Falling For Her Manny

by Souders, Tia

  “Watch it,” Blake warned, his tone dark.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” Blake crossed his legs out in front of him and leaned against the wall, trying to appear more casual than he felt, considering he was on edge. Ever since he started dating Jen, Grant had a problem with her. She came from money, and Blake wasn’t an idiot. He knew Grant resented the Garwoods with their giant penthouse suite in Manhattan and summer home in the Hamptons. They were sophisticated—old money. Jen spent her days playing tennis at the club and lunching with the girls. Galas, dinner parties, and exclusive events around the city were her weekend repertoire.

  The Garwoods were everything the Haleys weren’t. Elitist. Highbrow. Cultured. Glamorous. While Grant and Blake were self-made men. They’d been foster kids, a product of the system. Spit out at eighteen to fend for themselves. Somehow, Blake had managed to overcome his background and make something of himself. Turned out, all those hours since the age of fourteen spent working as a mechanic for Big John panned out. When he graduated high school, he started his own business—mostly fixing motorcycles, surviving by the skin of his teeth. By the time he was twenty-three and his brother graduated high school, he had turned B’s Bikes into the most prestigious and lucrative bike shop on the East Coast.

  “Face it, man. The real problem is you don’t think you’re good enough for her. I mean, her parents clearly don’t think you’re worthy, but it wouldn’t matter if you would wake up and see that any chick would be lucky to have either of us.”

  “You’re so humble,” Blake muttered, raising his paper cup to his lips.

  “I’ll bet the second you two tie the knot, she’ll ask Daddy for a favor and beg you to turn in your wrench for a briefcase and a cushy office with a view on Wall Street. They’re making you jump through hoops because they can. Daddy’s got his little girl wrapped around his golden encrusted finger and vice versa.”

  “You’re a real prick sometimes, you know that?”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  No, he wasn’t. And Blake wasn’t sure what irked him more, the fact that Grant hit the nail on the head or the fact that Blake hadn’t the balls to turn her down outright when she came to him with a proposition from her father. A month ago, she proposed the idea to prove himself to her parents, but it was practically an ultimatum. Prove he could be good with kids—a real family man—and Mr. Garwood would give Blake the blessing he wanted to propose. But he got the feeling, approval or not, working in his bike shop once they were married wouldn’t suffice. He hoped he was wrong. He knew nothing about running a hotel, and he had no desire to learn. Blake wasn’t ready yet to give up on his dreams, yet he hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t he said no? And what about Grant? Where would that leave him? As much as he liked to think otherwise, Grant could never handle B’s Bikes on his own. He didn’t have the knowledge or the wherewithal. Blake was the bones holding everything together while Grant just added a little sheen.

  When a table opened up across from them, Blake headed toward it and took a seat, waiting for Grant to follow. He adjusted his leather jacket and tried to find a way to make his brother understand. “I like her.”

  “Wow. A glowing endorsement.” Grant slid into the chair across from him.

  “I more than like her. You know what I mean,” Blake added hastily. One of the byproducts of a loveless childhood was having trouble expressing emotion. Love didn’t come easy to either of them. But Jen had chosen him. He had no idea why, but she had. And for that, he thanked his lucky stars.

  “Okay. I’ll humor you then. How does quitting the bike shop prove you’re ready to settle down and have a family? Isn’t there something to be said for managing your current responsibilities?”

  “You act like I’m moving to France,” Blake said, hedging for time. The second he told him, Grant would laugh in his face. “Since we didn’t have parents growing up and were bounced around a lot, her parents expressed their concern that I will make for a questionable father.”

  Grant rolled his eyes. “And we know how much Garwoods prize their heirs.”

  Blake glared at him. “So I need to prove that I’m good with kids.”

  “So do some volunteer work in your spare time. Do the whole big brother thing. Perfect.” Grant dusted his hands. “Problem solved. Now, can we get out of here and go back to the shop?”

  “I’m going to get a nanny position.”

  Grant choked on his coffee. “A what?”

  “A steady babysitting gig. It’s the best way to prove I’m father material and that I’m dedicated to Jen. I think this is just as much about me proving how much I care about her than it is proving I can handle kids.”

  “This is stupid. You know nothing about kids.”

  Blake leaned back in his seat. “That’s the whole point of this, to learn what I don’t know. And thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way.”

  “But you’re a man.”

  “And. . .? Men can’t take care of kids? Since when are you so sexist?”

  “So, you’d be, like, a manny?”

  “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Blake grinned, but, really, he was dying inside. He’d miss the odious smell of motor oil, rubber, and stale coffee in the shop. The gleam of chrome and the satisfaction of viewing a finished product after hours of hard labor.

  “You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?”

  I wish I were. “Afraid not.”

  “I’m surprised they’re even willing to consider you as a son-in-law, considering you’ll taint the precious Garwood bloodline.”

  Blake ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, they’re not that bad.”

  “Oh, really?” Grant arched a brow. “They have concerns about you marrying their daughter because you come from nothing and have no parents.”

