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 13

MY MIND IS STILL REELING from the fact that Dylan Stafford called me beautiful again last Friday. Not to mention that almost kiss lived rent free in my mind all weekend.

I can’t explain the impulse, but a part of me longed for him to kiss me, curious about what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against mine. Images of him gazing at me with those chocolate brown eyes as he traces my jawline torment me. The scent of mint and cedar still lingers on my coat—a reminder that we really did almost kiss.

Seeing him at the speed dating event stirred a pang of jealousy within me. The prospect of him engaging in playful banter or meaningful conversation with someone else bothers me.

I was under the impression that he doesn’t care for me, and it didn’t cross my mind until recently that he could actually be attracted to me.

At first glance, we have little in common. He’s a disciplined thirty-three-year-old billionaire, the dad to a darling little girl, and a literal genius. I’m a twenty-three-year-old free-spirited artist, the owner of an unruly dog, and I have a penchant for new adventures.

Our mutual love and concern for Lola is what’s brought us together. That little girl has us both wrapped around her finger.

I was anxious about coming over to his house this morning, unsure how things would play out between us considering our last interaction. It turns out I was worried for nothing.

He called me last night and asked if I could watch Lola for three days while he was gone on a last-minute business trip. He asked his parents first, but they’re visiting his aunt in Spring Haven this week.

I’m staying at his house overnight, and during the day I’ll hang out with Waffles and work on my paintings at my place. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Dylan was running late when I got here this morning so our conversation was brief and used to review a few sections from The Manual related to Lola’s bedtime routine. While we avoided making eye contact during our exchange I didn’t miss him cracking a smile when he saw how many paragraphs I highlighted in a rainbow of colors.

I let out a whistle when I open the fridge to grab something for breakfast while I wait for Lola to wake up. Dylan certainly outdid himself in the food department. There are enough healthy meals to last while he’s gone, along with his signature sticky notes attached to each breakfast container. However, there’s been a slight modification to the notes addressed to me.

Good morning, sunshine,

I hope you enjoy your breakfast. Have a great day.

-Dylan

I press my hand to my mouth, unable to suppress the grin that crosses my lips. I might have told him not to call me sunshine, but secretly I loved it, especially coming from him.

I take out my phone to send him a text:

Marlow: I just checked the fridge. You outdid yourself.

Dylan: Consider it insurance. It’s one less chance you’ll burn down my house while I’m gone. 😉

Marlow: Dylan Stafford, did you just use an emoji? I’m shocked. 🙀

Dylan: Did you check the guest bedroom yet?

I hustle out of the kitchen and hurry upstairs, tiptoeing past Lola’s bedroom. When I step into the room Dylan prepared for me, I squeal like a little kid when I spot the giant box of Cheez-Its on the bed. His sweet gesture sends a flurry of butterflies dancing in my stomach. I’m touched that he went out of his way to do something so thoughtful, especially considering his aversion to junk food.

Marlow: Cheez-Its?!? Are you trying to butter me up??

Dylan: You’re taking care of Lola while I’m gone. I figured it was best to stay on your good side.

Marlow: You’re doing an excellent job. 👍

Marlow: Btw, I’m also a big fan of Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tarts.

Dylan: I’ll keep that in mind for next time.

Dylan: I’m stepping into a meeting. I’ll check in with you later.

Marlow: Sounds good. Have a great day!

Dylan: You too, sunshine.

The past two days with Lola have gone off without a hitch. It’s been a delight spending so much quality time with her. The only downside is I haven’t had as much time to work on my paintings.

I groan in frustration as I stare at the blank canvas in front of me. I’ve been standing here for the past thirty minutes and still haven’t decided what my next piece for the art gallery should be. I tap my finger against my lips, hoping inspiration will strike.

When another five minutes pass without a breakthrough, I leave my station and grab my phone from the windowsill. I scroll through my go-to playlist, selecting “Material Girl” by Madonna.

