Runaway Love: A Single Dad Nanny Small Town Romance (Cherry Tree Harbor Book 1)
Runaway Love: Chapter 2

ONE DAY EARLIER

THEY SAY blood is thicker than water, and I’ve always believed it to be true.

Right up until this morning.

“A dig?” I stared at my sister, who’d just announced she could no longer nanny for me this summer. “Are you serious?”

“It’s a very important dig!” Mabel protested, her eyes wide and serious behind her glasses.

“What exactly are you abandoning me to dig for?” I stacked the kids’ cereal bowls and grabbed their juice cups with one hand.

“We never know—that’s what makes it exciting!” Mabel followed me from the kitchen table to the sink. “They’ve found all kinds of things at this site. Bones, stoneware, coins, other artifacts. This dig could really help us understand early life in the colonies!”

I frowned as I rinsed everything and loaded the dishwasher. “I don’t think you understand my current life as a single father with seven-year-old twins.”

“I do, Austin,” Mabel insisted. “And I’m sorry to leave you high and dry. But it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I am not throwing away my—shot!” She struck a dramatic pose, trigger finger pointing at the ceiling.

“Please. No more Hamilton. That will be the one good thing about having you gone—I won’t have to listen to that soundtrack every day.” I glared at her over one shoulder. “But couldn’t you have told me about this sooner?”

“I’m sorreeeeee.” Mabel laced her fingers and rested her chin on her knuckles. “It was a last-minute offer, and I was lucky to get it. Please don’t be mad—this could help me get into a more prestigious PhD program. It’s a dream for me.”

“I’m not mad,” I muttered. In fact, I was happy she was able to chase her academic dreams all the way to the finish line.

Of the five Buckley siblings, Mabel was the brainy one—she’d worked her ass off in school, earned tons of scholarships, and she deserved every accolade she’d ever gotten. It wasn’t her fault my life had taken a sharp turn after our uncle died, leaving our dad without a business partner, or hit a major fork in the road when I unexpectedly discovered I was going to be a father of two at age twenty-five.

“Because if you’re really mad, I can say no and stick around here this summer,” Mabel went on solemnly. “I promised I’d help you out, and you know how much I love the kids. Plus, if you keep making that face, all those lines in your forehead might stay there.”

I rolled my eyes, although I did try to relax my face a little. “I’d never make you stick around here for my sake. You need to go.”

“Thank you!” She threw her arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides and pressing her cheek against my back. “I’ll totally help you replace a replacement nanny before I leave!”

“Mabel, it’s Friday. You said you had to be in Virginia on Sunday.”

“It’s Friday morning. That gives me practically two full days! I’m sure I can fit it in. You know I have a sixth sense about people.”

“And it’s June already. There are Help Wanted signs all over town. Anyone qualified already has a summer job.” I started the dishwasher, wiped the counter where someone had spilled milk pouring their cereal (probably Owen, since Adelaide was a neat freak like me), and checked the chore charts on the fridge to make sure the kids were keeping up with the week’s responsibilities. Adelaide’s X’s fit perfectly inside each box—not a single one missing. Owen’s chart had a couple blanks, and he marked each completed task with different things, sometimes a sticker, sometimes a smiley face, sometimes a funny-looking shape I knew was supposed to be a guitar, which he was saving up for.

“Not necessarily.” Mabel trailed me to the front of the house. “There must be someone still looking for work.”

“Someone with childcare experience?” I checked my watch and yelled up the stairs to the kids that they had precisely five minutes until departure.

“Definitely.”

“Who can cook?”

“For sure.”

“With their own transportation?” I checked their backpacks to make sure they had everything they needed for camp—bathing suits, towels, sunscreen, goggles, flip flops, lunches.

“Of course.”

“That the kids will like?” Owen’s towel from yesterday was still wadded up in his bag, damp and reeking of chlorine, and I yanked it out.

“I mean, not as much as they like me . . .” she joked.

“And no criminal record?”

“Now you’re just being picky.” She met my dirty look with a cheeky grin. “You know, if you’d just be honest with Dad about wanting to quit Two Buckleys and make furniture, you wouldn’t need a full-time nanny. You could work from home.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would break Dad’s heart. His father and grandfather started that business in 1945. He and his brother ran it for forty years. When Uncle Harry died—”

“I know the story,” Mabel cut in. “I know you gave up going to college for him.”

“That wasn’t my point. College wasn’t that big a deal to me anyway. I don’t even know what I’d have studied,” I said. Architecture, I thought. “And I never had grades like you. I probably would have flunked out.”

