If You Give a Single Dad a Nanny: a single dad, grumpy sunshine, small town romance
If You Give a Single Dad a Nanny: Chapter 1

“DADDY, I’M HUNGRY AND BORED,” Lola complains.

She flits into the kitchen, wearing a rainbow-colored tutu paired with a fuchsia shirt adorned with a unicorn on the front. Her long blonde hair, pulled back into a half ponytail and accessorized with a sparkly red bow, sways as she spins to the rhythm of the classical music playing in the background.

I chuckle at her dramatics. “I left a bowl of carrot sticks and blueberries on your craft table.” I nod to the other side of the room. “You can eat those while you wait for dinner.”

It’s no easy feat keeping a highly energetic five-year-old entertained.

“I love blueberries,” she declares.

“I know you do.”

She goes off in search of her snacks, and I turn my focus back to preparing her lunch for school tomorrow. I carefully assemble her lunchbox, filling it with cherry tomatoes, carrot sticks, blueberries, cheddar cheese cubes, hummus, and pita bread cut into the shape of a unicorn. The final touch is a pink sticky note with have a magical day written on it.

After putting the packed lunch in the fridge, I gather the ingredients required to make chicken noodle soup for dinner. The life of a single parent requires juggling a never-ending schedule and a list of to-dos, but I wouldn’t trade my world for anything. I place the carrots and celery on the counter just as Lola’s infectious laughter fills the air. I look up to replace her with her face pressed against the sliding glass door, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she surveys the backyard.

“Ladybug, what are you doing? I thought you were hungry.”

“I am, but there’s a dog rolling around in the snow. He’s so cute and fluffy,” she exclaims. “Can I go play with him? Pretty please?” She clasps her hands together.

Aside from her unwavering love for unicorns and rainbows, Lola’s newfound fixation is Bluey, a cartoon dog. While she’s been asking for a dog for the past few months, the addition of an imaginary one in our backyard is a recent development.

“Maybe later.” I take a knife out to chop the vegetables when I hear the unmistakable sound of barking from outside. I step over to the bay window overlooking our backyard, and lo and behold, there’s a medium-sized dog rolling around in the snow with its tongue hanging out.

What the hell is a dog doing in our backyard?

“Isn’t he the cutest dog in the whole wide world?” Lola squeals. “He really wants to play with me.” She’s practically bouncing on her feet with uncontainable anticipation.

“Ladybug, I need you to stay inside. It could be dangerous.”

The dog could have rabies. Its erratic behavior definitely seems abnormal.

“He doesn’t look dangerous,” she states matter-of-factly.

“We’re not taking any chances. Stay inside,” I instruct in a gentle tone as I put on my shoes.

She folds her arms across her chest, pouting as I open the sliding glass door and step outside.

I stride across the deck, and the dog stops its playful antics, turning my way when it hears me. I note its unique combination of one brown and one blue eye and a distinctive tri-colored coat in white, black, and tan. Despite sharing several characteristics of an Australian Shepherd, this dog is smaller and has a long torso, short legs, and ears that are comically large for its body.

As I approach, a woman’s voice grabs my attention.

“Waffles, get back here,” the stranger whisper-shouts. “You can’t go into other people’s yards without an invitation. You’re going to get us into trouble.”

“What the…” I trail off as I spot a woman with long blonde hair in two fishtail braids, straddling the wooden fence running the perimeter of the left side of my property. I can see the top rung of a ladder on the other side that she must have used to climb over.

Her outfit is vibrant and colorful—a bright pink puffer coat, faded floral overalls, and silver sneakers with ribbon laces. She’s most certainly not dressed for a winter in Maine.

“Hi there, new neighbor.” She waves at me with a broad smile, losing her balance in the process.

Shit. She’s going to fall.

I run down the steps of the deck and race toward her just as her hand slips. I open my arms to catch her, but the force of her falling sends me sprawling backward. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I grunt when I make contact with the ground.

“Oh, no,” the woman cries out as she falls awkwardly on my chest with a thud.

Once I’ve regained control of my breathing, I prop myself up on my elbow and give her a once-over to make sure she’s okay. The last thing I need is for a stranger to complain that they got hurt in my backyard.

Relief washes over me when she finally lifts her head, and I draw in a deep breath as her gaze meets mine. I’m greeted with a captivating combination of one blue and one green eye. She has a pert nose, full, inviting lips and her cheeks are flushed as she looks down at me. I’m struck by the thought that I’ve never met someone this uniquely beautiful.

