Falling For Her Manny Page 8

  “Maybe he could use the money?” Caroline asked, hopefully.

  “Definitely not. He’s not doing it for the money, remember? And he owns his own business.”

  “Wait. He does?” Marti asked, her brow wrinkling with the question.

  Caroline nodded, eyes bright, already having gotten the scoop from good ‘ol Lorenzo. “He owns B’s Bikes, that fancy custom bike place in Queens.”

  “Seriously?” Marti’s eyes widened.

  “Seriously,” Mel said. “He’s only helping me temporarily until I can get the kids back at their school and daycare,” Mel said.

  “But why? That makes no sense,” Marti spluttered.

  “Well, he didn’t tell me the whole story, but he wants to propose to the woman he’s with, and I get the feeling her family doesn’t like him. He said it’s to prove to them that he’s husband and father material. But I don’t know . . . I mean, that’s weird, right? The whole thing seems . . .” She searched for the right word. “Juvenile, maybe? Like, who tells their daughter’s boyfriend he has to get a nanny gig to prove himself? I feel like there’s something else at play, but it’s none of my business, so I didn’t press.”

  “Is he hot?” Caroline asked. She groaned as if just the notion of him being hot was excruciating. “I bet he’s hot.”

  Mel stifled a laugh. “Not that it matters, but he’s not bad on the eyes.”

  “Not bad on the eyes.” Marti snorted. “He’s a total babe.”

  Mel scoffed and straightened, plucking a piece of lint off her shirt, avoiding their eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

  Caroline and Marti laughed. “You didn’t have to,” Caroline said, “it’s written all over your face. You must be crazy attracted to him. Otherwise, you would’ve just told us he was hot instead of hedging.”

  “I wasn’t hedging.” Okay, maybe she was hedging. But who cared if he was hot? It was irrelevant. He was her nanny for goodness sakes. Not to mention, practically engaged.

  “Dang. Too bad he’s taken,” Marti said, eyes fixed on the ground, clearly deep in thought. “Hey, maybe his girlfriend’s parents will come clean about hating him, she’ll dump him, and you can have a go.”

  Mel made a choking sound. “I don’t want ‘a go.’”

  “Come on. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a guy around for the kids? Especially Brady and Peter?” Caroline asked.

  Mel swallowed, fighting off a flicker of irritation. Her friends were just goading her, and they meant well. But the fact her children—her boys especially—didn’t have a father figure in their lives killed her. "We’re doing just fine on our own,” she said in a flat voice.

  Marti’s smile faded, and Caroline cleared her throat. Both of them stared at something else in the room, clearly realizing they’d hit a nerve.

  Mel tried to think of a change of topic, to ease the sudden awkwardness between them. The last thing she wanted was them feeling sorry for her. It’s why she rarely unloaded on them about her financial issues or her stress at home. For all her friends knew, she was completely fine. A little run-down, maybe, but perfectly content with her status quo.

  “So, uh . . .” Caroline was the first to break the silence. “Maybe this is too soon to ask, but . . . When do I get my raise?”

  And just like that, all three of them laughed, and the ice was broken.

  BLAKE

  BLAKE RAN FROM THE living room into the bedroom, where the kids had headed due to the alien invasion. All things considered, the first half of the day went pretty well. Peter peed himself, but other than that, there were no poop incidents, and they hadn’t completely barreled over him. Instead, they had breakfast, then he coerced them each into coloring a picture for Mel in her new office, followed by Blake’s spur of the moment alien game. Thus far, the game worked to maintain some semblance of order throughout the morning, but now the tiny apartment was bordering on a zoo again. If he didn’t do something quickly to reign them back in, he’d lose control.

  All three of the kids bounced on Mel’s bed, giggling and shoving each other, their little foil hats askew. They were one tiny push away from knocking themselves out on the nightstand, and though Blake wouldn’t mind a bit of peace and quiet, he wasn’t sure rendering them unconscious was the best idea.

  “Hey! Attention!” Blake’s voice boomed through the tiny room.