  “It’s not like that. It’s . . . everything. The whole biker image, combined with our rough background. It’s foreign to them. They don’t understand it, and most people are afraid of what they don’t understand.” And, okay, Blake did suspect it had something to do with the fact that he had no Ivy League degrees or corporate titles under their belt. The Garwoods were nothing if not highbrow.

  “So, you’re going to, what? Be some amazing manny and receive glowing recommendations for Jen. Get an A+ in potty-training and nap time, and suddenly you’re husband material? They’ll give you their blessing, no questions asked?”

  Blake groaned and dropped his head in his hands. When Grant said it like that, it sounded ridiculous. A fool’s errand. But what choice did he have? How did he explain this desperation to prove himself? “Man, please. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t blame her, ya know? I mean, what do we know about having kids or getting married? We didn’t exactly have solid role models growing up. Maybe their concerns are founded.”

  Grant grimaced. A myriad of memories floated between them—some good, some bad. “You realize how crazy this is though, right?”

  Blake nodded. “But girls like Jen don’t come around too often.” It was the understatement of a lifetime. There were days Blake still couldn’t believe she’d given up the Manhattan elites chasing after her for someone like him. “If I need to take a break from the shop and watch some kids to prove I have what it takes to be a good husband, I’ll do it.”

  Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you have a month. That’s it. No more. B’s needs you, bro, and you know it.”

  Blake pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re just being dramatic. Our guys are great mechanics.”

  When push came to shove, the Britton Brothers always had each other’s backs, which is why he knew Grant would pitch a fit, then back off.

  “Fine. But just so you know,” Grant said, fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. “I think you could do better.”

  Blake rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. Here we go.

  He opened his mouth with a smart retort when the door to the coffee shop chimed and in walked a woman
. Her long, dark hair swung wildly over her shoulders, and when her eyes briefly met his, the force of her gaze hit him like a Mack Truck. Whatever Blake was about to say shriveled and died somewhere in the back of his vocal cords.

  A shiver shimmied up his spine as he stared. Those eyes—they were the most exquisite shade he’d ever seen. Tawny-brown. Like the smoothest of caramel. Like the Johnnie Walker Jen’s father had imported with its ridiculous price tag.

  Her eyes cut away from him, and she swiveled around to catch a little girl’s hand just as she darted forward, making a beeline for the sample tray on top of the pastry case. “No sugar,” she admonished quietly. Her voice was rough, slightly husky like she had a cold, and Blake found himself wondering for no apparent reason whether she did or if that was how she always sounded.

  Blake’s gaze traveled up and down her body, amazed when he saw two other kids in tow. Dark jeans hugged her long legs, and she wore a fitted red blouse that clung to her curves. Did all women who had borne three children in such close proximity look that good?

  Grant snapped his fingers in his face. “Yo, dude. Hello?”

  Blake jolted. When he met his brother’s gaze, he cleared his throat, tearing his eyes from the brunette to his coffee. “Were you saying something?” he asked, trying to act as though he weren’t just completely lost in a full-on ogle of another woman. He wasn’t exactly helping his cause. There he was talking about marrying Jen and proving his love to her, and he’s checking out another woman so hard his eyes were about to fly from their sockets.

  “Here.” Grant shoved a napkin in his face. “For the drool.” He motioned to the corner of his mouth.

  “Funny,” Blake said with a tight smile.

  “She is fine, though, isn’t she?” Grant asked, craning his neck in her direction. His eyes sparkled as he cut them toward the woman.

  Blake told himself he wouldn’t look. Grant was taunting him, and he knew it. It’s not like she was the only attractive woman in the city. He’d seen plenty of women just as gorgeous, if not more so, in his lifetime.

  Grant’s smirk widened, mocking him until he caved and followed his gaze. The woman spoke with the barista, placing her order. Unbeknownst to her, one of the two boys left her side and scaled the pastry case like Spider-Man, greedy fingers grappling for the sample tray.

  The woman did a double-take. “Brady!” she hissed, but before she could make her way to him, the poor kid torpedoed back to the ground in an impressive cannonball, taking the plate with him.

  With an ear-piercing crack, the porcelain plate shattered over the floor, and bits of scone and muffin went flying like shrapnel.

  Blake winced. The woman’s creamy skin turned the same shade of red as her blouse as she rushed toward the boy, picking him up and brushing him off, checking for wounds. Her toffee eyes widened with panic before she launched into a lecture on climbing things and eating too much sugar. By the time Blake’s common sense prevailed, and he glanced away again, the barista handed her an iced coffee and came around the counter to sweep up what was left of the morning samples, looking only the slightest bit annoyed.

  “Yikes,” Grant said with a raised brow. “See? That’s exactly the kind of thing you’d be dealing with. You won’t last a day. And then what? Is Jen going to dump you because you failed at wrangling some other chick’s kids? What if they end up being Satan’s spawn and it’s an impossible task?”

  Blake’s gaze flicked from the woman back to him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Grant lifted a shoulder, then dropped it, looking pleased. He didn’t deny it.

  “I wanna go now,” one of the boys whined behind them as the woman headed toward the counter to fix her drink.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the black iced coffee she held, ice rattling as the little boy tugged on her arm. She proceeded to add cinnamon, vanilla powder, a hefty amount of cream, and sugar to the mixture—a poor man’s iced latte. “You said you were taking us to a movie!” the boy shouted.

