Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
TATUM
I watch Drew leave the restaurant, hurrying to his car without so much as a glance over his shoulder and tell myself it’s for the best. That’s why I left when I did, after all. Because I couldn’t stop touching Drew inappropriately or be trusted not to make a fool of myself in front of him and his work friends.
I should be glad he’s leaving without a shred of hesitation.
I shouldn’t even be at this window to see him go!
I should be in bed with the book I checked out at the library earlier today on the history of butts. It’s definitely not kid friendly, but Sarah Beth was so fascinated by it—and giggly over the fact that someone wrote a three-hundred-page book on the history of booties—that I felt obligated to do this deep dive for both of us. She’s counting on me to tell her when our species developed butts, why they’re smooshy, and what this means about humanity as a whole.
I can’t let her, or myself down by standing here, moping and wishing things with her dad were different.
Determined to put my boss out of my mind and concentrate on expanding my knowledge of human evolution, I crawl into bed and snuggle under the covers. But like the glutton for punishment that I am, the more I read about other people’s booties, the more I think about the way Drew squeezed my butt. Those thoughts lead to even naughtier thoughts and pretty soon my hand is slipping down the front of my pajama pants.
I come in seconds, sent tumbling over the edge by Pretend Drew’s voice in my ear, telling me how much he loves to fuck me, but I do my best not to enjoy it.
The only thing worse than guiltily masturbating to thoughts of my boss would doing it with a clear conscience.
T he next morning, I awake from a dream that Drew, Sarah Beth, and I are living in a giant Peach—a result of reading James and the Giant Peach to Sarah yesterday and all my research on butts—and am forced to face facts.
I’m so gone on this man and his little girl that I keep dreaming about them.
Almost every night.
I need an intervention. Stat.
Glancing over at the clock, I see I have fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off and decide to start my “Friday night hunt for a man to keep my mind off Drew” a day early.
Online dating was clearly created by the devil himself, but it’s the only way to meet people these days. I suppose some people still meet at work, but as someone who works with small children and mostly other women, that’s never been an option for me.
I’ve created and deleted dating profiles so often, it only takes me five minutes to whip up a profile and start scrolling. The first thing I notice is that the men in Bad Dog are much cuter than the men I left behind in rural Kentucky. Most of them also seem to have jobs that don’t involve horse poop.
I love horses, but Kentucky men are obsessed with their horses, to the point they feel no shame standing you up if America’s Darling has gas or is off her feed for some reason. I swear, ghosting women for horses is common place in my hometown.
Or maybe it’s me.
Maybe my picker is broken.
But you picked Drew. And he’s amazing. Like the way he apologized last night. It was so kind and honest and grown-up.
“Stop,” I chide the inner voice with a sigh. Yes, Drew is a full-fledged unicorn, a dirty talking man with a cock piercing who’s also incredible at adulting, but he’s not on the menu for me.
I have to live in reality, not fantasyland.
In the name of coming back down to earth, I swipe right on a couple of nice-looking guys in their early thirties who, judging by their bios, seem to have a decent sense of humor, and call it good. I’m about to shut the app and start the kettle for tea when I come across a very sexy guy on a motorcycle.
He’s gorgeous, with huge muscles and piercing blue eyes, but it’s his face that really gets me.
He looks so much like…
“Like Drew,” I say aloud, my jaw dropping as I enlarge the picture on my screen. Aside from the blue eyes, instead of brown, lighter hair, and the more solid, square-shaped jaw on the biker, the two of them could be twins.
What are the chances this man isn’t related to my sexy boss?
Probably pretty damned small.
I glance at his name—Christian—and take a gamble, typing “Christian McGuire, Bad Dog, Minnesota” into a new search window.
In just a few seconds I have loads of information on Drew’s slightly younger brother, who owns a motorcycle shop and organizes a charity event to fund the local animal shelter every year. He’s hot, sexy, and loves helpless animals in need. The man is the entire package, and he’s not my boss.
Too bad I didn’t meet him before I met Drew. Maybe things would have been different, and we could have had a good time together. But now…
Well, I would never date a member of Drew’s family. It would be too weird.
Which makes me wonder…
Hastily, I glance at the names of the two men I swiped right on. Neither of them looks like Drew’s clone, but they’re both tall, have great smiles, and dark hair, just like Drew. I add McGuire to both of their names in a search window and— damn it!
