Page 14 of Dr. Single Dad

They do some checks, load the woman onto a stretcher, and wheel her into the ambulance.

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he says to them. He glances at me. “I don’t know who to call.” He pulls out his phone. “I don’t know?—”

“Maybe your brothers. And your dad?”

He gives me a look that tells me my suggestions weren’t helpful. “She’s not my mum. She’s Guinevere’s nanny.”

Oh. The older candidate he went with. The shoes make sense now. She must have trained at Portland.

Dax pushes his hand through his hair, and I try to ignore the way my stomach flips. I should definitely not be focusing on his hands or his hair or anything else about how attractive he is. We’re in an emergency situation. “I don’t have any emergency numbers for her.”

“Call the agency. They’ll have numbers for her.” My phone is in my hand. “Let me do it.”

I dial the agency and speak to Felicity. I hold the phone with my shoulder and put Guinevere back in her pram. She’s still sleeping—gotta love a newborn. As long as they have milk regularly, they’re rarely any bother.

I ask Felicity to call the nanny’s emergency contacts. I discover the woman’s name is Doreen.

“Can she give out your number?” I ask Dax, who nods. To Felicity, I say, “Give them Dax’s number. He’s going to the hospital now. He can keep them—ahh, right. Yes, UCH.”

“Her sister is going to go,” I say as I hang up.

“I’ve known the woman three days,” Dax says. “I don’t know what—” He looks around as if he doesn’t know which way the hospital is. And then he glances at the pram.

“What do I do if she wakes up?” he asks.

“Just stay at the hospital until her sister turns up. It won’t be long. And I’m sure Doreen has plenty of food and nappies in the bag.”

He looks at me as if I’m speaking Chinese.

“For Guinevere. I’m sure you have enough to tide you over until you get home.”

“Fuck,” he says.

“Do you want me to check?”

Elliot is busy pointing at nothing in particular and shrieking, so I rummage about the bottom part of the pram and pull out the baby bag. I flip open the top. “Yes, two bottles. Ready-made milk. Nappies. You’re good.”

“So if she cries I offer her milk? Doreen was putting her in some kind of routine.”

“Forget the routine. If Guinevere’s hungry, feed her. If she needs her nappy changed, change it.”

“Right,” he says. “Feed her. Change her. Can’t be that hard, right?” He’s staring off in the direction of the ambulance like he’s hoping time will rewind and suddenly he’ll be playing football instead of worrying about how to feed his kid.

“Maybe while you’re waiting, you can call the agency and get an emergency nanny. That’s how Elliot and I met, isn’t it, Elliot?” I screw up my eyes and then open them wide at him. He howls like he’s a wolf and I’m the moon.

“Maybe I’ll hire you,” he says.

I laugh. “You passed, remember?”

He nods. “I do. I was an idiot.” Clumsily, he takes the brake off the pram and starts toward the exit. “Thank you.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with his gratitude. I hardly did anything. “Good luck.” He walks away, a tall hulk of a man in knee-high socks, with hair that could do with a cut, pushing a pram that looks two sizes too small for him.

It’s adorable. And a little bit sexy.

Thank God he didn’t hire me. If I can feel attracted to a man in the middle of a crisis, working for him on a daily basis would have been a complete disaster.

SEVEN

---