  “Later. Quiet,” the woman hissed.

  Blake tried to focus on his conversation with Grant. This wasn’t his business, and the poor woman looked humiliated as it was without having strangers eavesdropping.

  Where were they . . . He opened his mouth to speak when he sensed her moving past like a threatening storm. Goosebumps prickled the back of his neck. He shook it off, and just as he remembered where he and Grant had left off in the conversation, he heard a yelp beside him, and he jumped.

  His head turned just as the woman crashed into their table. Her body flew forward as her feet tangled in the mass of kids on the floor. The coffee lid popped like a firecracker. Sticky liquid gushed everywhere. A flood of it rushed down the side of the table, dripping onto the crotch of Blake’s pants. He hissed and slid his chair back, but the leg caught one of the kids in the stomach, and they screamed.

  Across from him, Grant stood and helped right the woman who lay half-splayed on the wet table like a starfish. Collecting himself, Blake shook off the excess coffee, gratefully accepting a heap of napkins from someone passing by, and bent down to help the children up.

  “Are you okay?” Blake asked the woman, standing.

  “I tripped over Brady, and . . . “ Her words cut off as her gaze zeroed in on Blake’s drenched pants. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Did I ruin them?”

  “No worries.” Blake shrugged. “The pants will wash and the jacket’s leather.”

  The woman nodded. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, her expression weary as she hurried to the counter and grabbed a heap of napkins then began to mop up the spilled drink. “Good thing it wasn’t hot,” she mumbled to herself. “Or I’d be getting sued.”

  “Mom, I have to go potty,” the little girl whined and tugged on the woman’s shirt.

  “Not now,” she cried as she frantically spread napkins over the floor. “I have to clean up this mess!” she half shrieked. She waved her hands in the air above the sticky mess, then began frantically blotting at it.

  “Why’d you spill it?” the little girl asked.

  “I didn’t. Your brother tripped me and I—” she started, then snapped her mouth shut.

  “Mommy, you always say to take reponsibly for our actions,” one of the boys said deadpan.

  “Responsi-bil-ity,” she enunciated, “and this is different.”

  The boy crossed his little arms over his chest, unconvinced, and Blake had to stifle a smile. He bent down and began to help her by picking the remnants of ice up and chucking them in her now-empty cup.

  “Puddles!” one of the boys screamed beside them. His little voice was a war cry, and when Blake glanced at him, his eyes widened. Fist raised high in the air, he looked like he was one step away from auditioning for a remake of Braveheart for all his bravado. He jumped in the puddle of coffee, further splattering it all over them.

  The woman winced and lurched back, the napkins forgotten. The soles of the little boy’s Mickey sneakers squeaked over the wet floor as she watched on in defeat.

  “It’s okay,” Blake said. From what he could see, Grant had finished wiping the table down. He could certainly handle the floor.

  He reached out and gave her arm a little squeeze. “You go ahead. I’ll get this.”

  Her head whipped toward him and she blinked, then said, “Oh. Are you sure?”

  When he nodded, she exhaled.

  “Okay, well, thank you.” Standing, she turned and ushered the kids out the door like the place was on fire, while Blake tried very hard not to watch her go.

  A minute later, all the coffee was soaked up, and the barista had appeared with a mop and bucket. Instead of settling back into his seat, Blake realized his wet pants were reason enough to head home.

  “And that’s what you’d be signing up for.” Grant chuckled. “Better run while you can.”

  “Your lack of faith in me is inspiring,” Blake said archly as he chucked the last of the soiled napkins into the trash. “You do realize
you’re just proving Jen’s point with your comments.”

  Grant followed him to the door. “I don’t understand why any of this matters anyway. Why prove you have skills with kids when Jen’s family will hire a nanny of your own anyway? She’ll be like the Duchess of Cambridge. Probably pop one out and be smiling for the cameras the next day wearing Chanel. And who needs to miss social obligations when you can afford a whole army to raise your kid for you?”

  “I’m taking care of my own kids. I won’t let somebody else raise them.” Grant knew how Blake felt about family. He wanted one of his own. Desperately. More than anything, in fact. He wanted what he never had. The last thing he would ever do is allow someone else to take center-stage in their lives. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents that cared. He didn’t want that for his children. He wanted to do things right.

  Grant arched a brow and paused by the door. Blake wanted to punch the smug look off his face. “So, when she suggests a live-in nanny and you say no, you think she’ll just acquiesce?”

  “Whatever your feelings are for Jen’s family, she’s a good girl. You’re acting like she’s some entitled prima donna, too good for her own kids. That’s not fair. You know very little about her. Maybe if you’d stop judging her and spend some more time with her, you’d see she’s not the person you think she is.”

  Grant stared at him a moment, his face expressionless before he opened the door. Though the sun shined, a slight breeze ruffled Blake’s hair, and it smelled like rain. They walked alongside each other for a few minutes, weaving into the bustling foot traffic of the Upper East Side. The skyscrapers gleamed in the early morning sun when Grant stopped a few paces down and turned to him. “Listen, you know I support you. If this is what you want . . .”