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 2

ONE YEAR LATER

GUILT TIGHTENS MY STOMACH INTO a knot, knowing that I’m two hours late to pick up Lola from my parents’ house. I keep a strict schedule to make sure we get enough quality time together, and it bothers me when I have to deviate from my carefully planned regimen. My main priority is making sure she feels secure and never has to worry about where I am.

Unfortunately, it’s unavoidable on occasion. My family owns Stafford Holdings, the largest real estate firm in the country. We have business holdings in every major city in the US, including hotels, office buildings, apartment complexes, and retail spaces. After my dad retired three years ago, my brothers and I assumed full control of the business. Harrison, my older brother, took the helm as CEO, Cash, my younger brother oversees operations, and I’m the CFO. Although I’m passionate about my career, it demands more time than I would prefer.

As soon as the helicopter touches down at the airfield near Aspen Grove and the pilot cuts the engine, I thank him for the ride and make a quick exit. I head for my SUV, parked in the nearby garage.

Because of the snow-covered streets, the drive to my parents’ house takes longer than I’d like, and I’m relieved when I finally arrive at their modest two-story Cape-style home.

I’m not surprised when my mom opens the front door as I’m climbing the porch steps. She wraps me in a hug.

“Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?”

“It was long.” I sigh. “After reviewing the financial report my team put together, Harrison gave the green light for the new Vanburen development in Brooklyn. There’s a bunch of red tape for us to work through before we start building, so it’s all hands on deck for the next few months.” The mere thought of it leaves me anxious.

“Let’s talk inside where it’s warm,” Mom suggests.

As she ushers me through the door, some of the stress leaves my shoulders.

My parents’ house has always had a warm and inviting atmosphere. The space is filled with personal touches, from family photos to mementos collected from my parents’ travels alongside a collection of Lola’s art projects from school.

The open-concept floor plan makes the space feel roomy, but it’s still a mid-sized home. My parents prefer to live well below their means even though they could afford a mega-mansion—several, if they wanted.

Despite my family’s billionaire status, they prioritized providing their kids with a nurturing environment. Since we were young, they taught me and my siblings the importance of humility and hard work, regardless of the balance in our bank account. I want to do the same for Lola, and raising her in Aspen Grove is the best way to do that.

“How are your brothers?” Mom asks.

I raise a brow. “Didn’t you call them both earlier today?”

“Yes, but that was this morning.” She reminds me.

If she isn’t able to talk to me and my siblings at least once a day, she gets worried.

“Harrison and Cash are fine. How was Lola this afternoon?”

“She was an angel, like always,” Mom gushes. “Although she was disappointed that she didn’t get to see Waffles tonight. She was looking forward to playing with him.” She pats me on the shoulder when I tense up. “Don’t worry, she cheered right up after she got a snack and watched a few episodes of Bluey.”

“Thanks, Mom, I appreciate it.”

To maintain a semblance of work-life balance, I commute to the city three days a week and work from home the other days. This arrangement makes it possible to be home in time for dinner most nights.

None of this would be possible without my parents’ unwavering support. They’ve been with Lola and me every step of the way since she was a baby, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their willingness to pick up the slack when I fall behind. It also helps that we have Kendra, Lola’s nanny. She gets Lola off to school in the mornings, and occasionally watches her in the afternoons when my parents aren’t available.

“It’s my pleasure,” she says with a smile. “I think it’s so sweet that Marlow brings Waffles over to play with Lola. You’re so lucky to have her as a neighbor.”

“Sure,” I say with a noncommittal shrug.

I’m so lucky that despite repairing the hole in my fence, Waffles still replaces his way into my backyard and practically tackles Lola when he sees her. I can’t count the number of times she’s come inside covered in dog hair and slobber, thanks to the canine next door.

Evidently, Waffle’s lack of training doesn’t bother Marlow since she hasn’t rectified the situation. Whenever I bring it up, she brushes me off, claiming that Waffles is perfect just the way he is. I beg to differ—that dog is a menace and needs proper training.

It doesn’t help my case that Lola is smitten with our quirky neighbor. She’s drawn to Marlow’s eccentric wardrobe, bubbly personality, and infectious smile, which I replace rather irritating. It’s not natural for a person to be so damn happy all the time. It must be her age. At twenty-three, she still wears rose-colored glasses and thinks everything is made of sunshine and rainbows. Wait until she hits thirty-three when the responsibilities are piling up and life is an endless list of to-dos, appointments, and numbers, all weighing her down.

The demands of being a single parent are undeniably challenging, and I’m doing the best I can, considering the circumstances. But lately, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m falling short of being a good father.

