If You Give a Single Dad a Nanny: Chapter 10

I NEVER SHOULD HAVE PUT muffins in the oven before I got in the shower. I’m in the middle of rinsing my hair when the timer on my phone goes off.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

I put my head under the running water one last time to make sure I’ve got all the conditioner out before shutting it off. I open the shower door and lean over to grab a clean towel from the rack.

The high-pitched alarm screams at me that the blueberry and bran muffins are on the verge of being burnt to a crisp. I stop the alarm before drying off as quickly as I can and tug on a clean pair of black boxers.

After my early morning workout, I decided to bake more muffins after noticing that the last two from the batch I made last week had disappeared. Lola doesn’t like them much, which means Marlow must have eaten them. There’s something oddly satisfying about her eating food that I’ve made for her.

In the past week since she started as Lola’s nanny, she’s crossed my mind far more times than I care to admit. When I’m at the office, I often wonder what she’s doing at that particular moment. On the days I’m working from home, I have to stop myself from peeking out the window anytime I hear her front door open. And when she comes over to my house every morning, I have to refrain from checking her out. Especially when she’s wearing a pair of those tight yoga pants that hug her ass so well.

It’s probably just a phase, and eventually I’ll move on to thinking about something else. At least I hope that’s the case.

As I jog down the stairs, Confusion grips me when I don’t hear the other timer that was set on the microwave. I come to a standstill when I get to the kitchen and find Marlow hovering in front of the stove, pulling out the muffins using a thin dishtowel.

Why isn’t she using an oven mitt?

“Ow,” she cries as she yanks the pan from the oven. She grimaces but maintains her hold on the muffin tin until she gets to the counter and drops it like a hot potato. I watch as she frowns down at her finger, shaking off the discomfort. Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to make it feel any better.

“Here, let me help.” I stalk toward her like a man on a mission.

Marlow whips her head around, her eyes widening as she watches me approach. I take hold of her finger and frown when I see that it’s bright red. Knowing she’s hurt doesn’t sit well with me, and I have the urge to fix it immediately.

“That burn needs to be washed under cold water,” I tell her, as I place my hand on her back, ushering her over to the kitchen sink. I turn on the faucet and make sure the temperature is cool before guiding her hand under the flow of the water.

I check the clock and see that it’s only 5:50 a.m. She’s earlier than usual, and always knocks, no matter how many times I tell her she can come inside without waiting for me to let her in.

“You’re here early this morning,” I observe.

“I’m sorry.” Marlow bites down on her lower lip, directing her gaze anywhere but at me. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came over a little early since you have to go into the office today. When I got here, I knocked, but you didn’t answer. So, I let myself in using the key you gave me when I heard the alarm going off.

“There’s no need to apologize,” I say, quick to assure her. “I appreciate you saving the muffins, but why weren’t you using an oven mitt?”

“I didn’t know which drawer they were in. It must be the only thing you’ve left out of that binder of yours,” she teases with a grin.

God, that smile of hers does me in every time.

I find her comment amusing and decide I’m going to add a section on where to find the oven mitts and other items that will help keep her safe when she’s at my place.

Once Marlow’s finger has been under the cold water for several minutes, I turn off the faucet and grab a kitchen towel.

“Does that feel better?” I ask, patting her hand dry.

She nods absentmindedly. “Uh-huh.”

I knit my brows together when I realize she’s staring at me, lost in thought. When her eyes lower to my chest I glance down, just now remembering that I came downstairs in a hurry, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

I’m on the verge of apologizing when I notice Marlow is looking at me with parted lips and that beautiful blue-green gaze of hers, like I’m an ice cream cone she’s been craving on a hot summer’s day.

My lips curve into a smile at seeing her reaction to my body. I can’t explain why, but I like knowing that she’s enjoying the view. Although my days are jam-packed, I make sure to block out time in the mornings for a workout in the basement, which I converted into a gym when I moved in.

“Are you checking me out?” I call Marlow out with a smirk.

A blush creeps up her neck at my insinuation. “Of course not,” she rushes out as she looks away from me. “You’re practically walking around naked so it’s hard not to stare.” She deadpans.

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” I say as I take a step toward her.

What am I doing?

Marlow shakes her head. “You’re not,” she murmurs.

I keep my hands close to my side, shoving aside the notion of cupping her cheek and gently stroking her jaw. I don’t move a muscle as her breathing become uneven, and she watches me intently, as if trying to anticipate my next move.

An intrusive thought crosses my mind of what it might be like to call her mine, and I will myself to snap out of it. But that doesn’t stop me from imagining kissing her… again. Something I’ve been fantasizing about a lot lately.

That’s enough.

I blink rapidly. “I better go upstairs and change or I’ll be late for my first meeting,” I say as I spin around, hightailing it out of the kitchen without giving Marlow a chance to reply.

If I don’t get control of my runaway thoughts, they’re going to get me in trouble one of these days. Marlow is my daughter’s nanny, and I absolutely should not be thinking about being anything other than her employer. So why am I?