Falling For Her Manny

by Souders, Tia

  “Yeah!” the trio screamed and jumped up and down in a circle around their mother.

  “And so you want him to come back?” Mel asked. She continued watching Blake as he tried not to squirm.

  Three tiny heads bobbed in unison, to which Mel smiled. Her face crumpled like an accordion with relief. “Oh, my gosh. I have to say, I’m so glad.” She flattened her palms against her chest and headed for the couch, where she sunk down into the cushions. “I was so worried after I got to work. I kept imagining all these worst-case scenarios. Like you being an ax-murderer or—”

  “Mommy, what’s an ax-murderer?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, nothing, honey.” She patted Peter’s little blonde head. “But it was okay,” she said, glancing around her, eyes wide in amazement. “Everything is going to be okay.” She barked out a laugh like she couldn’t believe it.

  Her relief stabbed him in the gut because it sure made what he needed to tell her a whole lot harder.

  “Actually . . .” Blake said. Now seemed like a good time to break the news. Better not let her get too positive. “For tomorrow—”

  “Oh, yes! About tomorrow. I have some news.” She clapped and turned to her kids. “Mommy is the new executive editor of the digital column at PopNewz. Ahhhh!” She screamed and sprung from the couch, yanking the three of them into a hug. “Can you believe it?” she asked, her voice muffled by Kinsley’s curls. “Mommy got a promotion.”

  “Mommy, you’re squeezing me too hard,” Kinsley whined.

  “Oh.” Mel drew back, then turned to Blake. Tears swam in her eyes. “So I know we said six weeks, and I’m not going back on that, but it’s more imperative now than ever that—”

  “About that—” Blake raised a hand, trying to talk over her. “I’m not—”

  “I’ll give you the most spectacular, glowing review to your future in-laws,” Mel continued despite his attempt at interrupting. “I just need to get through this tiny probation period first. And you did say you also needed me too.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I need someone reliable now more than ever,” she continued, ignoring his attempts to speak.

  “Which is why I—”

  “Everything depends on me getting this position. Everything. Stability, a new house, a better future for my kids . . .”

  Was she not listening? “Right, but there’s got to be someone els—"

  “There’s no one.” Mel stepped forward and clasped one of his hands in hers. It was warm and soft. A zip of energy coursed between their fingers, rendering him temporarily mute, as she blinked up into his eyes with desperation.

  He glanced down at their clasped hands. Maybe she had been listening, after all. Maybe she just didn’t want to hear it.

  “I have no one else, only you,” she confirmed. “In a little over a month, we should be accepted back at KidzCare.”

  Yeah, if she got Peter’s accidents under control, he wanted to say.

  Blake’s gaze lifted, landing on her full mouth. Her lips were rose-bud pink and looked so soft they could drive a man wild. He swallowed, forcing his gaze back to hers.

  “I can’t miss any more work,” she said earnestly. “I have to be totally focused and at the top of my game for the next few weeks.”

  Blake shook his head. Her desperation was nearly tangible. Still, he prepared himself to shoot her down, to tell her, Sorry, but I’m not cut out for the job, when she licked those rose-bud lips of hers and his gaze flew back to the now slick pout and his stomach tied in knots. And he knew he was a goner.

  He glanced around at the tiny living apartment, with the scuffed paint, the one bedroom with two beds, and the ripped couch.

  “I need to get us out of here,” she said as if reading his thoughts. “I need to make a better life for us . . .” She shook her head and glanced away from him, her throat bobbing with emotion.

  How could he say no?

  Blake’s pulse drummed, a siren in his chest, and before he could think it through, he nodded. “Same time tomorrow?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Blake

  The door swung open. Jen stood there, dressed in sleek black pants and a silk blouse with red stilettos the same shade as her lipstick, platinum hair swept back in a knot at the nape of her neck. She was a welcome sight, and Blake soaked her in as he stood outside her door.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she crooned. “Come in and let’s get you a drink, shall we?” Grabbing his arm, she guided him further into her brownstone. “What would you like? Scotch on the rocks? Vodka soda, perhaps?”

