Single Dads in a Small Town

1. Aspen

Ican hardly contain my nervousness as the sleek black SUV drives through the expanse of country roads toward the little town, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears, I’m sure the driver can hear it. But if he can, he makes no comment. In fact, the man has said almost nothing to me the entire way from my apartment.

All the way from Atlanta, I’d questioned what I was getting myself into, what kind of arrangement the nanny agency was setting me up for. I’d had a week to think about it, to plan for it, to reconsider it, even, but suddenly, my nerves are on the fritz again.

What the hell am I doing here? Is it too late to turn around and call it a day? Will I get fired from the agency for doing that?

I don’t want to risk it, particularly when I was forewarned.

“It’s unconventional, to say the least,” Mrs. Burgess explained when presenting the file to me, sliding the manila folder over the wood of her pristine desk. “And I wouldn’t normally consider something like this, but we have properly vetted the gentlemen involved, and they are well known. I don’t question their ethics, considering the circumstances.”

Every word she spoke fueled my curiosity, and that I was looking at a paper file versus a digital one doubly intrigued me. Any other client’s information is typically emailed to me, but this—this was all very hush-hush.

Seeing the names inside the folder, however, made me understand the need for discretion.

“What is this?” I asked the agency owner, blinking in dismay as I lifted my head from the pages in front of me.

“It’s a job, Miss Palco. Are you interested, or aren’t you?”

I’m brought back to the present moment when the car I’m in takes a sharp right turn. Now, I peer at the impending town with its old-time clock tower and three cute churches lined up in a row. My doubts come flooding back in a torrent.

The vehicle slows down on the main street, giving me the opportunity to take in the adorable shops with their green and white awnings, the courtyard park in the center rife with children playing in the after-school hour.

This is a nice place to raise a kid, a family. Made even more so by the luxurious mansions on the outskirts of town, where old but gorgeous estates sit on side streets, making my eyes pop.

My head swivels this way, then that, unsure of which pretty house to look at first—the Victorian with the cupola or the Georgian with the Juliet balconies. I give myself whiplash, like an excited puppy playing ball with herself.

An unexpected shiver rushes through me, one that’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant, a sense of being overwhelmed as the mansions slide by, one greater than the next.

But there are not just massive houses on our path. A tennis and basketball court slide by, an Olympic-sized pool with a clubhouse. In the not-so-far distance, I make out a golf course before the driver takes another turn.

This place feels like a movie set.

We’re far from Atlanta; that much is clear. We’ve been driving for more than an hour and a half. The GPS shows Cypress Gardens as barely a blip on the map without a street view, telling me nothing about the little town where my job interview is about to take place.

Or maybe the man interviewing me, Flint Sterling, bought his way off the internet. That shouldn’t surprise me. Men like Flint have money to do whatever they want.

The SUV takes a turn down a windy road, and my chin juts forward as I see a maid at the end of the road, dressed in black and white, like something out of a fifties movie. I gawk at her strolling down the cobblestone among the manicured lawns. She holds up a hand and waves at the passing car. To my utter astonishment, the totally silent driver waves back! He hasn’t managed a single word to me since picking me up outside my apartment in Adair Park, but he apparently has at least one friendly bone in his body.

His chauffeur cap pivots back toward the windshield as if he realizes I’m staring at him, trying to figure him out, and I’m left to peer out at the incredible landscaping. I count three hedge animals, shaped like a dinosaur, a rabbit, and a bear—all on different properties.

Little girls are having a tea party by a Roman-style fountain in another yard as the driver makes yet another right, landing us on a cobblestone cul-de-sac where the houses are veritable castles. I am left breathless again as I see each one of the giant structures painted in a different color that contrasts against the serene blue sky beyond.

The driver pulls into the subtlest of the houses, painted a pale yellow with white lace trim along all three stories.

“We’re here, Miss Palco,” he informs me, stopping in the circular drive, directly in front of the double front doors. I almost jump at the sound of his voice now.

“Uh… thanks.” My palms sweat, and I wipe them hastily on my skirt, smoothing it out as the driver—whose name I still don’t know—walks around the car to let me out.

Instantly, I’m consumed by the succulence of the smell in the air, Georgia’s trademark peaches hinting at the summer skies but commingled with other fruits, too. Oranges? Apples? All I know for sure is that it doesn’t smell like this in Adair Park.

A small giggle attracts my attention, and I whirl around, the aroma forgotten as I catch the wide, doe-eyed expression of a little girl peeking out from behind a nearby gum tree.

My heart immediately melts to take in her long, braided hair, slightly askew in a pink ribbon that’s ill-fastened, her overalls muddy. She’s lost a shoe somewhere along the way, too.

A dozen unpleasant memories of childhood flash in my mind, being underfed and under-clothed, living with foster families who didn’t care enough about me to ensure my minimal needs were attended.

Surely that’s not what’s happening here. Her guardians are literal billionaires.

Instantly, I know she is the reason I’m here for the nanny interview, and excitement replaces all my other emotions.

“Are you Lily?” I ask, stepping away from the car to crouch down, extending my hand toward her. Her dark eyes pop, and I grin at her. “My name’s Aspen.”

Her huge, fairytale eyes widen more, but before the doll-like four-year-old can speak a word, footsteps at my back turn my attention around again.