“Are you alright?” my mom asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Do you think I’m a good dad?” I blurt out.

She flashes me a sympathetic smile. “Of course you are, sweetheart. I know things might seem impossibly difficult right now, but Lola is incredibly fortunate to have you as her father.”

“Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that. I just can’t shake the guilt whenever I’m away from her; she deserves more.”

She dismisses my concern with a wave. “Oh, hush. If you never left, she would get tired of you. It brings your dad and me so much joy when we get to spend time with our favorite grandchild.”

“Lola’s your only grandchild,” I remind her.

“That won’t be the case forever. I’m dreaming of the day when we’re surrounded by grandkids.” She lets out a wistful sigh. “I’m hoping Jack and your sister will start a family soon, and I’m still optimistic that you and your brothers will settle down. Until then, I’ll happily soak up every second with Lola.”

My younger sister Presley lives in New York. She got a job as the assistant to Jack Sinclair, the CEO of Sinclair Group, a large investment firm. After years of sidestepping their mutual attraction, a disastrous work trip to Aspen Grove led to them faking dating to hide Jack’s identity from our family. One thing led to another, and they fell in love.

They’re not in any hurry to have kids, and I know firsthand that my brothers have no intention of settling down anytime soon. But I don’t want to be the one to break the news to my mom.

“Speaking of Dad, where is he?”

“He fell asleep in his recliner watching Bluey with Lola.” Mom laughs. “He won’t admit it, but I think he enjoys watching that show almost as much as she does.”

I don’t doubt it. Lola has her papa wrapped around her finger.

When I leave my parents’ house, there’s a fresh blanket of snow on the road.

As I pull down my street, I notice Marlow hasn’t shoveled her driveway. I’m not surprised, given that she lacks a basic understanding that renting a house comes with certain responsibilities, including mowing the lawn in the summer and shoveling snow in the winter. She probably doesn’t even own a snow shovel.

After parking in the garage, I carry a sleeping Lola up to her room. Luckily, she changed into her pajamas while she was at my parents’ house, making it easy to settle her into bed and tuck her in.

I remember when I cradled my little girl in my arms for the first time and gazed into those captivating big blue eyes. She instantly captured my heart. I vowed she would always come first, no matter what. I just never expected that I’d be doing this whole parenting thing on my own.

Before Lola was born, I lived in the city with Maddie, my ex-girlfriend. She left when Lola was six weeks old, making it an easy decision to move back to Aspen Grove so Lola and I could be closer to my parents. Despite my mom wanting us to move in with her and my dad, I chose to buy a place down the street from the local elementary school.

“I love you, ladybug,” I whisper into Lola’s hair. “Nothing will ever matter more to me than you.” I press a kiss to her forehead before quietly leaving her room.

Once I’ve cleaned out her backpack and prepared her lunch for tomorrow, I step outside to shovel our driveway and sidewalk. With Lola and dozens of other kids walking to school, shoveling and putting salt down is important to prevent any potential accidents.

After finishing at my house, I go over to Marlow’s. This routine started a week after she moved in. There was a massive snowstorm, and when she never came out to remove the snow, I ended up doing it for her. Now, whenever there’s heavy snowfall, I shovel her driveway.

Like most nights, the lights are on in her loft. Whenever I have a late night in my home office, or Lola gets up in the middle of the night, Marlow is usually awake. It makes me think she must sleep during the day to make up for her nocturnal routine.

She’s lived here for over a year, but I still don’t know what she does for a living. Aside from taking Waffles on his daily walks and trips to town, she doesn’t venture out much. I wonder what made her impulsively rent a pink house in a small town in Maine when she could live anywhere in the world.

I’m in a sour mood tonight as I toss snow off to the side. It’s late, and I still have a financial report to finish before bed.

I glance up and spot Marlow standing at her window. Her golden blonde hair is tossed into a messy bun, and she’s wearing her signature oversized overalls with a long-sleeved neon orange shirt underneath. Even from here, I can spot a smudge of paint splattered across her cheek, which can only mean one thing—she’s been painting.

Like she does every time I come over, she gives me one of her infectious smiles and mouths the words thank you, pointing to the driveway.

Without thinking, I raise my hand to wave at her. Her mouth falls open in shock before waving back.

I quickly pull my hand to my side, frowning as I avert my gaze from the window. As I return to shoveling her driveway, I mentally scold myself for my unusual interaction. For a reason I can’t explain, it’s difficult to resist the captivating effect Marlow’s smile has, momentarily changing my mood, and bringing a lightness to my step.