  “Whatever you have is fine,” he said.

  She swiveled around to him, tipped her head up, and pressed her lips to his before pulling away and smiling. “Look at your clothes, all rumpled. Must’ve been rough.”

  Blake glanced down at the slacks and shirt and tie he changed into before coming. If she’d only seen me before . . .

  “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll whip something up, hmm?”

  Blake smoothed a hand over her hair, then bent and kissed her cheek. “Thanks,” he said as he turned for the great room.

  He flopped down onto the couch, the supple bleached leather was a welcome relief. He barely made it all the way from Mel’s place to his, then to Jen’s SoHo townhome alive on his bike. Fatigue settled in about five minutes into his ride and had him throttling the clutch, weaving in and out of traffic just so he’d make it before his eyes drifted closed.

  Now that he was there, he sprawled out on the pristine white sectional and glanced around him, unable to help but notice the differences between her place and Mel’s. He’d always known Jen’s place was extravagant, while his own apartment was average. After having spent the day at Mel’s, though, it was magnified. At five thousand square feet, it was massive by comparison. Mel’s entire apartment could easily fit Jen’s living room alone. With twenty-four-foot ceilings, it made Mel’s seem like the roof was closing in. Everything about this place was sleek and modern, shiny and new, while Mel’s was livable. Yet as cramped and in need of TLC Mel’s place was, it had felt warm, lived in, while Jen’s felt a bit . . . cold and impersonal. He hoped when they were married, they could somehow meld Jen’s desire for the finer things with his contentedness for simplicity and comfort.

  The clicking of Jen’s heels echoed off the hardwood floor as she made her way from the kitchen. As she approached, she smiled and handed him a glass with amber liquid. The color reminded him of Mel’s eyes.

  Clearing his throat, he took a sip.

  It was her father’s scotch, which he secretly hated. For how expensive it was, it tasted like paint thinner.

  “So, you made it through your first day, huh?” Jen kicked off her heels and curled her legs up on the couch, angling her body to face him. “Tell me all about it. I want to know everything.”

  Blake smiled at her enthusiasm and began regaling her with stories from his day, noting the way her mouth pinched at the potty mishap, but he gave her credit for trying to hide her horror. As he recalled some of it, he found himself smiling. Even though it was exhausting, it was kind of funny looking back. Only when he thought about having to return tomorrow did the smile slip from his face. There wasn’t enough sleep in the world to prepare him for another day of that level of chaos.

  When he finished, he glanced over at her to gauge her reaction. She blinked, the tiniest of smiles curling the corners of her lips. “So it sounds like you had your hands full,” she said.

  “Definitely.” He leaned his head back against the cushion and gazed over at her. She was always impeccable, not a hair out of place, her make-up flawless. Grant had once called her a Barbie doll. At the time, it ticked Blake off, but he wasn’t entirely wrong in the comparison. So many times, Blake had wondered how he got so lucky. She was so completely perfect.

  He had never pictured himself with a woman as high maintenance as Jen, but from the moment they met at one of his client’s parties, he was smitten. Her lifestyle, the way she carried
herself, it made him wonder what kind of mother she’d be. Though he could only judge Mel by his first couple encounters with her, he sensed she was the type to choose her kids over dishes. The kind of mom that spent her last couple bucks on her children instead of herself. The type of mother to cave when they begged for “just one more” story at bedtime. One that ran herself ragged, yet persevered for the sake of her children. Though money would never be an issue for Jen, he wondered if she’d be the same way. Would she choose selflessness over selfishness? The fact he wasn’t entirely sure made him uneasy, and he shoved the thought away.

  He shifted on the couch and picked her free hand up, then he kissed the back of it. “As long as it’s enough to gain your parents’ approval, at the end of the day, it’s worth it.”