“You certainly have a type, woman,” I mutter. Theodore McGuire is Drew’s first cousin. So is Jacob McGuire, but he isn’t Theo’s brother. They have different parents, a fact made clear by an obituary for Theo’s grandmother from a few months back.
I quickly unmatch with both men and set my profile to private. It’s not safe to stick a toe in the dating waters around here without a complete McGuire family tree. Making a mental note to start working on my “Do Not Date List” during Sarah Beth’s nap today so I’m ready to play the field on Friday with confidence, I get dressed and head to work.
I’m a few minutes early, but head up the steps at Drew’s place anyway, figuring I can help get Sarah Beth’s breakfast and give him more time to get ready for work. But when I step inside with a bright, “Hello, McGuires!” I’m not met by the cheery kitchen scene I’ve become accustomed to.
Instead, Sarah Beth is hiding under the table with tears streaming down her cheeks while Drew leans over, pleading, “Come on, Sarah Beth. I don’t have time to make pancakes and you can’t have pancakes for breakfast every day. It’s not healthy. Sometimes you have to have oatmeal and fruit.”
“I hate oatmeal,” Sarah Beth sobs. “It’s as bad as lasagna.”
“Hey guys.” I finish hanging my coat and move cautiously into the room. “Rough start this morning?”
Drew looks up, the stress on his face making me want to rub his shoulders and tell him it’s all going to be okay. But I haven’t had a margarita this morning, so I easily resist the urge to touch him inappropriately and settle for a sympathetic smile.
“Sarah Beth wants pancakes,” he explains. “But we only do pancakes once a week, twice at the very most. It’s just too much sugar first thing in the morning.”
“It’s not fair,” Sarah Beth shouts from under the table, a hitch in her voice as she begins to cry harder. “I had to have lasagna last night at Aunty Melissa’s, and I hate it so much. I don’t want to have oatmeal, too. It’s not fair!”
I crouch down, bringing my face nearly level with Sarah Beth’s. “Hey, buddy. I hear you. We all have foods we don’t like and it’s hard when you’re a kid and don’t get to decide what you eat all the time. Why don’t you come out and we can talk about this, see if we can find a compromise.”
“I can have pancakes?” she asks, her tears beginning to slow.
I shake my head. “Nope. Dad said no.” She starts to protest, but I cut in, “And he’s right. It’s not healthy to have pancakes too often. It can make you sick and he loves you so much he doesn’t want you to get sick. Sometimes grown-ups say no because they love you and want to keep you safe. I know that doesn’t always make it easier, but I promise you, your daddy would never make a rule just to be mean. You’re the most important person in the world to him.”
“She’s right,” Drew says in a softer voice. “I love you and want to help you grow up healthy, honey. That’s all. Come out and let’s talk about it. If you really don’t want oatmeal, we can try to find another healthy choice.”
Sarah Beth swipes at her cheeks with her fist. “I like eggs, too. With cheese and toast.”
I smile as I glance Drew’s way out of the corner of my eyes, taking his swift nod as confirmation this compromise is Dad approved. “Well, that sounds like a great idea. I can scramble eggs with cheese and make toast while you have some strawberries, and you’ll have a healthy breakfast that’s also super delicious.”
“You don’t mind making them?” Drew asks softly, glancing at the clock on the wall above the kitchen table. “I’m not sure I have time.”
“Absolutely,” I assure him, standing as Sarah Beth crawls out from under the table. “Not a problem at all. You guys hug and make up and we’ll start the day fresh with no fights in it.”
Sarah Beth goes to Drew, reaching her arms up to him for a hug, whispering, “Sorry, Daddy,” as he scoops her up.
He wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight, closing his eyes as he whispers back, “I’m sorry, too. I’ll try to be better about finding compromises, like Tatum said. I know food can be tricky as a kid sometimes. My mom used to make me eat cabbage every Friday and I hated it so much that sometimes I’d hide in my closet and skip supper altogether. Even when I was really hungry.”
Sarah Beth giggles as she pulls back to pat his beard. “That’s silly, Daddy. Cabbage is delicious.”
Drew pulls a face, sticking out his tongue. “Ew, no. I hate it. No way am I eating cabbage.”
“You have to at Grammy’s house,” she says, gleefully. “She makes everybody eat the vegetables.”
“I guess I’ll have to ask her to compromise next time,” Drew says. “Or find somewhere to hide. Will you help me?”
