Page 15 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
Ugh.
I mean, I love them, but I just don’t have it in me to be happy for them right now.
I take a breath and look at the open windows on my laptop screen.
One of them shows my very polite email I sent earlier in the day to Mr. Dane Alistair, potential employer and Nanny Job Poster #47 from the online listings.
It was short and professional, despite the very intense tone of the job post.
Seriously, the man sounded like he ran a military academy for five-year-olds.
Still, I need a job.
And this one comes with a private room and a real adult-sized bathroom.
But now?
Now I’m staring at the other thing that’s been taunting me all day.
The Date to Mate ad.
It's followed me across every website I’ve visited like a glittery stalker.
Sparkly fonts. Animated stars. Some suspiciously charismatic old man who winks every time I try to scroll past.
I mean, even Carina—the server at Pizza Girls with the great eyebrows and suspiciously good skin—swore by it. Said she found her guy on it.
“Best decision of my life,” she gushed, topping off my iced tea. “Give it a whirl. Beats eating alone.”
Well, here I am. Still eating alone.
Brownie crumbs. No prospects. No pants with buttons.
“You know what?” I mutter, wiping my hands and grabbing my tablet. “Let’s be wild. It’s Saturday. It’s summer. And I’m a grown-ass woman.”
I download the app.
The sign-up is weirdly fast.
Like, scarily fast. I barely finish typing “likes cheese, books, and not being murdered on first dates” when the screen glows.
MATCH FOUND.
What.
A little heart pulses next to the username: DA123
Thirty-eight. Single. Local.
The app cheerfully informs me he’s “less than a mile away!”
Which is either adorable or a security breach.
And then the real kicker.
I send the first message, asking him if he wants to hang out.
Like, who even am I anymore? That is not something I normally do.