  “Yes, well. I think it’s silly. You know I told you I don’t care what they think. I love you, and at the end of the day, what I think matters, not them.”

  While he believed she mostly meant it, he knew their opinion actually did matter to her. “I want their blessing.”

  “I know you do.” She pursed her lips and squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you’ll get it, too. Anyone who goes to this length to prove they can make a commitment and have what it takes to be a family man is certainly husband material.”

  He stared over at her—all that creamy flawless skin, bright eyes, and golden hair—and felt his resolve strengthen. If all he had to do was sacrifice a month or two of his time to prove himself to her in order to be granted life with her, then he’d do it. Looking at her now, he knew why he came instead of heading home to collapse in his bed. Because he knew she’d give him the motivation he needed to show up at Mel’s again.

  As long as he remembered this was all a part of the plan, he’d be fine.

  TUESDAY CAME AND WENT with excruciating slowness, and thus far, Wednesday wasn’t turning out to be any more promising. Blake was hanging on by a bare thread. It was only his third day with the Triple Threat—so aptly named—and it already felt like an eternity.

  Blake noted the telltale pounding of an oncoming headache as he knelt by the rug on the floor.

  “Charge!” Brady raised his plastic sword in the air and ran at Peter full speed.

  Blake dropped the sponge he was using in his futile efforts to try and scrub the marker from the rug and jumped in front of Peter, saving him from an unprovoked attack. “Brady, put down the sword.”

  “No.” Brady’s little chest heaved, his breath coming in and out of his lungs at a rapid pace. He wore nothing but a makeshift cape and Spider-Man underwear, his scrawny little chest heaving with each breath.

  When he bared his teeth and growled, Blake put his hands up. “Whoa. Let’s surrender the weapon and calm down. How about some mac and cheese?”

  “Never!” Brady bellowed, then made a lunge at Peter behind him.

  When Blake glanced over his shoulder, he noted Peter peeping over him and sticking his tongue out.

  A crashing noise came from the kitchen, followed by Kinsley’s tiny voice. “Oops.”

  With a sigh, Blake dragged a hand over his face.

  THURSDAY. IT WAS THURSDAY, which meant the week was almost over, Blake reminded himself.

  He entered the living room and his gaze immediately zoned in on Peter.

  He squatted in the corner, shoulders hunched, face scrunched like The Joker.

  “Peter, what are you doing?”

  He grunted. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t you dare poop your pants.” Blake ran toward him, scooped him up, and plopped him on the toilet in the bathroom.

  Crisis averted.

  “There. Now, I’m going right outside the door here. Take your underwear off, do your business, and holler if you need me. Got it?”

  Three minutes later, the door opened, and Peter finally emerged butt-naked. With a frown, Blake went in the bathroom to take a look. Inside the toilet bowl, a pair of underwear floated. Spider-Man stared up at him, fingers pointed, webs shooting through the toilet water in despair.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  BY FRIDAY, BLAKE HAD decided that mothers were inhuman. There was no way they could do this day in and day out and survive if they were mortal.

  All three of the Triple Threat hopped on the couch next to Blake’s prone body, screaming and leaping for joy.

  He should tell them to get down before they crack their heads, or fall and break a bone or finish the coffee table off, but he couldn’t muster the energy.

  He surrendered. They finally did it, and he was half-convinced that once he perished, they’d celebrate and stomp all over his corpse.

  He stared up at the ceiling. These kids seriously made him reconsider parenthood. Surely, it couldn’t be like this, could it? He had to believe these kids were different. Because if all children were like these three, no one would do it. Humanity would’ve ceased to exist long ago. The Triple Threat were not normal kids. They were kids on speed.

  Kinsley’s foot caught him in the stomach, and he hissed. The breath wheezed in and out of his lungs. His gaze drifted across the living room. Not even one square inch of space was visible underneath the mess. Toys. Cereal. Crayons. Paper. Clothes. You name it, and it was there on the floor somewhere. It was like a virtual search and find game. Spot Blake’s pride in the rubble and you win a prize!

