Single Mom's Protector - Complete Series

by Nella Tyler

  Thinking about our date again, I pulled up the tutorials she’d sent me after our first meeting. Obviously she thinks I have trouble actually paying attention, and a big part of that is my fault, I thought, going through them again. I considered the other things that she had said to me at the end of the date, the feedback she had given me. She was right about one thing: I did tend to treat everything as business. I wasn’t sure why I did or when I had become that way, but it was obvious that it wasn’t working. Apart from a handful of one-off dates with women to corporate events or to dinners with charity managers, I had pushed any idea of a romantic life out of my radar view for years. I didn’t have time for it…until I suddenly did.

  I went through the tutorials again on company time, telling myself that all the normal work of the day was done, anyway. I thought about the tips and advice that they provided and decided to try and implement some of the things that they recommended. If I was going to get anywhere with Natalie, I had to show her that I could accept criticism and work to improve myself.

  But then I asked myself again why I was so interested in proving myself to her. Because she’s your coach…and you’re not going to get a chance to date anyone else until she clears you. But that wasn’t it. At least, that wasn’t all of it. I wanted to impress Natalie, to put any negative impression she’d ever gotten about me so far in the past that she couldn’t even remember it anymore. I wanted to prove that I was a good man—a better man than even her other clients.

  “She’s never going to actually date you, she told you that,” I said out loud, shaking my head. She had been clear on the fact that it was company policy that she couldn’t date clients—not really. I could see the wisdom in that policy for a matchmaking service: they were charging people to set them up with prospective husbands and wives. They wouldn’t want their employees snagging the best clients away. I sighed and considered calling Trevor back into my office to tell him to go ahead and delete the list I’d given him, but I decided not to. I needed practice to become the perfect date, and the premise I had given Trevor was perfectly valid: if I was going to be a better date, I had to learn.

  I put my phone away and turned my attention fully onto my work, telling myself that I would end the day strong. I would get through the coaching with Natalie, and I would get the clearance to actually date women who were interested in me, interested in being my girlfriend and maybe my wife. I pictured an imaginary woman in my mind: she would be tall, but curvy like Natalie. She would be accomplished and intelligent, funny and charming, and she would call me on my bullshit—not that I would have as much bullshit for her to call me on once I got finished with my coaching sessions. I would have the final piece of my ideal life, with the job already in my hands and a family in the future. I thought I would probably continue to stay in touch with Natalie and maybe even introduce my future wife to her, explaining how Natalie had helped me to become a better man.

  I won’t bring flowers to my next date with her, but I’ll find a good time to show up with them. When she least expects it. Tulips or daffodils, exactly what she likes. I grinned to myself at that thought and finished out my workday, deciding how I was going to put the information I had to good use on our next practice date together. I made a mental note to talk to Trevor about date ideas and get his feedback on them to come up with something that would really impress Natalie. The more I impressed her with my progress, the sooner I could get on to real dating.

  Chapter Seven

  Natalie

  “Mama, tummy hurts,” Brady told me for the fourth time that afternoon, and my heart twisted inside of me.

  “I know, baby,” I told my son, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “I wish I could make it go away.”

  “It hurts, Mama,” Brady insisted, his voice taking on the tearing, whining tone of toddler suffering.

  “I’m so sorry, little man. Let’s get some Pedialyte into you, okay? That’ll make your tummy feel better.” I got up off of the bed and hurried into the kitchen. I checked the time on the stove; it was only about an hour before I had to meet Zeke. I wasn’t going to be able to make it to our date. That much was clear. There was no way that I could leave Brady with a babysitter when he was so sick. I wasn’t even sure what it was that he had, other than that he’d been throwing up for three hours and had been running a fever for four. I would have to cancel my date and cancel the babysitter who was supposed to watch Brady while I was out.

  I poured some Pedialyte, watering it down a little bit to make it even milder. If he got much sicker, I would need to take him to urgent care, maybe even the hospital. I found my phone where it was plugged into the wall, charging, and found Zeke’s contact details in my address book. Hey, Zeke. I am so, so very sorry to do this to you, but I really have to cancel tonight’s date. I know that it’s short notice, but I can’t avoid it. I texted the babysitter, telling her that I would have to cancel on her. Brady’s really sick, and I just can’t bring myself to leave him when he’s down like this.

  I grabbed the Pedialyte and went back into Brady’s room with my phone in my pocket. “Hey, little boy,” I said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Sit up for me and let’s get some of this yummy juice in you.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding weakly. I set the cup down and helped him sit up in the bed. My poor little boy was flushed, his hair damp around the edges with sweat, his eyes glassy. I held the cup for him and Brady swallowed down a few gulps of the Pedialyte, pulling back to take a deeper breath.

  “When you get to feeling a little better, we can get you some ice cream. How’s that sound, bud?”

  “Bad,” he said, frowning. “Tummy will hurt.”

  “No, silly,” I said, soothing him as best as I could with my hands and getting him to take a few more sips of the drink. “It’ll be once your tummy stops hurting.”

  “It stops,” he told me. “And comes back. Why it comes back?”

