Page 67 of Dr. Single Dad

“And your role model for a caring, nurturing person was your nanny. So that’s who you became.”

I’ve never thought about it, but of course that’s what happened.

“I suppose,” I say. “My parents never expected me to work. They saw Portland as a kind of finishing school for me. As long as it kept me busy and I didn’t ask them for anything, they were happy. Like I say, they didn’t take much of an interest.”

“How did you feel when they died?”

I pause. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that question. People just assume you’re upset when you lose a parent, and losing two? Well, how could I be anything but devastated? “Vaguely disappointed. I think there was a part of me that thought that one day things might be different between us.” A heaviness sits on my chest. I still wish things could have been different, that I could have missed them more.

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like. I was lucky, I suppose,” Dax says. “My parents were always busy and they were always coming and going and life was crazy. We had help—someone who’d look after us after school. And there were times when Dad couldn’t come to my school play and Mum never came to my football practice because she always had something on. But I never doubted my parents’ love. I never thought of myself as an add-on or an accoutrement to their world.”

“You’re right,” I say. “You were—you are—very lucky.”

He glances down at Guinevere. “I’ve never felt responsible for anyone in my life. I don’t know if it’s because I’m the youngest or I never had a pet or something. Maybe my brothers felt responsible for me. Until Guinevere, I never felt this intense weight that I have a human to care for.”

I nod, understanding that feeling far too well.

“Jacob came round to check on you and your daughter last night, without you asking him to,” I say with a smile. “He loves you and I’m sure feels that sense of responsibility as the older sibling.”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ve labeled Jacob as bossy and interfering. Maybe I’ve been a little harsh with him over the years.”

My heart swells in my chest as Dax shifts the pieces of his history around to make a slightly different picture—one where his brother loves and cares about him, doesn’t just bait him. One where he loves his daughter.

“Are you all done?” Dax asks Guinevere in a singsong voice I’ve not heard him use before. “Shall we have a little burp before we go out?” He lifts her and puts her over his shoulder. Her body is all sleepy and floppy, like it normally is after her morning milk. It melts me to see them together like this. So in-tune.

Dax is falling in love with his daughter.

“I had a great time with you last night,” Dax says, his head tilted towards Guinevere.

“Yeah,” I say, flustered and not quite sure what the correct response is.

He laughs so heartily, he has to hold Guinevere so she doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “What does ‘yeah’ mean?”

“It means I haven’t quite figured out how to feel.”

He nods. “Fair enough. Just so you know, Ihavefigured out how to feel, and I had a great time and I want…” He hesitates and glances away before saying, “More.”

What does that mean?

“No, that wasn’t clear,” he adds, as if he wants to press the delete key and start again. “I want to hang out more, talk to you more, listen to you talk about…everything. Kiss you more…and…” He shrugs. “I’m not expecting any of that, but I want you to know where I am. In terms of you, I want more. In every sense.”

So much for one night to scratch an itch.

“Good to know,” I reply, pressing my eyes closed and wrinkling my nose so a smile doesn’t erupt on my face. I can’t tell him that I want more too. Because if I do then…what? I play house with my employer? It doesn’t make sense.

He laughs again and this time he wakes Guinevere.

“I think someone did a poo in her nappy. Shall Daddy change you?”

Dax stands and before he leaves, bends and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

TWENTY-SIX

Eira

I pull out a wedge of paperbacks from the final box and stack them on my windowsill. I’ve just finished unpacking my room, but with every item slotted into its place, my confidence that I’ll be here—in this job, in this house—in a month has waned. I’m only a few weeks into the position and I’ve gotten myself into such a tangle, but at the moment, I can’t regret it.

My phone rings and I smile. I bet that’s Dax.

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