“Bullshit.” Mabel’s tone was fierce. “I mean, none of you guys had grades like me, but in your case, I think it was because you were always working. School wasn’t your priority.”

“Dad was raising five kids on his own,” I said. “I wanted to help out.”

“You did help out, Austin.” Mabel’s voice softened, and she reached out to squeeze my forearm. “I’m pretty sure my kindergarten friends thought you were my dad because you were always there waiting for me after school.”

I cocked one brow. “I was fifteen.”

“Exactly. That was a long time ago.” Her voice grew stronger as she lectured me. “Dad is sixty-five now, with a heart condition and bad hips. He can’t work forever. When he retires, are you going to keep his business alive just to make him happy instead of doing what you love?”

“Doing what I love wouldn’t support us,” I said, evading the question. “Not for a while, anyway. I’ve got bills to pay, and I want the kids to be able to attend summer camps and play sports. Adelaide is talking about sailing lessons. Owen wants a guitar.”

Sighing, she snatched the towel from my hands. “Here, I’ll put this in the wash. You grab a clean one.”

While she went down to the basement, I hustled upstairs and pulled a clean towel from the hall closet, double checking that it said Buckley on the tag so it wouldn’t get lost. Adelaide was just coming out of her room.

“Did you make your bed?” I asked her, although it wasn’t necessary. Adelaide always made her bed.

“Yes,” she said. “Do I have time for Aunt Mabel to braid my hair?”

“If you hurry.” I tipped up her chin and looked at her pink, freckled nose. “More sunscreen today, please. And you should probably wear a hat.”

“Okay.” She took off down the stairs and I poked my head into her room.

Bed made, light off, pajamas put away. A glance into her brother’s room revealed the opposite—comforter hanging off the bed, pajamas on the floor, drawer open, light on. After tossing his Captain America PJ’s into the hamper—he’d spilled juice on them this morning—I shook my head, switched off the light, and went into my bedroom across the hall.

Moving fast, I yanked up the covers on the only side of the king-sized bed that got used. I wasn’t even sure why I’d bought such a big bed when we moved into this house two years ago—I’d been sleeping alone since the twins were born. Not that I’d been totally celibate for seven years, but I could definitely count the times I’d had sex on one hand.

And it wouldn’t even take all my fingers.

For a moment I studied my hands, wide and rough and callused, the knuckles a little swollen, my fingernails trimmed but the cuticles raggedy. I had a cut across the back of my left hand from where I’d scraped it on a nail sticking out of an old deck board yesterday, and a blister had formed on my right thumb, thanks to a hole in my gloves. They were a working man’s hands, and I couldn’t even remember the last time they’d moved across soft feminine skin, or slid into long silky hair, or grabbed onto a curvy pair of hips.

Was that part of my life over for good? Most days I was so busy, I didn’t even have time to miss it. But every now and then, after the lights were off and the house was dark and silent, I lay alone in my bed and wished I had someone to make a little noise with.

Not that there hadn’t been offers over the years, both overt and subtle. But I didn’t date. For one thing, I had no time. Aside from the week the twins spent with their mother out in California each summer, they were my responsibility twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And a good father puts his kids first.

Owen was still in the bathroom he shared with his sister, brushing his teeth. “You about ready, bud?” I asked.

“The lady said I had to brush for two full minutes,” he said.

“What lady?” Tucking the towel under my arm, I put the cap back on the toothpaste.

“The lady at the dentist.” He rinsed his toothbrush and whacked it a few times on the edge of the sink before placing it back in the holder.

“That’s the hygienist. And she also said to floss every day, but I don’t see you doing that.” I frowned at his messy brown hair. “Good thing you guys have haircuts today. Did you brush this mop yet?”

“No.”

I exhaled and grabbed the hairbrush from the top drawer, giving his thick waves a once-through. Leaning closer, I examined his head. “Is that peanut butter?”

“Maybe.” Owen was unconcerned. “I had it with my banana this morning. Aunt Mabel said I needed some protein so I could get big muscles. Is it true that peanut butter gives you muscles?”

“Sure. If you eat it, instead of smearing it in your hair.” I did the best I could to get it out, then gave up. “Come on, let’s go.”

Downstairs, Mabel was braiding Adelaide’s long strawberry blond locks. Owen had the Buckley coloring—golden skin, chestnut hair, warm brown eyes—but Adelaide looked more like her mother, a fair-skinned, green-eyed redhead, every year. But that’s where their similarities ended.