  All three kids froze and stared wide-eyed. Thank you, Grant.

  “I have a new game. It’s actually a competition. Do you know what a competition is?”

  Peter nodded, his little blue eyes bright. “You win prizes.”

  Blake pointed. He was exhausted beyond belief, but he couldn’t let up now. “That’s right. You do win a prize.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! What’s the prize?” Brady asked, raising his hand, bouncing up and down again.

  Crap. What could he give them? Guess he should’ve thought about that first.

  “Why don’t we come down on the floor and I’ll tell you,” he said, hedging.

  Blake grinned as the three of them scrambled to get their feet on solid ground. Once they stood in front of him, their bare feet digging into the plush carpet, eyes on his face, he smiled. “Do you like prizes?” he asked.

  “Yeah!” they roared in unison.

  Their round faces stared up at him. The monsters were kind of cute when they weren’t little terrors. Peter, with his blond halo of hair, Kinsley with her soft brown curls, and Brady with his sparkling brown eyes.

  “Great.” Blake rubbed his hands together, thinking fast. Then an idea popped into his head. “Brownie sundaes with hot fudge and whipped cream,” he said slowly, letting their juvenile minds soak in the prospect of sugar. What kid doesn’t like ice cream?

  “And sprinkles?” Kinsley asked, pushing her unruly curls out of her face with her little hands.

  “And rainbow sprinkles. With a cherry on top.”

  All three dove at him and wrapped their arms around his legs in a giant hug, a gesture he’d watched them do with Mel all last week when she walked through the door. For such little things, their grip was surprisingly strong as they squeezed, and this little gesture of affection did something to his heart. His insides warmed and turned soft as he stared down at them. He had a feeling they could easily crack into his heart if he let them.

  “What’s the game?” Brady asked.

  “Mommy is going to be home in a couple hours. And it looks like Hurricane Katrina just occurred in the living room,” Blake started.

  Kinsley scrunched her nose. “What’s Hurricane Katrina?”

  “Never mind. But here’s the competition. I’m going to set the buzzer on the stove for twenty-five minutes, and whoever cleans up the most stuff and puts it away before it goes off, wins a sundae the size of their face.”

  Peter’s eyes went so wide, Blake feared they might pop from their sockets. He grinned as Peter mumbled, “The size of my face,” sounding like a zombie.

  “Wait a minute.” Brady narrowed his eyes on him, and it didn’t surprise Blake that he was the one that would question and analyze this offer. “I didn’t see you with any ice cream.”

  Peter frowned. “Yeah. And Mom doesn’t like us having sugar.”

  “She says it makes us rowdy,” Kinsley added.

  Blake sensed a mutiny coming, so he hurried to reassure them. “I can call an uber and have them bring me what we need. They’ll be here shortly after we’re done cleaning.”

  “What’s a duber?” Peter asked, joining in on the skepticism.

  Blake choked back a laugh at the mispronunciation. “It’s like a taxi.”

  “An ice cream taxi?” Kinsley asked, eyes wide.

  “Sort of. Think of it like pizza delivery, but different.” Blake glanced at his watch. “I’ll call now, but then you have to hurry. We’ll have twenty-five minutes to get this place cleaned up, or they won’t come in. Uber people don’t like messy living rooms,” Blake added for good measure.

  Maybe sugar as a reward wasn’t the best way to
accomplish order, but he needed something. He’d think up other possible rewards and bribes and games for the rest of the week, but for now, he was getting the job done.

  All last week, he left the house completely wrecked, and after this morning, it was clear Mel was stressed and putting pressure on herself with this new job. Blake remembered what that was like—the feeling that you had no room to fail, that people relied on you other than yourself. And for some reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to ease her burden. Coming home to order, instead of chaos, seemed like as good a start as any.

  He headed out into the living room, with the three of them scurrying to follow.

  He set the timer on his watch, and when he yelled, “Go!” They were off like a starting gun, whipping around the room, picking up toys and crayons and paper.