“Thanks for catching me.” The woman lets out a melodic laugh as she pushes against my chest and stands up.

She has a smudge of yellow paint on her cheek, and I suppress the urge to wipe it off with my thumb. I’m so lost in my admiration that I’m caught off guard when the dog suddenly darts across the yard, heading for the house.

I scramble off the ground and sprint in the same direction. When I get to the backdoor, I replace Lola on the ground, giggling uncontrollably while the dog playfully licks her face. I kick my shoes off before going inside and pulling the dog off Lola. She shoots me a disapproving scowl.

Feet slapping against the floor has me turning to replace the woman from the backyard has followed me inside, trailing snow and dirt along with her. This is why I’ve stood my ground when Lola begs me to get a dog. They’re messy, unpredictable, and high-maintenance—all things I like to avoid.

I prefer things to be organized and predictable, which is why I thrive when I have a routine and a structured environment. It’s especially challenging to adjust to unexpected changes.

“Oh gosh, Waffles, what have you gotten yourself into now?” The woman puts her hands on her hips like she’s scolding a child.

“Your dog scared my daughter,” I say with concern, gesturing to the furry culprit.

“No, he didn’t, Daddy,” Lola chimes in. “Waffles was just giving me kisses, weren’t you, boy?” She rewards the mutt with a good scratch behind the ear, and he thumps his tail, reveling in the attention.

I wince at the obscene amount of hair now on Lola’s clothes. This is great. She’s already calling the dog by its name. Next thing I know, she’s going to invite him over for a playdate.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, praying for patience. Dealing with a pair of intruders before dinner wasn’t on tonight’s schedule.

“Waffles is completely harmless,” the stranger says. “He was just eager to meet his new neighbors.”

“Who are you?” I tilt my head at her.

This woman might be attractive, but her lack of manners and careless attitude are bothersome. She’s making herself right at home, without considering the possible intrusion she’s caused by coming into someone’s house uninvited.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Marlow Taylor,” she says with a smile, her eyes bright. “We moved into the pink house next door a couple of days ago. It was a last-minute decision,” she rambles, “but as soon as I saw it posted online, I knew we had to live there.”

I stare at her outstretched hand, reluctant to accept the gesture. Despite my irritation, her presence sparks an unfamiliar fluttering in my stomach.

“Tell me, Marlow, is trespassing on other people’s property and coming into their homes uninvited a regular pastime for you and Waffles?” My tone is mildly sarcastic as I glance back at her.

A flush of embarrassment spreads across her cheeks, and her eyes dim like a flickering candle as she pulls her hand back to her side. Something unpleasant gnaws at me, and a pang of regret creeps in, but I push it aside.

“You’re absolutely right,” she acknowledges. “I apologize for Waffles’ unruly behavior. I let him out to play in the snow while I unpacked and when I went to check on him, he was gone. He must have escaped through a hole in the fence. I figured I could get him out before you noticed, but that didn’t work out so well.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” I deadpan. “How exactly did you plan on getting back to your yard? I saw that you used a ladder to climb over, so I’m assuming it would be tricky to get you and a dog back over the fence without it.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admits.

“That’s what I thought,” I mutter under my breath.

“It’s just that Waffles can be quite the handful.” She chews her lower lip. “I was worried what kind of trouble he might get into if I left him unsupervised for too long. He’s not great at following directions.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“He’s a dog. He’s literally trained to take orders.”

“Um… not Waffles,” Marlow corrects me hesitantly.

“What does that mean?”

“He’s a rescue. I got him from a shelter in Los Angeles and haven’t started training him yet.” She looks down at the ground, shifting her feet side to side. “He’s overly energetic, that’s all.”

As if he can sense that we’re talking about him, Waffles yips while running around Lola. Unfortunately, she replaces his antics thoroughly amusing.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d make sure he stays in your yard from now on,” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s not safe to have an untrained dog around my daughter.”

“Obviously,” Marlow replies flatly as she watches Waffles and Lola play like they’re the best of friends. “Come on Waffles. We’ve clearly overstayed our welcome.”

He ignores her in favor of chasing his tail, while Lola claps her hands. Marlow is unfazed, taking a leash out of her coat pocket and clipping it to Waffles’ collar.

I direct them to the front door as Marlow practically drags Waffles out, oblivious to the water, dirt, and dog hair being tracked through my house.

Before they can step outside, Lola darts past me, dropping to the floor to hug Waffles, her arms encircling his neck. “I’m going to miss you.” She looks up at Marlow with pleading eyes. “Can I play with Waffles again soon?”