“I don’t have to get too much cut off today, do I?” Adelaide looked up at me with worried eyes.

“Nope. Just a trim. But you need sunscreen on the part in your hair,” I told her, stuffing the clean towel into Owen’s backpack. “Don’t forget.”

“I can spray it before we get in the car.” Mabel quickly wrapped an elastic around the second braid and gave it a tug. “Done.”

“Mabel says we’re getting a new nanny, because she’s going on a dig,” Adelaide said. “Is that true?”

“Yes.” I pointed at two pairs of sneakers by the door. “Shoes on. Both of you.”

“What’s a dig?” Owen asked, standing still while his sister dropped down and tugged on her sneakers, then tied two perfect bows, making sure the ends of the shoelaces were even.

“It’s where you forage in the dirt to replace artifacts from the past,” Mabel said dramatically. “It’s like treasure hunting for a job!”

“Wait—that’s a job? You can get paid to dig in the dirt?” Owen sounded interested in this kind of career path.

“Yes. But not much.” Mabel laughed. “Archaeologists aren’t really in it for the money.”

“Who’s going to be the new nanny?” Owen wondered.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “We’ll have to replace one.”

“Like Mary Poppins?” Adelaide’s voice rose hopefully.

“We can’t afford her.”

“Is she going to live over the garage like Aunt Mabel?” Owen had his shoes on now, but still untied.

“I guess,” I said, although I wasn’t looking forward to having a stranger up in my business. I liked order. I liked routine. I liked things done a certain way—my way—and I didn’t need someone coming in who’d ignore my instructions or, worse, try to take charge and make changes.

“Can you pick us up from camp today, Daddy?” Adelaide asked.

“Sorry, June bug.” Guilt nicked at me. “I have to work. I’m putting in a new deck out on Lighthouse Point.”

“Can’t Grandpa put in the new deck?”

“He can help, but if I wasn’t there, he’d try to do things he shouldn’t, because he forgets he’s old now.”

“You’re old too,” Owen pointed out.

“Thanks.” I bent down to tie his shoes, giving the bill of his cap a thump.

“Thirty-two isn’t that old,” Adelaide argued, and just when I was about to thank her, she added, “I mean, it’s old, but not like grandpa old.”

Mabel laughed, grabbing her bag from a chair near the front door and slinging it over her shoulder. “Okay, so I’m dropping them at camp, then I’m going to run some errands and do some packing, then I’ll get them back here to clean up. Next, I’ll take them for their haircuts, and afterward we’ll come home and I’ll make dinner.”

“Don’t forget to add replace replacement nanny to that list, unless you think she’s just going to magically blow in on the breeze.”

Mabel laughed and punched my shoulder. “Maybe she will.”

I followed my sister and the kids out the door, pulling it shut behind me. While they piled into her hatchback that was parked at the curb, I walked around to the driveway and jumped into a battered white pickup that said TWO BUCKLEYS HOME IMPROVEMENT on the side.

We did a little of everything—carpentry, painting, flooring, tile work, plaster repair, light remodels—and we did it well. Despite the fact that we could have made more money if my dad would just take on more employees, he’d always insisted that Two Buckleys would remain exactly that—a small family business.

Which was why it fell to me to hire on as the second Buckley after our uncle’s death. Not only was I the oldest brother, but at that time, I was really the only one suited for the job. Xander had one year of school left and then planned on joining the Navy. Devlin had still been in driver’s training and had zero interest in working with his hands. Dashiel was barely fourteen.

My dad had needed me, and I wanted to do right by him, like he’d done by us.

Waving to Arthur, our mail carrier, I made my way from our neighborhood down toward the harbor, usually only a five-minute drive. But even though it wasn’t quite eight a.m., the traffic on Main Street was already slow, and the sidewalks were crowded with people looking for the perfect cup of coffee or handmade pastry. Many were already dressed for the beach or a day on the boat. With the truck windows down, I could smell the scent of fudge wafting through the air—I’d once read that Cherry Tree Harbor sold five tons of fudge every summer.

It was a small town with barely over a thousand year-round residents, but the population swelled each May to the point where it felt like every restaurant, inn, and shop was bursting at the seams, and stayed that way until September. It would pick up again for ski season, then quiet down in spring once more. Many of the seasonal visitors weren’t just tourists, but families who’d owned homes here for generations.

