Page 9 of One Bride for Three Single Dads

“Is for all three of us. Well, all three kids,” Ambrose finishes for me.

“We each have a kid,” Boone adds.

“Mine is only part-time,” Harrison shrugs. “She’s seven. Stays with her mom most of the time.”

“Oh, okay,” I nod, trying to keep up. “So two kids, plus one part-time kid. Okay.”

The guys glance at each other, but I can’t really tell what their expressions mean. I probably sound stupid or insane or both.

Finally Ambrose turns back toward me and presses his palms to his knees.

“Maybe I should just explain,” he suggests.

“Yes, maybe that would help,” I answer shyly.

He winks one green eye at me. Probably just a friendly gesture. But if I had met him at a coffee shop, I would have thought he was flirting.

“The situation is,” he begins, “we own a construction company together. We build houses. We built this house. We’ve got kids, a business… We need help. Simple.”

My eyes dart among them, taking in the details. Three rock star-beautiful guys living together in a house that they built? With their kids? Looking for a nanny?

That’s simple?

“Some of us need more help than others,” Harrison rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, we don’t all have ex-wives carrying most of the weight, now do we?” Boone shoots back, instantly testy.

Harrison shrugs dismissively, and Boone twists back toward me, instantly changing his expression.

“Sorry about that. Harrison lucked out. Amber—that’s his ex—she’s great. Alexis is also great.”

“Alexis is his daughter?” I add, happy to think that I am starting to catch on.

“Yes, she is seven,” Harrison smiles, and I can see the pride in his eyes.

“Seven is fun,” I smile back, not entirely convinced that a seven-year-old girl is fun.

When I was seven, was I fun? I can’t remember.

“Cole is four,” Boone adds. “He goes to preschool half days starting in September. His mom is not around.”

I take a deep breath. I want him to know that I am listening, not just staring at his deep brown eyes and wondering what his neck smells like.

“And a Harmony is just a month. Five weeks,” Ambrose murmurs.

I turn toward him, slightly startled.

“Her mom just… Childbirth,” he explains awkwardly.

Instantly I feel a push-pull of emotion. His wife died. She died… having his baby. But I should respect his privacy. But I should reach out and be sympathetic. But I shouldn’t intrude on his private feelings.

What am I supposed to do?

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whisper.

“Thank you,” he answers quickly, averting his eyes. “Harmony probably takes the most care. You know how infants are. But she is a really good baby. Sleeps good. She smiles a lot.”

“That’s nice,” I reply automatically.

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