Single Dad Dilemma (The Kings #2)

Chapter One Lily

Chapter One

Lily

New people, in general, were not my favorite thing in the world.

Some could be nice. Friendly and genuine and all that shit.

Their desire to get to know you was well intentioned and everything, but in order to do that, God, it involved questions and conversation, and I’d never been all that good at either of those things.

My dog—little asshole that he was—was a phenomenal conversationalist. Well . . . a great listener, maybe. I’d long begun to suspect he was an introvert too.

He wasn’t friendly. When approached by someone new, he’d do this little brow-furrowing thing and back up a step.

There was no tail wagging, no jumping up and down at the attention from a stranger.

Usually, he’d just give me a long-suffering look that conveyed a general sense of Why the ever-loving hell are you letting them touch me, human?

In my head, Larry swore a lot. Not that anyone else could know this about him. All they saw was his fuzzy little face, and they lost all sense of polite personal boundaries.

It didn’t matter where we lived, people always wanted to meet the dog. It didn’t matter that I could’ve won every award in existence for Resting Bitch Face, or that I put out the welcoming energy of a cactus—the dog fucking reeled them in.

In general, I was convinced that people could not help themselves, given that he looked like a troll doll/gremlin hybrid on a leash. Fluffy, weird hair. Big, buggy eyes. So ugly he was cute. Sort of.

And it’s why, at the moment, there were two small human faces staring at me through the fence separating my current living situation from the neighbors’.

For a while, they’d played coy, acting like they weren’t desperately trying to get the dog’s attention while I walked him around and pleaded with him to do his business out on the grass.

Larry did not feel much like listening to me. We were still in a tiff from earlier in the day.

He was old as shit, and we’d long since passed the time when wearing a diaper was the best bet to avoid public embarrassments, and I’d been on the receiving end of more than one Larry glare when I affixed it to his little ass.

“It’s cold,” I told him. “I know it’s cold, you know it’s cold, let’s just move on and not make a big thing of it, okay? This is far more dignified than me changing your diaper, don’t you think?”

Larry looked up and stared at me, unmoving.

Like literally, he would not move, and I know his dime-size bladder had to be full.

My eyes narrowed, but he didn’t do shit.

I could practically hear him: You’re the genius who took a new house-sitting job in Buffalo, New York, in December.

Of course it’s fucking cold, but I shouldn’t be expected to pay the price for that.

Basking in the sun like a cat was more Larry’s style, but unfortunately for him, there’d be a bit less of that during our time here, what with the ever-present cloud blanket that never seemed to go away.

I sent an ineffectual glare in the direction of that cloud and shifted on my feet, praying that when I looked back down, Larry would be doing his little forward-lean pee stance.

“Your dog is really cute.”

There it was.

The fence kids had finally saddled up enough courage to say something.

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over. They were tall and gangly, all long legs and big eyes and brown hair.

Sort of like Larry, except the kids were cute and not terrifying.

The girl had a white hat shoved on her head, and the boy wore a similar style in blue.

“Thanks,” I told them. “He knows it too.”

The boy sniffled, likely from the cold, and ran a hand under his nose. “Why isn’t he moving?”

“Because he hates me.”

They both laughed, unaware that I was telling the honest-to-God truth.

It was one of those incontrovertible facts of life, like gravity.

The sun rose in the east and set in the west. And Larry lowered his personal standards to tolerate me, simply because I was the one who fed him, sheltered him, and clothed him (see previous comment about the diapers).

I even bought him the fancy dog food that had to stay in the fridge, because his old-man teeth couldn’t handle kibble.

“No, he doesn’t,” the girl said on a giggle.

“Sure he does. Watch.” I crouched down and extended my hand. “Come here, Larry,” I cooed in the nicest voice I could manage. “Come here, little man. Let’s cuddle.”

He plopped his ass down in the cold grass and gave me a haughty look.

I glanced over at the kids. “See? A cold heart in this one.”

“Can we try?” she asked. “Maybe . . . maybe he likes kids?”

For a second, I stared at her, a dangerous cavern opening up in my chest. I didn’t want to prod at what was hiding there in the dark, but even with my aversion to new people, I found myself nodding. “Yeah, you can try.”

Her brother whispered something fiercely, and she paused with a great heaving, dramatic sigh.

His little chest puffed out. “We don’t know who you are. You might be a kidnapper. Dad always tells us to be careful about strangers.”

“Your dad is pretty smart,” I said, standing up and wiping my hands over my leggings-clad thighs. “Not a kidnapper. I’m house-sitting for your neighbors while they’re gone.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “What are their names?”

“Scott and Patty.”

Their heads leaned toward each other as they discussed.

“Where did they go?” the boy asked.

“Arizona. They’ll be back the middle of February, which seems counterintuitive to me because it’ll still be cold as f—” I stopped, tilting my head to readjust my rusty conversation skills to be little-people appropriate.

I settled on, “It’ll still be really cold.

Something about a friend’s seventy-fifth birthday. ”

Apparently this was the right answer, because the two gave each other a wordless look of understanding—sibling agreement that I wasn’t a psycho—and immediately slid through an opening in the fence, the girl coming through first.

Larry tilted his head and watched them approach. To their credit, they moved slow, not wanting to scare him.

“I’m Maggie,” the girl said. “Maggie King. And this is my older brother, Bryce.”

“I’m almost twelve,” he pronounced, but his eyes were locked on the dog when he said it.

“A good age,” I replied. “I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”

Maggie wasn’t paying as much attention to the dog, her big eyes occasionally darting up to study me. “You have blue hair.”