  Blake smiled as he sat back and watched. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this manny thing, after all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MEL

  Despite her day going well, by the time Mel got off the subway and climbed the stairs to her tiny apartment, she was all but ready to collapse into bed. But her day wasn’t over. A bottle of wine, dinner in front of the TV, and bed would not await her because getting home meant more work.

  The house was likely a wreck, so she’d have to spend the evening cleaning. There was dinner to make, baths to be had, dishes and laundry to do. Rest and relaxation weren’t an option. Usually, she didn’t have a moment to herself until the Triple Threat went to bed. By that time, she all but flopped into a heap of exhaustion next to Kinsley, opened a book to read, and subsequently fell asleep.

  So when she burst into her apartment and found it spotless and quiet, she about fainted of shock. Turning, she did a double-take at the number on her door, ensuring she hadn’t somehow entered someone else’s apartment. Once it was confirmed this was, in fact, her home, she stepped inside and took in her surroundings again.

  There wasn’t a toy in sight. Everything was stacked in the wicker toy bins. The surface of the coffee table was visible—a rare sight—and there were fresh sweeper lines on the carpet. Only one scenario was possible. Someone broke into her place, stole her kids, and now they were hijacking her apartment.

  A burst of laughter came from the kitchen, drawing her attention. Brady, Peter, and Kinsley all sat at the little kitchen table with Blake, chatting and laughing. Each of them wore a tin foil hat on their head, including Blake, which made her chuckle under her breath.

  In their preoccupation with whatever was in the bowls in front of them, they hadn’t even noticed she had come home. Stepping closer, she cleared her throat. “Hi, guys.”

  “Mom!” they all yelled in unison.

  They jumped up, and all three hugged her legs like baby koalas, clinging to her even as she walked further into the modest space. On closer inspection, two cartons of ice cream sat in the center of the table, along with a dozen assorted sundae toppings.

  “We’re having ice cream!” Peter yelled, then dove back into his chair and shoveled a giant spoonful into his mouth as if to prove his point.

  “It’s chocolate,” Kinsley said.

  “Mine’s vanilla,” Brady chimed in.

  “I see that.” Mel glanced at Blake, in awe.

  Blake held his hands up, then he must’ve remembered the foil hat on his head because he swiped it off, looking a bit sheepish as he said, “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have, but it was a reward for cleaning up, and . . .”

  He thinks I’m mad. The thought was so comical, a bubble of laughter spurted from her chest. Covering her mouth with her hand, she stopped and shook her head, glancing around her again. “No. Thank you. The place looks great.”

  Blake exhaled and slumped in relief.

  “Can Mommy have ice cream?” Peter asked.

  “Of course, she can.” He turned his dark gaze on her and raised a brow. “You want to have some ice cream, Mom?” he asked, grinning.

  “I would love some.” Suddenly, she wasn’t so tired anymore.

  She scooched on the bench behind the tiny table, taking a seat next to Brady, across from Blake, and began to fix a bowl while her children chatted her ear off about alien invasions and how to protect yourself if there’s an attack. Once they finished their ice cream, Mel escorted them into her bedroom and flicked on a movie. “I need a few minutes with Mr. Blake, and if you’re good, I’ll give you bubbles for a bath tonight. Deal?” she asked.

  They agreed, all three of them yawning and looking sleepier than she’d seen them in a long while. She turned and closed the door behind her, then made her way back to the kitchen table, ignoring the flutter inside her chest as she approached.

  She slid into the chair across from him and picked up her spoon, toying with the remaining ice cream in her bowl. It should be weird sitting across from him—a virtual stranger. Other than the interview stuff, neither of them knew each other very well. Little details, really. But somehow, it wasn’t so bad, and Mel’s desire to find out what changed today from last week dissolved any lingering awkwardness. “So it looks like today went better, huh?

  “You could say that.” Blake pushed his empty bowl away from himself and leaned back in his chair.