  The door swung open, and Mel stumbled inside.

  He wasn’t proud of the way she found him, but he barely had the energy to care.

  Only when her eyes met his, and he registered her concern in the widening of all that rich caramel, did he muster the energy to sit up and look alive.

  “Rough day.” She winced with the words. It was a hypothetical question.

  “Oh, we’re good. It’s all good,” Blake managed.

  Mel let out a breath, then rushed to hug her kids.

  “I’ll let myself out,” he murmured and stood, making his way toward the door, his normally long stride a shuffle.

  “Blake?”

  He paused by the door, his hand on the knob.

  “Thanks,” she said, offering him a soft smile. Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and he caught a glimpse of straight white teeth, her eyes sparkling with gratitude.

  And that’s when he knew he’d come back. Because they’d had a deal, and maybe he was a complete idiot, but he couldn’t disappoint her. Not with that smile and the way she seemed so utterly grateful every morning he showed up this week and every evening she returned home and her kids were in one piece.

  She stared at him now, smile in place, and he knew what she was waiting for—confirmation that he’d return after the weekend. So he offered her a nod, because speaking took too much effort, and not until her shoulders slumped in relief and she turned back to her kids, did he open the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Blake

  It had only been a week away from the shop, and Blake already missed the ever-present grease that seemed to coat his hands, the buzzing of tools, and the old school rock that always blasted from the speakers. Part of him wanted to turn around, hop back on his bike, and head to B’s Bikes. He’d grab a cup of Grant’s special coffee that was as dark and thick as crude oil and peruse the custom orders and check on the progress of their current projects. As stupid as it was, he missed his boys, with their crude language, endless razzing, and amazing work ethic. Maybe he was biased, but he had assembled the best team around, which was why he knew they’d stay afloat without him, despite Grant’s cynicism.

  Monday morning, he managed to find parking a block from Mel’s place, and on his way to her apartment, he started having doubts. A weekend off did little to prepare him for his return today. Even time spent with Jen, lounging poolside at her parents’ indoor pool at their estates in the country did little to revive him. Especially when it meant walking on eggshells with them around.

  What was he doing? Maybe Jen was right. What her parents thought didn’t matter. He didn’t need their approval. But no matter how
many times he had argued with himself about this very thing, he still desperately wanted Garwood’s blessing, and despite what Jen said, he knew she did too. Maybe it was pride, or his fear Jen would resent him down the line if he didn’t, but he knew he couldn’t go forward with a proposal without their consent. So in the end, had little choice. He had to make this work.

  With a sigh, he slid his phone from his pocket and dialed his brother. When he answered on the second ring, Blake launched right into the thick of things. “I need your help, man.”

  Grant guffawed. “Let me guess. Being a manny isn’t what you thought it would be? Gee, that’s a surprise.”

  “Shut up.” A cabbie honked beside him, and Blake moved out of the way for a biker.

  “Where are you now?”

  “On my way to her place. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Should I say I told you so?”

  “Say it and die,” Blake muttered.

  Grant chuckled. “So, turn around. Come back to work. Who cares what the old snobs think?”

  Blake tipped his face to the sky, praying for patience. Having to defend Jen and her family to Grant was starting to get a little old. “I didn’t call because I’m coming back already. I need some advice.”

  “What about?”

  “Kids. This woman’s kids are maniacs. Wild is an understatement.”

  “You saw them that day in the coffee shop. I told you—”

  “Would you forget about what you told me and help me now?” Blake snapped. “I need a pep talk and some tips.”

  Grant laughed. “What on earth do you think I know about kids? I’m single, remember?”

  “You dated that chick that one time that had a kid.”

  “Yeah, for like three months.”

  “Grant . . .” Blake’s voice cracked with desperation. He eyed Mel’s dreary building as he approached like a man headed to the gallows, which he basically was.