Page 16 of Smitten with the Single Dad

Last year, he had the clever idea to get his boys Fitbits to just see how many steps and miles they ran each day. The results were insane. Especially, Griffon. That kid rarely seemed to stop moving.

Now, it was an ongoing, fun competition between the two brothers to see who could get more steps in a day.

“Well, I suppose we should start the day. Hmm?” Wyatt said with a yawn. “What would you two little grubs like for breakfast?”

“Can we have a Fisherman’s Breakfast, with sausages and bacon?” Griffon asked.

Both boys had never-ending appetites, which made sense given how many miles they put on in a day, but Griffon, in particular, had two hollow legs—or a tapeworm.

Wyatt yawned again, reached over and tickled his six-year-old. “Yeah, I think we can manage that.”

Griffon erupted into a fit of giggles.

Wyatt, still tickling his youngest, glanced over at his oldest. “Too cool for the tickle monster?”

Jake’s eyes widened in panic. But Wyatt was too quick and instantly had both boys rolling on the bed as he tickled their armpits.

“Dad, I need to pee,” Griffon finally said, slightly out of breath.

Wyatt relented and sat back on his heels to give his sons some reprieve. “All right, you two use the facilities. I’m going to go start breakfast.” He climbed out of bed and pulled on the shirt he’d snagged from the dryer last night.

One thing he totally forgot to do before he handed his room over to Vica, was grab himself some clean clothes.

Luckily, the dryer in the laundry room had some for him.

So, after he turned off all the lights, he took a shower in the boys’ bathroom because he couldn’t go to bed smelling like a commercial kitchen and caked in sweat from slaving over the cooktop all day. Then he yanked on fresh boxers and stowed the olive-green T-shirt and khaki shorts at the foot of the thin blowup mattress he used on Griffon’s floor.

It was Sunday, and he was trying more often than not to take Sundays off completely. It didn’t always work out that way, but he tried.

And now, with a guest in his house that needed help and support, he was determined more than ever to hand the reins of the kitchen over to his second in command, Burke, and spend the day home with his kids and Vica.

Griffon and Jake were in the bathroom brushing their teeth and whatever else. Wyatt headed downstairs to put on the coffee and start breakfast. In addition to not grabbing clothes from his bedroom before he handed it over to Vica, he also forgot to grab his contact lenses and solution. So he found his glasses in the study and put those on so he could see more than five feet in front of him.

A Fisherman’s Breakfast consisted of fried eggs, toast, hashbrowns, sausages, and bacon. It was the breakfast fit for a man who planned to spend his day at sea. And even though Griffon would be digging through the snack cupboard before ten in the morning, he still liked his Fisherman’s Breakfast.

It was tough to discern the noises upstairs from anything beyond his lead-footed sons. But he could have sworn he heard a toilet flush in his en suite bathroom.

Would Vica come down and join them?

He’d make enough food just in case.

She was probably starving.

Did she get any sleep last night?

His mattress was lush, and his sheets were a very soft with a high thread count. If being in the marines and sleeping on concrete and in dirt holes had taught Wyatt anything, it was the appreciation of a good night’s sleep and to take careof his spine. So he dumped a lot of coin on a good mattress and sheets. A good sleep made all the difference to how the rest of your day could go.

He was just sliding the bacon into the preheated oven when two young colts with thunder hooves came galloping down the stairs. Of course, Jake had a book in his hand. He was devouring The Evans Twins Chronicles right now. A series of graphic novels about twins—a brother and sister—who developed special powers from a meteor. Only their powers were strongest when they were together, and practically nonexistent when they were apart. He had reread them all at least twice and was quite possibly on his third rotation.

Wyatt had already poured the kids their orange juice and diced up strawberries and pineapple, setting it in a bowl on the table.

He added freshly washed blueberries to the mix as well.

Griffon climbed onto his chair and reached for a handful of blueberries. “Uncle Jagger says if you eat enough blueberries, it can turn your poop blue. I’m going to try it.”

“Don’t listen to your uncle. He doesn’t have to do your laundry and I’d rather not be cleaning blue skid marks out of your underwear, thank you very much.” Wyatt gave his youngest a stern look.

Griffon seemed to take that as more of a challenge than a warning to limit his blueberry intake and just grabbed another handful, shoving it crudely into his mouth.

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