Daddy Boss

by Claire Bishop

  Abel turned to him and said something to him in their language. Andrew sighed dramatically. “Fine.” He jumped down, and Abel followed us both out into the kitchen, where I set them up with bowls of oatmeal and a pair of danishes in the dining room.

  “You shouldn’t spoil them like that.” Archer walked in holding a cup of coffee and kissed me on the cheek, then bit into a Danish. He was holding another in the other hand.

  “I’m merely following your example.” I sat down to get started on my coffee. “Besides, the only reason Abel tells his brother to come for breakfast is because he knows he’ll get a sweet.”

  Abel looked up at me with his mouth full and his eyes wide. Andrew laughed and said something in their language. Abel glared at him and fired back in what sounded like a string of expletives. Andrew turned back to his food.

  “You’re not doing anything today, are you?” Archer asked.

  “No, why?”

  “Because I wanted to see if you’d like to spend the day with me and the boys,” he whispered. “I thought we could try to teach them to swim.”

  “They’re going to love it,” I whispered back. Andrew was staring at his spoon filled with oatmeal dripping onto the table. Then, as I watched in horror, he pulled it back, and the steaming hot sludge slammed into the wall across from him. “Andrew…”

  “Daba daba!” Abel pointed at him. “No.”

  Andrew’s eyes went wide, he smiled, and he grabbed another spoonful to try again.

  “What do we do?” I asked Archer.

  He grabbed my spoon and flicked a wad of oatmeal at the boy. It hit the spoon he was holding, and he dropped it. His face scrunched up, he went red, and his mouth opened. Archer met my eyes, and I ran up to pick him up. It was too late. He was already screaming, so I carried him into the kitchen and patted him on the back. “Come on. It’s okay.”

  He stopped after a moment, and Archer came in, holding Abel’s hand. Abel was looking at his brother with concern. “Boys.” He looked from Andrew to Abel. “Go back up to your rooms, okay?”

  I set Andrew down, and he ran off with Abel. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” He set his coffee down and wrapped his arms around me to give me a kiss.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He walked back into the living room shaking his hips.

  I followed him into the room. “What is going on, Archer?”

  He sat down on the couch. “Nothing,” he said. “Sit down.” He patted the seat next to him.

  “Why?” I crossed my arms over my chest and refused.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” The twins rushed downstairs.

  He turned back fast. “What?”

  Andrew whispered something to his brother.

  “No,” Abel said and shook his head wildly.

  “You tell him,” Andrew said.

  “Daba!” Abel stamped his foot.

  “Ugh.” Andrew stepped up. “We can’t find it.”

  “Find what?” I asked.

  “Wait here,” Archer shot up off the couch, swept the boys into his arms and disappeared upstairs. I was not going to wait, not for one second. He was up to something, and I was going to find out exactly what it is.

  I followed them upstairs and walked into the nursery, then burst into tears. “Oh, my God.”

  “Zoe.” Archer was on one knee, holding a ring, and the boys were staring up at me.

  “Be our new mommy!” they both yelled.

  I had to stop to take a second to grab my bearings. Archer watched me closely and never once looked away.

  “Come on.” Abel ran over and tugged on my dress.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Archer stood up and rushed over to kiss me while the boys jumped up and down with excitement. Life was never going to be the same. It was going to be better than I ever imagined it to be.

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  DADDY NEXT DOOR

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

  Chapter One

  Vivie

  I switched the station when the opening riff of Guns 'n' Roses' Sweet Child O' Mine hit my ears. It had always been one of Dad's favorite tunes — one he played on guitar a lot and one he'd sang to me as a kid. It didn’t matter that he'd been gone for four years; not a day went by that I didn't miss him or think of him. And something like that song reminding me of everything he’d been as a dad and how he loved me; it was just too much to take after the day I’d had. Not to mention, I sure as hell didn't want to break down and start crying in the middle of five o' clock traffic.

  I kept one hand on the steering wheel as I flipped between stations, stopping on a local talk show where the radio host, Arthur Valley, was interviewing a local detective. I pricked my ears and fine-tuned the radio so I could hear more clearly; crime stories always fascinated me, and it sure wasn't as if we had many crime sprees here in Irvine. So, my interest was piqued.

  “Good afternoon, and welcome to the show, Sam,” Arthur said. “I want to point out to our listeners that 'Sam' isn't our detective's real name; he needs to remain anonymous since he is working undercover, and if his identity is discovered, that would put Sam in serious danger.”

  “That's true, Arthur,” said the man. “I deal with some very unsavory people on a daily basis.”

  “And that, ladies and gents, is why we've also put a filter on Sam's voice. He doesn't actually sound like Darth Vader in real life.”

  I chuckled at that. The guy did sound a lot like Darth Vader was coming through my speakers.

  “Unfortunately, no, I don't,” Sam commented with a laugh. “But how cool would it be if I did?”