  “Well, I don’t know what you did, but they’re the happiest I’ve seen them in a while, and the apartment . . .” She glanced around her. “I haven’t come home to a clean place since they were babies. So, thank you for that. Even when my mother used to watch them, it looked like a warzone when I got home.”

  Blake shrugged, and Mel’s gaze zeroed in on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I remembered that I needed to be the boss, and I might have done a little research.”

  Mel cocked her head with a grin. “Research?”

  “I Googled some things.” He chuckled. “Then I tried to turn a lot of stuff, like the cleaning, into a game. Sorry about the ice cream, I—”

  Mel barked out a laugh. “I’m not complaining.”

  Blake exhaled and leaned onto the table, talking with his hands. “I thought maybe we’d start a reward system. Something simple, but maybe it could get them back on track with picking up their stuff and helping more. I know they’re young, but there are still some things they could probably do.”

  Back on track? When were they ever on track?

  A twinge of guilt squeezed her chest. She knew she hadn’t given the kids the discipline they needed over the years. Not only because she was run ragged half the time, but, if she was honest with herself, for a long time, she compensated for their father’s absence by giving in far more than she should’ve. At first, it had been so much easier. Letting them have their way seemed harmless, like a sort of compromise since they couldn’t have a dad. It was stupid, and wrong, and did her no favors. She saw that now. She needed to make some serious changes, and if Blake—a man who had only known them for a week—could do it, then so could she.

  “That sounds great. Just let me know what I can do to help,” she said, then she scrubbed her hands over her face and grimaced. “You probably think I’m awful.”

  Blake’s expression turned serious. “What? No.”

  When she didn’t move, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm. His touch was firm and warm and comforting. It was exactly what she didn’t know she needed at that moment, and when she instinctively leaned into the touch, her cheeks heated with embarrassment. How lonely was she? That she was taking comfort in her nanny?

  For reasons she couldn’t explain, tears pricked the back of her eyes. She was falling apart, and she was about to do it in front of him. But her exhaustion trumped the energy to care how stupid she looked. She had been doing her best for four years, trying her hardest day in and day out, yet in six days, Blake had accomplished more than she had. The truth stung.

  “Hey, Mel, look at me.” He squeezed her arm, his voice firm.

  She did her best to force the tears down, blinking her eyes until she knew it was safe to lift her gaze.

  “You’re doing great. Those t
hree kids are imaginative, spirited, and loving. I mean, I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure they’re everything a four-year-old should be. Cut yourself some slack.”

  She nodded with relief. He was right. She was doing the best she could. With the stress of a new job, she was simply being emotional.

  “I did want to ask you something though,” he said and waited until she nodded for him to go on. “It’s about the potty thing . . .” he trailed off, glancing down at his hands as though he hated to bring it up.

  Mel groaned and scrubbed a hand over her face. “I know it’s bad. They were all potty trained, have been for a year.”

  “It’s just Peter.”

  Mel nodded, then bit her lip, picturing Peter. He was all sandy blond hair, skin the color of cream, blue eyes, and knobby knees—the picture of his dad. “I could be totally wrong, but I think when my parents moved, it hit them hard. My dad worked long hours, so they didn’t see him as much, but my mother was here four days a week. Putting them in daycare full time was a shock. It wasn’t so bad at first, but after a couple weeks, the accidents started, and they got booted. Or, at least Peter did, but it’s not like I’m going to split them up. I can’t blame them. No preschool-based care centers around here will take four-year-olds who aren’t potty trained. Out of desperation, I hired a nanny in the hopes we could get him back on track and try again. But their behavior escalated, and so did the revolving door of nannies. They’re not usually so . . . spirited,” she said because she hated the word “bad.” “Peter’s regression hasn’t improved yet, and I don’t know what to do about it,” she said, her voice thick.

  Blake pursed his lips, seeming deep in thought before he said, “That makes sense. In that case, it’ll probably just take time. Stability would be the best thing for them.”

  “Ah, yes, stability. You mean like hiring someone, yet again, who will be leaving us?” She snapped her mouth shut, then added, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”