My hand moved to the hair in question. “Sort of. I’m growing it out. Just blue on the ends right now.” My natural black was covered by the hat I’d worn to avoid hypothermia while Larry took his sweet fucking time to . . . not pee, apparently.

Bryce was sitting on the ground, leaving his hand outstretched. Larry’s head inched forward, and I found myself holding my breath.

“His name is Larry,” I told them. “Don’t take it personally if he doesn’t react much. He’s kind of like a grumpy old man. He’s not very friendly with new people.”

“Sounds like our dad,” Maggie giggled.

My eyebrow quirked. “Your dad’s old?”

Bryce shrugged. “Sort of. He’s in his thirties.”

I rolled my eyes. “Kid, that is not old.”

He gave me a curious look. “To me, it is. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.” I tilted my chin toward the dog. “He’s fourteen.”

“Whoa,” Maggie breathed. “He’s ancient.”

Look at me, talking to brand-new people. Maybe it was easier because they were little people.

“Do you need to ask your parents if it’s okay to be over here?”

“He’s at work,” Maggie said. They shared a look. “He’s always at work this time of year.”

“What about your mom?”

“Oh, they’re divorced. She moved to Los Angeles last year. We live with our dad because he wanted us more.” Bryce gave me a matter-of-fact shrug. “It’s better this way.”

Open little shits, weren’t they? If I wanted to, I could probably get their entire life story with ease. “So you have no one watching you? You seem a bit young for that.”

“Miss Jill is there, but she doesn’t care what we do,” Bryce added. “She’s not very fun.”

My gaze cut over to the house in question. “She doesn’t sound like a very good nanny.”

Bryce shrugged. “Our last nanny quit—”

“She was awful,” Maggie interjected.

“—and my dad offered Miss Jill extra money to help with us. I don’t think she really wanted to, though.”

“A lot of money,” Maggie said with big, serious eyes. “And she’s not technically a nanny. She’s the housekeeper.”

The housekeeper. It was one of those things kids said, not realizing they were giving we’re rich and I’m completely unaware vibes.

The houses in this neighborhood were on the big side, but not mansions by any stretch.

More like, people with money who kept more of it in the bank than in real estate.

The cars were all nice and shiny. The landscaping immaculate.

Or it would be, if everything wasn’t frozen to shit.

Lots of brick lined the street, as well as big, tall trees that would give plenty of shade if it weren’t an arctic tundra.

As it stood, their spindly branches didn’t do much to block out the irrepressible gray.

“I like your sweatshirt,” Bryce said. “But you should probably be wearing a coat. My dad always tells me that sweatshirts don’t count.” He sighed. “I think they do, though.”

I almost laughed. Almost.

Between Larry and the sweatshirt, I should’ve known I would reel someone in. Half the conversations people started with me in this general area of the United States was when I was wearing the damn thing.

“It was my dad’s,” I told him, keeping my voice even. “He, um . . . he loved the Celtics.”

It was ancient, fading and falling apart.

Older than me by a healthy number of years.

There were holes in the sleeves where I shoved my thumbs, and it hung over my thighs, far too big for me.

There wasn’t a lot about me that people would call soft or cozy or warm, but the sweatshirt sure had people fooled.

Maybe it had me fooled, too, and that’s why I wore it.

What it wasn’t was a coat, as Bryce so astutely pointed out, and I couldn’t help but shiver.

Maggie was whispering to Larry, speaking so quietly that I couldn’t understand her, but even though he pretended like he couldn’t hear my calling for him half the damn time, that dog stood back up and his stubby tail wagged.

Just a little. As my mouth went slack, my jaw made a soft clicking noise.

He took a couple of tentative steps closer and deigned to allow Maggie to scratch his head, which she did with absolutely heartbreaking gentleness. She smiled up at me, and I lost my breath a little at the sight of it.

“He likes you,” I said quietly. “He doesn’t like many people.”

I pulled in a quick breath, fighting another shiver when the wind picked up.

Bryce watched me for a moment. “Can we maybe play with him a little? If you’re cold, you can go inside. I’ll hold his leash really tight.”

Maggie’s face lit up. “Yeah, we’ll bring him inside. We promise.”

“Oh, I can’t leave him out here too much longer, kids. I’m really sorry. He needs some medicine before I feed him dinner.”

Immediately, they deflated. Then Maggie perked up. “Can we play with him inside? We’ll be super good. I promise we won’t break anything inside their house.”

“Do you usually?”

They traded another look. “No?” Bryce said haltingly.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I looked over at their two-story brick home, slightly larger than Scott and Patty’s. “You should tell your housekeeper where you are.”

Bryce whipped out a phone. “I’ll text her.”

Maggie gave him a quick glance, then grinned up at me.

Something about that grin found a foothold in my usual reserve, like she’d pried her cute little fingers into a crack and pulled really fucking hard.

“Do you guys like oatmeal-raisin cookies? I just took some out of the oven.”

The words were out before I could stop them, and a string of expletives spun through my head. Later, I’d blame my offer on the cold. Or I’d blame Larry and his uncharacteristic friendliness.

Their eyes brightened, and they stood to their feet immediately. “Yes,” they said in tandem.

What the hell was I doing? It was too late to take it back, and the two of them ran onto the deck and let themselves into the house, clearly comfortable with their neighbors.

I gave another quick glance back at the house, then down at Larry.

He blinked.

“I don’t fucking know, Larry,” I replied. “It’s your fault. You always bring in the friendly ones, but I’m the one who has to deal with the consequences. We’re gonna talk about this later.”

Instead of moving, he just stared up at me, and with a sigh, I reached down and scooped him up in my arms. He made a grumbling sound, like he paid a mortgage and taxes and worked fifty hours a week. I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, your life is very rough, you little freeloader.”