Hot Single Dad

By: Claire Kingsley

“Good,” she says. “Linnea is making pancakes.”

I set her back down. “Yum.”

Linnea looks at me over her shoulder. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I say. “This is your home too, now. Help yourself to anything.”

She smiles. “Thanks. Do you want some?”

God, that smile. “Sure, sounds great.”

Charlotte and I carry plates and silverware to the table while Linnea finishes cooking. She brings over a plate with a tall stack of pancakes and we all sit down. I get up again to grab the butter and when I get back, Linnea is already helping Charlotte cut a pancake into bite sized pieces.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Sure,” she says with a smile.

She’s leaning forward to help Charlotte and my eyes are drawn to those amazing boobs. I used to think a word like luscious when applied to tits was stupid, but that was before I was faced with the amazingness that is Linnea. She sits up straighter and grabs the syrup. I tear my eyes away, hoping she didn’t catch me staring at her chest. Great, she hasn’t even been here twenty-four hours, and I’m almost sexually harassing her.

I distract myself with breakfast. Pancakes aren’t my first choice for a breakfast food—I’m more of an eggs and hash browns kind of guy—but these are really good. I can’t remember the last time someone else cooked me breakfast. There’s something comforting about sitting at the table, quietly eating pancakes that I didn’t have to make myself.

“I know I just got here, so there’s no hurry, but I wanted to talk to you about your work schedule,” Linnea says. “I’d like to teach piano lessons a couple times a week. But I’m here for Charlotte first, so if that doesn’t work, it’s okay.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I say. “Worst case scenario, my sister Kendra can watch Charlotte if I absolutely have to go in and you aren’t here. Where will you teach? Here?”

“No, at a music store,” she says. “That’s what I was doing back home. Henley’s Music isn’t far from here, and they offer lessons. I’ll go talk to the manager this week and see if I can get one of the lesson rooms. Just let me know what days are best for you, and I can work around that.”

“Sure,” I say. “How will you get around? Do you drive?”

“I have a license, but I’ll use the bus,” she says. “I’m used to it and I already looked up the routes. There’s a stop just two blocks away, so I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” I guess she’s got things pretty well figured out already. “You know, I obviously don’t have a piano. Are you going to need somewhere to practice?”

“Oh, no, I have an electric piano that’s being delivered in a few days,” she says.

“Does that work as well as a regular piano for you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she says. “I have a very nice one. The keys are weighted, so it feels right. It just takes up less space.”

“Can I play your piano?” Charlotte asks.

“Of course,” Linnea says. “I’ll teach you to play all kinds of fun things.”

“Are your parents shipping the piano?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She puts her fork down. “Speaking of my parents, I’m… well, I’m sorry if this was kind of sprung on you.”

I feel a little pang of guilt for how much I was complaining to Alex about her. “It’s fine. Honestly, I’ve had such a hard time finding someone to watch Charlotte. My schedule can be erratic, so they have to be willing to be here late into the night sometimes, and a lot of nannies only want to work days. We had one girl who we both liked, but she got engaged and moved out of state. The rest have been… well, let’s just say they didn’t work out.”

“You said Brittany was a twit,” Charlotte says.

I wince. “I was upset when I said that, Bug. That wasn’t a nice thing for me to say.”

Linnea stifles a soft laugh.

“My point is, you living here makes it a lot easier,” I say. “And you already knowing Charlotte is a big deal too.”

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