Page 11 of The Single Dad

Still, we can’t escape the confrontation. Sooner or later, Peter will know.

I take her hands in mine and kiss her lips softly. “It’s fine, Noelle. I’ll talk to him. Your brother can be annoying sometimes, but helistens to reason, and he genuinely cares about you. I got you, okay?”

“What if he doesn’t approve?” Noelle scrunches her forehead, and I kiss it away.

“We don’t need his approval, do we? As long as I don’t hurt you, then I’m good. I have nothing to worry about. And we’re both adults. He doesn’t ask for your permission who to date, so why would he demand the same from you?”

Noelle chuckles. “You know, I always admired your confidence. I always wanted to be like you when I grew up.”

“I’m not that old, Noelle.”

She makes a face, and I can’t help but pull her in for a kiss. It’s supposed to be a light, playful kiss. Just a tease. But in seconds, my body lights up, and it deepens. So deep she rakes her nails along my scalp and sucks my bottom lip between her teeth.

We spend the next few hours learning more about each other’s bodies, my universe whittling down to the constant need to please her and remind her of who she belongs to now.

That’s right.

Noelle belongs to me. And despite my earlier bravado about Peter understanding reason, I’m not a hundred percent sure he’ll get it. Then again, the moment Noelle and I touched last night, something changed in me. I should care about what Peter would think, but that requires more fucks than I’m currently willing to give.

4

NOELLE

Iused to think hating things was exhausting and unnecessary. You spend so much energy when you hate something. It’s best to just ignore it and move on. Well, at least that was how I felt before. I’ve never truly hated anything in my life. Not Brussels sprouts or pineapple on pizza, not waking up at an ungodly hour to take a math exam, not even PE classes.

But LEGO?

I loathe LEGO. With every fiber of my being. When I worked as a kindergarten teacher, I didn’t mind them at all … mostly because I had shoes on, so I had great defense against them. But here, in Adrian’s home, they are everywhere.

Those tiny, evil, indestructible bricks lurk in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to destroy me and my sanity. They hide in the couch, behind the table leg, under the carpet, by the laundry basket. Basically in places no human hand has ever put them, I know because Thomas only ever plays with them on the LEGO table in his playroom. And yet, somehow, they magically appear in my path.

My soul leaves my body each time I step on one. My vision goes white, and a yelp gets stuck in my throat. I question every decision that has led me here and wonder if I steered an inch to the left, would I have avoided the cruel, unnecessary pain? I pick up the offending brick and glare at it.

I would burn every piece to the ground if they weren’t Thomas’s favorite toy.

That’s why I’m more than glad to take him to soccer practice. At least once there, I’m in no danger of losing my good mood because of LEGO. God, I feel so mature right now.

The afternoon sun beats down on the field as I watch Thomas sprint after the soccer ball, his little legs moving faster than I thought possible. He’s grinning, completely in his element, and I can’t help but smile too.

I admit I was a bit nervous at first when I agreed to babysit him. But he’s such a joy to be around, easy to laugh with, and even easier to love. He reminds me of the reason I loved my job in the first place. I like kids. I like their inquisitive, curious minds. I like their innocence. It’s something I forgot after working for a while and realizing that being a teacher requires lots and lots of paperwork.

“Which one’s yours?”

The voice comes from my left, and I barely stifle a sigh before turning. A man—probably mid-forties, thinning salt and pepper hair, cocky smile, expensive watch, too much cologne, and an aura of self-importance—steps close just enough that his overpowering scent threatens to make me sneeze.

I’m a pretty friendly person, but when someone invades my personal space, an overly friendly man no less, I immediately shut down.

“Thomas. I’m his nanny,” I say smoothly, hoping that’ll be enough and he realizes I’m in no mood for a conversation … at least with him.

It isn’t. Of course. Guys like this cannot take a hint. I can plaster a “Not Interested. Go Away” sign on my forehead, and he’ll talk like I’m hanging on to his every word.

“Ah,” he says, flashing a grin and standing way too close for my comfort. “So, not yours. I knew I hadn’t seen you here before. Someone like you? I’d remember easily.”

I clench my jaw, force a polite smile, and nod. He still doesn’t take the hint.

“You must get lonely and bored. Always watching from the sidelines while the real parents do their thing.”

I exhale slowly, gripping the water bottle in my hands before I say something I shouldn’t. “I’m perfectly happy, thanks.”

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