outta high school. You. And now, five years later once business is booming, you’re going to up’n leave to chase some nice piece of—”