Sarah laughs again. “Yes, I will. I know all the good places to hide at Grammy’s.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, a little choked up by the exchange. It was just so sweet, to see them work things out with so much love for each other. “Now, let’s let Daddy get ready for work. I’ll get your berries and start the eggs.”
Drew sets Sarah Beth down. As she crawls into her booster seat at the table, I whisper, “Good job, Dad,” on my way into the kitchen.
His gaze locks with mine. “Thanks to you. How did we manage without you?”
“Not too good sometimes,” Sarah Beth says, making it obvious she can hear our quiet exchange.
Drew and I both laugh, then he mutters, “From the mouths of babes. Anyway, I’m grateful, and so happy we found you.”
“I’m happy I found you guys, too,” I say, my heart breaking a little.
I’ve never felt so torn. One part of me is proud that I’m doing good work for my new boss and his kiddo. The other part of me desperately wishes this had nothing to do with work.
As I prepare Sarah Beth’s breakfast, I fantasize about what it would have been like to have met Drew out in the community, maybe while I was working at a daycare in town or something. I imagine how nice it would have been to get to know him, to earn his trust, and then be introduced to his baby girl as his girlfriend.
But the fact remains that I never would have come to Bad Dog if it weren’t for the nanny job. I found it on a job board for nannies and au pairs. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t know this small town even existed, let alone have met this special single dad.
It’s a conundrum. A cruel twist of fate.
And sadly, it looks like I’m going to have a hell of a time finding a rebound guy who’s not a McGuire.
At story time at the library later that morning—a weekly event Sarah Beth and I learned about on our book collecting mission yesterday—I sneak over to the computers while Sarah is listening to a truly gripping rendition of Little Red Riding Hood. I settle in to do a little genealogy research at one of the public computers and realize the bartender the night I met Drew wasn’t kidding. A good fifty percent of the town’s population seems to be full-blooded McGuire or McGuire adjacent.
So, it’s probably good that Wren and I are headed outside the city limits for Friday Night Fun Times tomorrow night. Maybe there will be some fresh blood at Bubba Jump’s. The club sounds like something that would be more at home in Kentucky than Minnesota, but I like it. It seems like a place that isn’t taking itself too seriously and after a week of taking myself way too seriously, I’m down for that.
I close the browser and head back to story time, taking a seat with the parents and babysitters in the chairs behind the colorful carpet where the kids are seated criss-cross applesauce. On my way, I notice a cute woman with warm brown eyes watching me with a curious expression. I smile her way, and she lights up.
A beat later, she’s in the empty chair next to mine, whispering, “So, you’re Drew’s new nanny? I’m Sofia by the way.”
“Tatum,” I whisper back. “And yes, I started this week.”
“So cool! How’s it working out so far? I applied for the job but didn’t get it.” She waves a hand, hurrying to add, “But that’s fine, I actually love Conrad, the little boy I watch now. My boyfriend just thought I should apply since it was a higher salary then what I’m getting. So, are you local? I can’t remember seeing you around before.”
“No, I moved here from Kentucky,” I say. “And it’s working out well so far. Drew’s so nice and I adore Sarah Beth. She’s the sweetest kid.”
Her gaze softens. “She really is. She was always the first one to share her toys at Gym with Me when she was a toddler. Drew stopped bringing her because one of the other girls kept pushing her down and pulling her hair, but we really enjoyed Sarah Beth.” She lowers her voice even further to whisper, “Wish we could have kept Sarah Beth in the class and gotten rid of Martha. I hate to speak ill of little ones, but that kid is a menace.”
I frown. “That’s horrible. Drew didn’t tell me that.”
Sofia’s brows lift. “No? I would have thought he would have warned you. Martha’s still around. She’s actually here today.” She nods toward the carpet. “The girl with the blond curls and the pink sweater.”
My frown deepens. “Huh. She looks like a Victorian doll.”
“Looks can be deceiving, friend,” Sofia says. “Keep an eye on that one.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say as the storyteller finishes and the kids are invited up to get a packet of seeds to plant in the spring, just like Red Riding Hood did in the reimagined tale.
“Of course.” Sofia beams my way. “And welcome to Bad Dog. Hope to see you around.”
“Same, thanks,” I say, truly impressed by the kindness of almost everyone I’ve met in the community so far.
No sooner has the thought passed through my head than a very unkind little blonde shouts, “Go away, ugly stupid,” and shoves Sarah Beth.
I’m in motion before she hits the carpet.