  “Well, why don't we get started? First of all, thanks for coming on the show today, we really appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to be here with us.”

  “Not at all, Arthur. The residents of Irvine need to know what's happening behind closed doors in this town, and some of it ain't pretty… it ain't pretty at all.”

  “What exactly is going on here in Irvine that's got you working undercover?”

  “I’m afraid we've got a problem here, Arthur. No, not just a problem: a crisis. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that. We have a serious, serious problem affecting our youth,” Sam said.

  “What is this problem?” Arthur asked.

  “Drugs. Local high schools – and middle schools as well – are riddled with a new drug that's been sweeping across Southern California.”

  “What are we talking here, Sam? Simple pot, or cocaine, or is it something as bad as meth or heroin?” the talk show host questioned.

  “While those remain problem drugs not only here but across the entire United States, what we've got here is something entirely new. The kids are calling it Rocket because it gets you very high very quickly. We're fairly confident it's being cooked up in a mobile lab out in the desert or perhaps up in the mountains, as distribution seems to be limited to Southern California. Although, it's starting to spread to other parts of California, and it won't be long before it crosses state lines and makes its way into other states.”

  “Tell us more about the drug itself,” Arthur urged. “What does it look like? What effect does it have? Who's using it? What are the dangers?”

  “Well, Arthur. It's a blue powder, and what makes it dangerous is how quickly it's absorbed by the body – hence the name Rocket. You don't have to snort it; you can ingest it in all sorts of ways. It's tasteless, so it can just be mixed into soda and drank. Th
e effects, which kick in within a minute or two, are feelings of euphoria, extremely lowered inhibitions, mild hallucinations and slowed reflexes and motor skills. The side effects are terrible, though. Not only does it create intense cravings for more – which, of course, leads to addiction – it physically eats away the insides of the user. It's highly acidic in nature, and contains a number of extremely harmful substances that should not, under any circumstances, be inside the human body.”

  “Gosh, that sounds terrifying! How widespread is the use and distribution of this drug?”

  “Like I said, it's worming its way into all of the local high schools, and—”

  I switched stations. Teenage drug use was far too depressing to think about. With kids as young as junior high students getting into this sort of stuff, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with the world. I couldn't bear to think of the kids at my daycare getting into this sort of stuff in a few years when some of them headed to middle school. I'd always had a great fondness for kids, and I really loved the little tykes at my daycare, even if they could be something of a handful sometimes.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the local grocer and went in to pick up a few items I needed. After a quick trip down the aisles, I went and stood in line at a register. It appeared that only two checkout counters were working. I took out my phone to check up on Facebook, but before I could, a familiar voice interrupted me.

  “Vivienne Andrews, how lovely to see you!”

  I knew the voice at once. My neighbor, Mrs. Joan Dobbins — a sweet older lady who did little else but sit on her porch with her Maltese poodle, Fluffy, and observe the comings and goings of our neighborhood from sunrise to sunset and often beyond.

  “Hi, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said with a smile. “It's nice to see you, too.”

  “I love what you've done with your hair. It's still nice and long, but it looks so stylish now! And you've always had the loveliest blonde hair.”

  “Thank you,” I said with an appreciative smile. “I just had it layered and textured a little. I've always liked this length, just down around my shoulder blades.”

  “It really does suit you. I couldn't stand having long hair myself, but my old Frank, bless his heart, he loved my long hair when I was young, so I kept it long for him. When he passed 22 years ago, though, the first thing I did was cut it, and it's been short ever since!”

  I laughed politely – it wasn't the first time I'd heard that story.

  “I don't think I'll cut mine anytime soon,” I said, hoping that the line would move a little faster. Mrs. Dobbins was nice enough, but she could talk until she was blue in the face and you were too.

  “You shouldn't cut it, dear; you look absolutely stunning. Why, I don't know why some man hasn't come and swept you off your feet yet. They must be beating down your door.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I mumbled, not wanting to get on the topic with her. Like her story, it wasn’t the first time. “I'm just so busy with the daycare, and I've got those repairs to take care of around the house—”

  She cut me off. “And that's why you need a good man by your side, Vivienne!”

  I chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. “I guess so,” I mumbled. Why wasn't this line moving?

  “Speaking of men, there's a new fellow that moved in across the road from us this past weekend while you were out of town.”

  That piqued my interest. The house across the street had been empty for months.

  “Really? The Sanchez place?”

  “That's right – someone's finally bought it. And I tell you what, between you and me, he's quite a looker! You should go say hello to him. Maybe bake him a pie. You know, offer a good neighborly welcome,” she said with a wink and a smile.

  I laughed. “I thought you said you wanted me to welcome him to the neighborhood. You’ve obviously never eaten any pie I’ve tried to bake,” I smiled at her.

  “Well, how about I bake the pie for you, and then you go across the street and give it to him?”

  I laughed. “We'll see about that. So, I know you have the scoop. What’s his story?”

