Page 28 of Knocking up his Nanny

CHAPTER 18

“Spruce?” she asks in confusion, still half asleep.

“It’s like Bruce,” I explain. “But a bit more arboreal. Spruce Wintergreen.”

“Like Bruce Springsteen?” she asks in confusion.

I laugh softly. “A bit. My whole family is named after trees, except one lucky brother of mine who has a normal name. Adam—but we call him Fig Leaf, anyway. You’ve met Willow, my sister. I have another brother, Douglas—like the Douglas Fir. And then there’s Ash. My mother’s name is Poplar, but everyone calls her Poppy. And you know my daughters, of course.”

“Can I call you by a nickname?” she asks, chewing on her lip as she tries to think of how to turn my unusual name into something cutesy. “Sprucey? S.P.?”

“I have some middle names,” I tell her. “It’s Spruce Leo—”

“Bruce Lee?” she mumbles, still rubbing her eyes.

“No,” I tell her with a chuckle.

“I need more coffee,” she grumbles.

“It’s Spruce Leo Theodore August Wintergreen,” I tell her.

“I like Theo. I could call you Teddy,” she suggests.

“I thought you would like August. It sounds a lot like your name—June.”

“August and June. No, I don’t like it at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s July between us,” she explains.

I smile. “Would you prefer if there was nothing between us?” I step closer, pulling her into my arms again.

“Yes,” she responds. “I would like that a lot.”

I hold her close, inhaling the scent of her. I can’t believe she’s here with me, living in my home. And she’s not even angry at me. At least she’s not yelling and screaming at me.

“I think I’ll just call you Mr. Wintergreen,” she decides as she nuzzles against my neck. “Since you’re my boss and all.”

“Well,” I say awkwardly. “You can’t call me that in bed. Mr. Wintergreen is my father.”

“Sorry, it’s just too late,” she says with a shrug. “That’s what I’ve been calling my boss in my head. You should have told me your name sooner, and we could have avoided all of this difficulty.”

“I offered to tell you the last time we met, and you didn’t want to hear it, June.”

“I can find a better name for you,” she says with determination. “I could call you… strange man who rescued my Cheetos.”

“That’s kind of long,” I tell her.

“Strange man who fingered me in a closet. Strange man who used his tongue in a Tesla.”

“These nicknames are not getting better,” I tell her with a grin. “Maybe you should just call me Spruce.”

“Look,” she says with annoyance. “This is all very complicated, and it’s very early in the morning. Whatever your name is, just take your pants off.”

“June—are you sure you’re not mad?”

“No. I’m deliriously happy. I told you I didn’t care what your name was. I just likeyou. And I’ve missed you. And now you’re here with me—and it’s like a dream. You’re going to be around a lot more, right? The girls need you, too. And we have a lot to discuss about them.”

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