The biggest ones were century-old Victorian “cottages” on Bayview Road, which curved along the shoreline, overlooking the crescent-shaped harbor that was nestled at the base of the bluff. I loved working on those old homes—restoring the exterior porches, gables, and trim, or the interior floors, moldings, and staircases. A few times, owners had asked me to restore original furnishings too, but what I enjoyed best was taking old materials like resawn beams, plank flooring, barn wood, or even whiskey barrels, and making them into something new.

I passed The Pier Inn, the popular hotel and restaurant at the harbor where Xander and Dash had bused tables every summer and Mabel had been the hostess. At the light, I waved to my Aunt Faye, who was crossing Bayview with her yellow lab, a cup of coffee in one hand. She was my Uncle Harry’s widow and still kept the books for Two Buckleys.

Faye waved back, calling out, “Morning, Austin! Say hi to your dad!”

At the base of Lighthouse Point, a narrow strip of prime real estate jutting into the bay, I had to stop at the gatehouse and give my name. The attendant was an old friend of my father’s, a mechanic who’d retired about five years ago and worked part-time at the gatehouse when he wasn’t out fishing. He grinned as I pulled up and came out of the gatehouse to chat. “How’s it going, Austin?”

I put the truck in park. “Pretty good, Gus. Catch anything good lately?”

“You know it. I just told your dad he needs to give up this full-time stuff and get out on the water more often.” He jerked his thumb up the road. “He was here a minute or so ago.”

“I suppose he turned you down, huh?”

“As usual.” Gus grunted. “I don’t know why he wants to keep working so hard. I told him, I says, ‘George, we’re sixty-five, for cripes’ sake. It’s time to slow down.’”

“I agree with you.” I adjusted the cap on my head. “But he doesn’t listen to me either.”

“I hear Xander’s back in town. He could pass Two Buckleys on to you and Xander, easy.”

“Nah, Xander’s never had any interest. He’s starting his own business.” Plus Xander and I would kill each other.

“What kind of business? Private security stuff?” Then he laughed. “We don’t have too many people that need bodyguarding around these parts.”

I shook my head. “He’s opening a bar. He just bought the old Tiki Tom’s and he’s working on renovations.”

“Oh. Well, shoot. What about your brother Devlin? He still out east someplace?”

“Boston,” I confirmed.

“Guess he’s more of a suit and tie guy, huh?” Gus removed his bucket hat and scratched the top of his head with his thumb. “And I don’t suppose your brother Dashiel has any interest.”

“None at all.” Dash had chased his dream of being a movie star out to L.A., where he was an actor on a popular show called Malibu Splash—something we gave him endless shit about, although we were proud of him.

“My granddaughters love that show he’s on. They watch it all the time. Think maybe I could get them an autograph?”

“How old are they?”

“Ten and twelve.”

I grinned. Dash was twenty-six, but he played a teenage lifeguard on the show, and his fan base was solidly prepubescent. “I bet we could arrange it.”

“Thanks. They even have pillowcases with his face on them.” He chortled, shaking his head. “Like Elvis or something.”

“Right.” Getting restless, I put the truck in drive again. If my dad was left alone on a job too long, he’d either do something dangerous like climb a ladder to check someone’s gutters (for free), which made him dizzy, or waste time chatting away with the homeowner, adding on to the hours I’d have to spend finishing the work we’d been hired to do. “Well, I should get going, but next time I talk to Dash, I’ll mention it.”

“Thanks.” Gus thumped the driver’s side door of my truck. “Have a good one, Austin.”

“You too.”

Sure enough, when I arrived at the address and went around back, Dad was standing out on the homeowner’s dock, holding a cup of coffee and nodding along as the homeowner chattered away gesturing toward his boat. Dad smiled and waved to me, but made no move toward the deck that needed refinishing, and I waved back before getting to work by myself.

In the back of my mind, I imagined what it would be like to spend a whole day working on my own projects, to be free to go after what I really wanted to do, the way my siblings were. Xander with his bar. Devlin with his pricey real estate deals. Dash with his movie career. Mabel with her treasure hunts.

But they were different from me. Their situations were different. They didn’t have kids, and they didn’t remember—maybe they’d just been too young to appreciate—how hard our dad had worked to raise us on his own after our mom was gone. They didn’t understand how fully he’d supported me when I announced I was about to become a father of two, insisting we move in with him so he could help out.

I owed it to him to keep the family business alive and keep quiet about what I wanted for myself. And I owed it to my kids to be the kind of father they deserved. If that meant deferring my own dream, so be it.

That’s what love was.