  “Because you’ve got tiny little critters in you,” I told him. “And, your little body is trying to fight them off.”

  “But it hurts, Mama.”

  “I know, sweetie, I know it does,” I said, giving him a quick hug. “Let’s finish up your juice and you get some sleep. You’ll feel better, okay?”

  “Okay,” Brady said doubtfully. But he drank down the rest of the Pedialyte, anyway. I made him sit up for a few moments; I didn’t want to jostle his stomach any more than I had to. But when I thought he would probably keep the liquid down—at least, for a little while—I let him lay back down on the bed.

  “Now if you start feeling bad again, you’ve got a bucket right here, okay, little bud?” I showed him the bucket I’d cleaned out earlier—it was better than him puking up in his bed, at least. “So try and aim for this, got it?”

  “Yes, Mama,” he said, nodding weakly. I felt my phone buzz once—twice—in my pocket.

  “I’m going to be right outside, if you need me, okay? Just rest up, little bug.” Brady didn’t argue with that idea. He curled up on his side and pulled his pillow closer, closing his eyes.

  I stepped out of his room and slipped my phone out of my pocket. The first message was from Alicia, the babysitter I’d texted; she said that it was fine, she understood completely, and that she was grateful that I’d let her know as soon as possible. The second was from Zeke. Why did you need to cancel? I put a lot of thought into tonight’s date. I twisted my lips into a wry smile, looking back at my son’s bedroom. I sighed. I hadn’t told Zeke about Brady—I never told any of my clients about my little boy, unless I absolutely had to. But I would have to give him a reason.

  I took a deep breath and wrote a reply. I have a son. He’s about three, and this afternoon, he came down with a bug. I don’t know what it is, but he’s pretty sick; I just can’t make myself leave him. I’m sorry—I really am. I tapped send and set my phone aside, getting some soup started for my dinner. Maybe if Brady started feeling better, he could have some, too. I threw in some veggies and some rice into t
he broth and set it to heat up. My phone buzzed and I snatched it up, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be an angry reply to my story.

  You didn’t mention you have a little boy. I’m sorry he’s sick; of course if you need to take care of him, I can’t expect you to come out tonight. What’s his name? I smiled to myself as relief washed through me.

  His name is Brady, I wrote, and added a picture to the message. I try not to mention him because it sometimes makes things a little weird with clients. I’m glad you understand. I set my phone aside and went back to work on the soup for dinner. That seemed to be settled, at least. We could reschedule the date, and I could make sure that my little boy got better.

  But then my phone buzzed again. That’s odd, I thought. I picked it up and saw that Zeke had replied. What could he have to say after what I’d told him? I decided that it was probably just that we would reschedule for the following week, maybe have two dates instead of just one. I know this is probably not the way you usually do things…but do you think we could have a virtual date? I frowned at the question. What did he mean by a virtual date?

  How would that go? I looked around my kitchen; it was clean—my parents had taught me from a young age to respect myself and my home enough to keep it clean as best as I could—but it was far from fancy.

  Do you have a laptop? And Skype? I chuckled at the questions. I replied that I did. We could have a date on Skype then, couldn’t we?

  I considered that. Technically, it wasn’t against the rules—but it also wasn’t exactly approved of. I didn’t think it would necessarily be a bad thing, but it was definitely a gray area. If I was going to do it, I wanted to make sure that I did so in as professional a manner as possible. I had to admit, the fact that Zeke had been so understanding and the fact that he’d been so nice about it intrigued me. And, I had actually been looking forward to the date—at least, a little bit. If you can give me about an hour and a half, I wrote back to him, I just need to make sure my boy is sleeping soundly and won’t be likely to interrupt us with a barf-fest and then I will be happy to have a virtual session with you. I waited to make sure that Zeke would accept that and then went to check on Brady. He was fast asleep in his bed, and when I carefully checked his temperature—the thermometer I had went in his ear—he was still feverish, but not as much as before. I thought he might sleep a few hours yet; plenty of time for me to have a date with Zeke and get my professional obligation out of the way.

  I didn’t shower, but I pulled my hair back and put on some makeup, and I made sure that the kitchen table and the area around it looked all right. I dressed from the waist up the same way that I would if I’d had the chance to actually go on the date and finished up the soup that I had started before Zeke came to me with his idea. I would wake Brady up after I got done with the date and get him to eat a little of it—it would do him some good.

  By the time I had my laptop open and Skype ready to go, and everything the way I wanted it, Zeke texted me to ask if we were going to go ahead. I replied that I was ready, and told him my Skype handle. I have to admit that when I heard the incoming call sound, I felt a little nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. Would Zeke have decided that since it wasn’t a real practice date, he should just be in pajamas or something?

  I clicked to accept the video call and sat up straight in my chair as the screen resolved and my camera started up. “I’ll have to be a bit quiet, since my son is sleeping,” I said right off the bat, as soon as Zeke said his hello. He was seated at a table, as well, in an apartment kitchen somewhere, and either he had chosen the same method I had—being dressed in date-appropriate clothes from the waist up—or he had put in more effort and had simply gotten fully dressed as if he were going out.

