You need the help.
Hayes may have had a point. I can’t stay holed up in my house as a full-time dad forever. I have to take breaks, I have to have fun, and most importantly—I have to get back to work.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I tap out a text before I can psych myself out.
If you’re interested in that nanny position, let’s talk. Would you be free for a chat tomorrow?
I press SEND. The message is direct and professional, with no indication of exactly how much I’m attracted to Jessa. And if I have any control over my libido, she’ll never know.
2
* * *
JESSA
This is not how I expected my summer to go. You couldn’t even make this up if you tried.
The day I move into my new place, the perfect job practically falls into my lap? It’s like a dream. Or a fantasy. Maybe I should check and make sure I’m not passed out on the side of the road somewhere in Wicker Park.
And it all happened so easily.
The stud next door needs a nanny. As the oldest of six, I know a thing or two about babies. Sure, I might not have direct experience, but my mom always had her hands full, and when there are that many little ones running around, you learn to start taking care of each other.
Besides, the man didn’t know about gas bubbles, so I’m thinking I’ve got something to offer. He needs help, and I’m more than happy to provide him that service. Especially if that means I get to stare a little longer into those dreamy green eyes.
Connor Blake. Oh yeah, he’s dreamy, all right. Who has a name like that in real life?
I couldn’t get a read on whether he actually wanted to hire me or not, but his friends seemed so encouraging about the idea, that either way, he went with it. Watching the adorable baby next door would certainly be a sweet gig, not to mention that the commute would be ideal. Stumbling next door in yoga pants? Sign me up.
When we texted last night, Connor seemed a little stiff and short, communicating in brief phrases and one-word responses, but he agreed to have me over today. Whether that means this is an interview or if I have the job, I’m not quite sure. But I’ve got my fingers crossed, and my toes for good measure.
Because, let’s be honest—I wasn’t looking forward to applying and interviewing for jobs while trying to explain that I’m preparing to move to Central America in a few months. That doesn’t exactly scream, “Hire me now.”
With a huff, I toss my phone onto the bed and decide to get ready. This hair isn’t going to tame itself. And showing up to my first day (or interview or whatever it is) with an unruly mane of frizzy curls isn’t exactly the best way to start off on the right foot.
I breeze through my cute little living room, admiring my new setup. I spent all afternoon perfecting the placement of my macramé wall hanging over the pale blue velvet couch, and the retro lamp I found at a garage sale last weekend turned out to be the perfect fit.
And I was lucky to find this rental on such short notice. The fact that it’s the upstairs of an older couple’s house means that I don’t have to put my name on anything, I just hand them the money and peace out when my time comes. Not that that means I won’t do my fair share of nesting in the meantime.
I check my appearance in the mirror, running my fingers through my curly long brown hair. I’ve kept my makeup light—just a little concealer and a few dabs of bronzer on the apples of my cheeks.
After slipping on a pair of shorts and a top I don’t mind getting a little spit-up on, I take one last glance at myself in the mirror before heading out the door. The thought of Connor laying eyes on so much of my bare legs sends a little buzz of electricity down my spine.
Down, girl.
I never knew the single-dad thing could be so hot, but Connor is very attractive, dad or not.
I stuff my phone in my pocket, lock the door behind me, and take the less-than-a-minute walk from my door to Connor’s. I can still feel the buzz of anticipation running along my spine as I wait for him to answer, and when the door opens, it transforms into a full-on zap.
Was his chest this broad and lickable yesterday? I wouldn’t know—he wasn’t wearing a gray T-shirt this fitted that hugs all his muscles.
His green eyes meet mine, and my insides liquify. I didn’t know a person could actually have a dazzling smile. But there he is, Connor Blake, dazzling away at me with sweet baby Marley in his arms.
“Hey, Jessa, come on in.”
It’s hard not to swoon at the sound of his voice, warm and smooth like a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on top of a freshly baked brownie.
All right, now I’m horny and hungry. Focus, Jessa.
“Thanks,” I mumble, squeezing past him as he steps out of the doorway.
Baby Marley gurgles as I pass, and I smile and give her a little wave. She looks up at me, her big blue eyes shining with delight before she rests her face on her daddy’s shoulder. It’s so adorable, I’m about ready to die.
“Oh, you’re being shy now? Because you were awfully chatty just a few minutes ago,” Connor says, his voice light and playful as he talks to his daughter.
Okay, scratch that. Now it’s so adorable I’m ready to die.
“Hi, Marley,” I coo, waving again. “It’s me, Jessa. Your neighbor.”
Marley peers up at me from her daddy’s chest, her lips parted in a sweet, gummy smile.
Connor grins. “I think she likes you.”
I think she likes you too.
Talking about myself in the third person? Probably a sign that I’m not fit to watch his child. Thank God he can’t hear what I’m thinking.
“Why don’t we show you around,” he says.
He shifts Marley onto his other side and leads me through the entryway and into the living room, complete with a charcoal-gray accent wall, sleek built-in shelving, and a plush suede couch. It’s homier than I imagined a bachelor pad would be—although I’m not sure it still counts as a bachelor pad if a two-month-old lives there as well.
“Obviously, this is the living room,” he says, gesturing awkwardly.
I nod, realizing that I haven’t said a word to the man since I set foot into his house, and manage to squeak out, “It’s nice.” Smooth, Jessa.
Connor nods and waves for me to follow him through the open-concept floor plan and into the kitchen.
“Formula’s in the pantry. She breastfeeds when she’s with her mom, but we’ve had a few miscommunications on pumping and passing on the milk lately. So it’s back to keeping some formula in the house.” He plants a kiss on the top of Marley’s head, the look in his eyes somewhere between optimistic and frustrated.
“Has she been taking to the bottle okay?” It’s not that I’m trying to pry, but if I’m going to help out around here, I need the full scoop. We’ll get to Marley’s mom in a minute.
He sighs. “Yes and no. She’s been hit or miss lately. I know she’s hungry, but it’s like she’s picky or something.”
“Well, you’re warming the formula, right?”
Connor looks at me like I just spoke to him in Czech. “That’s . . . something I’m supposed to be doing?”
“I mean, you don’t have to, but if she’s being finicky about the bottle, and she’s used to the breast . . .”