I’m stunned speechless when Marlow crouches down in front of Lola and tucks a piece of stray hair behind her ear. “Of course, you can.” She shoots me a glare, daring me to say otherwise. “Besides, I don’t think I could keep him away now that he’s met you.”

“Yay,” Lola cheers, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Hey, Marlow?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you and Waffles have eyes that don’t match?”

“Lola, remember our talk about not asking strangers personal questions?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Marlow offers a friendly grin to my curious daughter, before her gaze darts to me. “We’re not strangers, neighbor. It’s called heterochromia,” Marlow replies without missing a beat. “We were born with it. When I found Waffles at the shelter, I knew he was special, so I took him home with me.”

“I think you’re really pretty,” Lola whispers.

My daughter’s not wrong. Marlow is gorgeous, and despite her overly cheerful disposition and blatant disregard for other people’s property I can’t help but be drawn to her.

Marlow puts her hand over her heart in response to Lola’s comment. “And I think you’re beautiful.” She lightly taps Lola on the nose. “I love your skirt. Rainbows are my favorite,” she says in a low voice, like she’s sharing a secret.

Lola’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Mine too.” She beams with pride. “Hey, Marlow, how come you have a flower sticking out of your shirt?”

Sure enough, a single daffodil is poking out of the front pocket of Marlow’s overalls. How it survived her climb over the fence, I’ll never know.

“I like to paint flowers, and I keep a fresh bouquet of them at home,” she explains. “When a certain flower inspires me, I study it before I paint, and I tend to forget that I’m carrying it around.” She plucks the flower from her pocket and hands it to Lola. “Would you like this one? It’s a daffodil. It represents new beginnings, which I think is fitting for our situation.”

“Yes, please.” Lola carefully takes the flower from Marlow’s hand.

“It might be thirsty, so make sure you keep it in water so it doesn’t wilt.”

Lola looks up at me. “Daddy, will you get my flower a drink?”

“Sure, ladybug, but let’s see Marlow and Waffles out first.”

The sooner our uninvited guests leave, the sooner I can get this mess cleaned up and finish getting dinner ready.

“It was such a pleasure to meet you, Lola,” Marlow says.

When she stands up, she leans toward me so only I can hear. “I’m not sure I can say the same for you, but thanks for the tour, regardless.” She winks. “You shouldn’t frown so much or someday your face could get stuck that way.” Her tone is teasing.

I raise a brow. “Did you consider I might have one less reason to frown if you and your dog didn’t show up unannounced?”

The fluttering sensation is back in my stomach accompanied by a rush of remorse that proves more difficult to stifle than before.

She places her hands on her hips. “Did I not apologize for the intrusion, and promise you it won’t happen again?”

“You did,” I say, but I have a sneaking suspicion this won’t be the last time Waffles and Marlow drop by for an unexpected visit.

Marlow tilts her head as she studies me, and an indecipherable expression crosses her face as if she’s trying to read me. I school my expression, a carefully crafted wall firmly in place.

I clear my throat and pointedly glance at the door, hoping she’ll take the hint and make her exit. I’m relieved when she finally steps onto the porch, leash in hand.

“Come on, Waffles. Let’s go home and get you a treat.” He barks with gusto, eagerly following her.

The unconventional duo strolls down the sidewalk as if they don’t have a care in the world.

I glance over at the pink house next door and can’t help but think that the color of the exterior matches the personality of the woman who now lives in it—obnoxious, quirky and eccentric, yet undeniably intriguing and charismatic.

Surveying the hallway, I notice the trail of melted snow and dirt left behind. It’s a visible reminder of the disorder and chaos accompanying someone like Marlow wherever she goes. She leaves her mark, without recognizing the aftermath of her actions. What scares me most is the feeling that she could alter the carefully construed life I’ve built for Lola and me if I let my guard down.

“Daddy?” Lola tugs on my pant leg.

“Yes, ladybug?”

“My flower is really thirsty.” She holds out her daffodil.

“We can fix that.”

She follows me into the kitchen and climbs onto the closest barstool.

I fill a glass halfway with water and set it on the counter for Lola. She triumphantly gives her flower a drink.

“Thanks, Daddy. I hope Waffles comes to visit tomorrow. I miss him already.” She sighs.

We’d be much better off if we steered clear of Marlow and her over energetic dog. Although something tells me Lola won’t stop asking until she sees her four-legged friend again—and soon.