My jaw slacks as two men block the bright sunshine, their faces an identical expression of perplexity. The angle of their faces against the light blocks me from fully catching sight of their features properly, but that doesn’t stop my pulse from going haywire again as I struggle to stand on my feet.

A strong hand juts out to help me, and I take it gratefully, my entire body collapsing. A soft chuckle follows the assist.

“I would ask what you’re doing down there, but I’m almost afraid of the answer,” the other man sighs, glancing at his companion, who easily guides me to my feet.

My cheeks flush crimson, and I look back over my shoulder for evidence of the child, but Lily has vanished, leaving me looking foolish in front of my prospective new employers.

“Hi,” I offer breathlessly. “I’m Aspen… Palco.”

I now have a much better view of them both, and it’s no easier on me than when I was crouching. If the ground opens up to swallow me whole, I won’t mind a bit.

I would have recognized Flint Sterling anywhere, that million-dollar smile just as brilliant in real life as it is in the dozens, if not hundreds, of articles I’d read about him and his family’s real estate empire. He and his brother are in charge of his family’s company, the Sterling Group, now that his father has passed.

His steely blue-gray eyes bore into me, and he seems to hold on to my hand a second longer than necessary before letting me stand on my own two feet. I pray my legs don’t fail me under his gaze.

“I’m Flint,” he offers casually, as if he knows I know who he is. “This is?—”

“Pike Hartley,” I gush before I can stop myself. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that the artist is so much more attractive than any post online could have possibly depicted, with his intense azure eyes and mop of russet curls. Or maybe it’s the fact that my nerves feel like they’re on the outside of my body and ready to snap, crackle, and pop like cereal in milk. Whatever the reason, I’m acting like a complete fool.

Pike grimaces as if my trite platitudes pain him, and my blush deepens. I wish I’d thought of something more profound to say to him—to both of them. It isn’t like I didn’t know who I was coming to meet. Why am I behaving like a stupid fangirl?

“Don’t mind Pike,” Flint tells me lightly, catching the expression of embarrassment on my face. “He doesn’t like to talk about his art.”

“We’re not here to talk about my art,” Pike cuts in curtly. “She’s here to discuss Lily’s care, isn’t she?”

I straighten my shoulders as Flint bobs his head in agreement, gesturing toward the front of the house.

“Indeed, we are,” he agrees with a cordial chuckle, but I can’t help but notice an underlying tension. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

“I think I just saw Lily,” I venture nervously. “Over by the tree?”

They both stop walking and glance at me, eyes narrowed.

“Dark hair in a braid? Big eyes? Likely missing a shoe?” I offer.

Flint grunts with disgust. “Are you kidding me?”

“When?” Pike demands, spinning around to look for himself.

“Just when I arrived,” I squeak, wondering if I’ve spoken out of turn.

“One of these days, I’m going to kill that guy,” Flint growls threateningly, abruptly changing direction.

I stand in my spot helplessly, unsure of what to do as they march toward the five-car garage.

“This way, Ms. Palco,” Flint calls back without looking over his shoulder. Inhaling and not understanding what’s going on, I hurry forward to catch up with them.

Banging and loud rock music meet my ears as I follow Flint and Pike into the building.

“CADEN!” Pike hollers, and suddenly, I see what all the fuss is about.

Under a classic muscle car, a set of jeaned legs sticks out as Lily sits in the driver’s seat, pretending to drive.

“CADEN!” Pike yells again, and the music turns off abruptly.

“Hey!” Lily and Caden cry out in unison, the legs becoming a full form as he slides out from underneath the car. His golden-brown eyes lock on me first, pupils dilating with interest as he slowly rises to his feet, wiping oil-stained hands on his filthy jeans. But I can’t stop looking at his naked, gleaming chest, counting and recounting the abs staring me in the face.

I physically turn away, pretending to be enthralled with the décor of the garage as Flint lectures Caden on the dangers of having a four-year-old in a garage.

“How many goddamn times do I have to tell you, this isn’t the place for her? She just wandered off right under your nose.”

“She’s fine,” Caden insists nonchalantly. “Aren’t you fine, honey?”

“I’m fine,” Lily echoes.

“She’s filthy!” Pike counters furiously. “We told you to be ready for the interview at one.” He gestures vaguely at me. “It’s one fifteen.”

“Whoops.” Caden shrugs, unperturbed by the tongue-lashing, and I have to wonder how often he’s reprimanded by his housemates. “I guess we lost track of time, didn’t we, Lilbug? And you must be the new nanny. I’m Caden Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you,” I squeak.

The other two men roll their eyes.

“Just get dressed and meet us in the front room, will you?” Flint grumbles. “Come on, Lily. Let’s get you a snack.”

He extends his hand toward the little girl, who reluctantly climbs out of the car and heads toward the tallest of the three men as my head spins over this dynamic, trying to make sense of it.

“Come on, Ms. Palco. Let’s get this interview underway,” Flint grunts, leading us back toward the house again, but this time through a side door next to the mansion.

Lily glances over her shoulder at me, blinking her lovely brown eyes. “Are you my new nanny?” she asks hopefully.

“I sure hope to be, sweetheart,” I answer with a warm smile, but even as I speak the words, I’m not sure if I’m telling her the truth. Do I really want any part of what’s going on in here?