Since Dylan is out of town, I connect the music to my speakers and grin when the lively beat reverberates through the studio. I twirl around the room, using a paintbrush as a microphone, and sing along. In the middle of the third verse, an idea strikes me. I stop mid-spin and rush over to my desk, pushing aside piles of papers and magazines until I find my dog-eared copy of Flowerpaedia:1000 Flowers and Their Meanings. I flip through the pages until I find the entry I’m searching for.

With a renewed drive and sufficient inspiration, I return to my workstation, ready to create.

Several hours later, I step back, admiring the finished painting.

The piece draws inspiration from my recent experience as Lola’s nanny and the moments I’ve shared with Dylan.

The two textured chrysanthemums give the illusion of a three-dimensional effect. Each one is a different color meant to represent its own emotion.

Red signifies the unwavering love Dylan has for Lola. To the rest of the world he’s a grumpy CFO with fortified walls built around his heart. However, to Lola he’s her steadfast protector who slays all her dragons, and fills her world with unicorns and rainbows.

Pink symbolizes the budding attraction I have for Dylan. Our exchanges have evolved from quippy remarks to a growing mutual respect combined with undeniable chemistry simmering at the surface.

My phone buzzes on the stool, and I immediately answer when I see it’s a call from Lola’s school.

“Hello, this is Marlow.”

“This is Kate, the nurse at Willow Run Elementary. Lola was complaining of a stomachache, so her teacher sent her to my office. She has a fever and threw up while she was in the bathroom a few minutes ago. Can you come pick her up?” Before Kate has finished talking, I’m grabbing my keys and wallet, making a mad dash for my car.

“Absolutely. I’m on my way now.”

“I appreciate it. See you soon.”

I’m grateful the school is right down the street; otherwise, I’d be in full-blown panic mode already. I contemplate sending a text to Dylan but decide to wait until I get Lola home and can give him more information on her condition. I’m relieved he insisted on installing her booster seat in my car before he left, so I don’t have to walk.

When I get to the school, I disregard the No Parking signs and pull up alongside the curb near the entrance. The front office administrator directs me to the nurse’s office, where Lola is curled up in the fetal position on a couch in the corner. She’s as white as a ghost, and her hair is messy from lying on it.

“Hey, lolabug.” The new nickname slips out effortlessly.

“Marlow, you’re here,” she says hoarsely.

“Of course I am.” I kneel beside her and gently stroke her forehead. She’s hot to the touch.

“There’s a stomach bug making the rounds,” Kate informs me. “When you get home, I’d suggest giving her some children’s Tylenol to bring down the fever, and touch base with her pediatrician. Also, make sure she gets plenty of fluids. A few good options are soup, popsicles, and Pedialyte.”

“I will, thank you.” I lift Lola into my arms, and she nuzzles her face into my neck. My heart squeezes at her innocent gesture, my hand stroking down her tangled hair, reassuring us both that everything is going to be okay.

“Can we go home now?” she groans out.

“Yeah, we’re going back to your house right now.”

“Can Waffles come over? I wanna cuddle with him.”

“Sure, he can.” I don’t have the heart to tell her no while she’s in this condition.

She gives me a weak thumbs up and is quiet on the way to my Jeep. By the time we pull into the driveway, she’s fast asleep. I take her to her bedroom and try calling Dylan, leaving a panicked voicemail when he doesn’t answer.

What am I going to do?

I’ve never taken care of a sick kid before, and I have no idea where Dylan keeps the medicine or how much Tylenol to give Lola. My anxiety intensifies when Dylan doesn’t call me back. The one time I desperately need him to check in, and he isn’t available.

I’m on the verge of a panic attack, when I recall highlighting a section in The Manual that outlines the steps of what to do if Lola’s sick. I rush into the kitchen where the binder is and frantically flip through the pages.

Thank god for Dylan’s need to meticulously plan everything. There are detailed instructions on medication and a complete list of emergency contacts, including Lola’s pediatrician. Now, fingers crossed the Tylenol does the trick.

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