  “That’s fine with me,” Zeke told me. I plugged my headphones in and showed him my bowl of soup.

  “I have a very, very exciting dinner here,” I told him wryly.

  “I got takeout, so I think that’s just about perfect,” he said. He lifted something up in front of the camera: it was a Chinese takeout box.

  “What are you having?” My stomach grumbled. Whatever it was, it was certain to be more exciting than the soup I’d made with my little boy’s troubled stomach in mind.

  “Singapore noodles, with a couple of egg rolls on the side.”

  “Definitely more exciting than this soup,” I pointed out. “I want Brady to eat some when he wakes up, so I made it as bland as possible. Lots of root vegetables, lots of chicken, some rice, and some broth.”

  “It doesn’t sound that boring,” Zeke told me. “Tell me about him.” It was strange, talking about my son to one of my clients, but I figured that it would at least give him an opportunity to put the active listening skills I was trying to teach him into practice, so I let him ask questions about Brady—he wasn’t old enough, in my opinion anyway, for preschool, though I was looking for places for him for next year. He loved the park, the zoo, and even liked the library, though obviously most of it was lost on him.

  I found myself opening up to Zeke about how difficult it was sometimes to be a single mother, and I was surprised he didn’t ask any questions about how I’d come to be a parent on my own. Normally, it was the first thing that anyone wanted to know—how it was possible that a smart, “together” woman like me could be a single mom. By the time we’d both finished our meals and signed off, with me giving Zeke praise for his newfound conversational skills, I felt relaxed and happier than I had in weeks. I was shocked at how well the awkward situation had gone. If I had ten clients like that, I would never have any job stress, I thought as I cleaned up my dishes and prepared to get Brady to eat a little bit before going back to bed.

  Chapter Eight

  Zeke

  A little less than a week after our “virtual date,” I set up another practice date with Natalie, this time for the movies. I had planned something else for the date we’d canceled, but after eating takeout with her over Skype, I thought I would save it for another time.

  Instead, I’d told her to meet me at the movie theater, and this time I decided I would come prepared. I stopped at the florist again on my way over to the Cineplex from the office, and I had been much more careful than I had been the first time. I got a bouquet of yellow, orange, and red tulips, the ends wrapped up to keep them from going dry while we watched a movie together. I hoped that Natalie would react to them much better than she had to the roses I’d gotten her for our first date together.

  I checked the time when I got to the parking structure next to the movie theater; I had about eight minutes to get around to the entrance where we’d agreed to meet. I had left the choice of movie up in the air—I didn’t want to dictate to my coach what we would see, especially when I knew she might take it as me being businesslike yet again. Hopefully, after the Skype date, she sees that I’m paying attention to what she’s been saying, I thought, grabbing the flowers from the passenger seat of the car before I climbed out. I smoothed my hair against my scalp as I found my way out of the parking structure and toward the entrance of the movie theater.

  I figured that Natalie either would be at the entrance when I got there or she would arrive just after me, and I was careful to keep the bouquet of tulips concealed behind my back either way. I wanted to see the look on her face when she saw them. I wanted to see her surprise and delight. I spotted her hanging out off to the side of the doors and closed the distance between us, my heart beating faster in my chest at the thought of the surprise I had for her. She was dressed professionally, as usual, but more casually than she had been the two previous times I’d met with her; she wore a cardigan and jeans with a pair of heels, and her hair was down around her shoulders instead of pulled back into a bun.

  “I’m here,” I told her, stepping up. I held the tulips behind my back for another moment. “I’m not late, am I?”

  “You are actually a couple of minutes early, just like usual,” Natalie said, smiling at me.

  “We haven’t gone on
enough dates for you to know what’s usual for me,” I countered. I took a quick breath and brought the flowers out from behind my back, holding them where she could see them without shoving them in her face. “I believe you mentioned liking tulips.”

  Natalie glanced down, and I watched her face intently. I couldn’t help smiling as I saw the look of surprise light up her eyes, the color rising in her cheeks. She went completely silent, just for an instant. “These are beautiful,” she said, and I heard her breath catch in her throat, the slight creak in her voice that told me her reaction was genuine. A moment later, she recovered from her surprise and glanced up at me. “You are paying attention,” she noted, grinning. “Or at least you checked your phone for the messages and found what I’d said.”

  “I remembered it all on my own, actually,” I told her. “Here—take them.” Natalie hesitated for just a moment and I wondered what I’d done wrong this time, but she took the bouquet from my hands and brought the flowers up to her nose, breathing in the scent of them.

  “What movie are we going to see?” She held the flowers in her hand and turned towards the marquee as she asked me the question.

  “I’ve never actually been on a movie date before,” I admitted. “I’ve always either done dinner or something more casual. But I thought this would probably come up in dating eventually.”

  “There are a couple of trains of thought when it comes to date movies,” she told me.

  “I didn’t know there was a philosophy on it at all,” I said, almost laughing at the idea.

  “If something exists, there’s a philosophy for it,” she said blandly. She cleared her throat. “One train of thought says that scary movies—as long as they’re not too gory—are the best type to watch on a date.”