  “He's the new principal of that high school three blocks away, what's it called again?” she asked.

  “JFK High.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  I felt somewhat disappointed; if he was the principal, that meant he'd be a good bit older than me. Most likely in his 40s or 50s. Not that I was interested or anything, but it might be nice to have someone close to my own age move in near me. I'd been in Irvine for two years now, but still only had a handful of friends, none of whom lived in my neighborhood.

  “Well, I actually thought he was just a teacher until I spoke to him. He's so young for a principal,” Mrs. Dobbins said, rummaging around in her purse for something.

  My interest was officially piqued again.

  “Really? And just how old is he?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested. If I seemed too interested, Mrs. Dobbins would make it her mission to bake me a pie a week until she was satisfied we were either going to get married, or one of us was batting for the other team.

  “He's only 32. Would you believe it, just 32 years old and already the principal of a high school?”

  “That is surprising,” I remarked. “I guess he knows his stuff.”

  “I guess he does. And like I said, he's a right handsome fella, too. And he seems like such a nice, polite young man. I'm more than happy to bake a nice blueberry pie if you'd like to take it over to him. And I promise that your secret will be safe with me. He'll never find out that it wasn't you who baked the pie!”

  I laughed. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Mrs. Dobbins, but not right away.”

  The line had finally moved, and I was able to start loading my items up onto the checkout counter while the person in front of me was busy getting their total added up.

  “Well, looks like I've gotta sort this out now, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said to her. “It's been nice chatting with you. I'll see you later, I imagine. I have some stuff to do in my yard.”

  “And I'll be on the porch with Fluffy, enjoying a nice iced tea. Would you like me to make extra for you if you're going to be out in your yard in this heat? There's nothing like a good iced tea on a warm summer evening.”

  “If you've got any to spare, I might take you up on that offer later,” I said with a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Dobbins. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “I will, Vivienne, dear. See you later.”

  The clerk turned to me as she passed the last of my items over the scanner.

  Ten minutes later, I turned onto my street and slowed down as I neared my house. I saw, from a distance, someone in the front yard of the house across the street from mine – the house that had formerly belonged to the Sanchez family, the house Mrs. Dobbins and I had been talking about.

  As I drew closer, my eyes widened as I got a clearer view of the man in the yard mowing the lawn. A mundane task, yeah, but he was doing it clad only in a pair of gym shorts and running shoes. I had to make myself look back at the road so I didn’t hit a neighbor’s mailbox. One thing was certain; he didn't look like any school principal I'd ever seen. I might have wanted to go to school if my principal had been blessed with an Adonis-like physique and surfer's tan. I couldn't take my eyes off my new neighbor. The man was ripped.

  Mrs. Dobbins had not been exaggerating; he was ridiculously attractive with his strong jaw covered with a five o' clock shadow and stylish black hair that was just long enough my fingers were itching to run through it just looking at him from the road. It’s a good thing the speed limit in our neighborhood was only 10 miles per hour. Otherwise, my gawking would have been obvious.

  I pulled into my driveway and parked the car, hoping that he hadn't noticed my staring when I had driven slowly past him. Thankfully, he seemed too absorbed in his task to notice, so I got out the car and took a few more good, long looks at him as inconspicuously as possible while unpacking my groceries.

  Things around the
neighborhood had just taken an intriguing turn. The really attractive man mowing the lawn shirtless just across the road from me was proof. Not that I wanted to get into anything, but I sure couldn't complain about the view.

  Out of habit, I wondered if he was single. But someone that looked like him couldn't possibly be – not unless he was a player. Although, someone in a position of responsibility with such a public persona as a high school principal was probably unlikely to be a player. His job and reputation would depend on him not being one. Or at least being very good at keeping a low profile at it. But in a town like ours, someone would find out.

  I shook my head and turned my focus to my groceries. “Doesn’t matter what he does in his free time, Vivienne,” I mumbled to myself. I was not ready to get into anything with a man, not yet, not after Simon. Just the thought of that man sent shivers of revulsion and disgust down my spine. It had been three years, and while I had mostly been able to put my life back together, some things just took time to fix. Longer than I would have ever imagined. So, no, I definitely wasn't ready to let another guy into my life, not in any sort of intimate way.

  I carried my groceries inside and couldn't help but throw one last glance over my shoulder at the hot new neighbor as he pushed his mower around the lawn. He looked up just as I looked at him and our eyes met for a second. A jolt of embarrassment rippled through me, and a red heat flushed through my cheeks. He raised a hand and waved at me. I waved back awkwardly and hurried inside, closing the door quickly behind me.

  I set my groceries down on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh of relief. That was close! He'd almost caught me ogling him. I started to unpack the eggs and almost dropped them when a knock at my door broke the silence. My heart practically jumped into my throat. I took a few steps back to the door, my heart pounding, and peered through the peephole. My jaw dropped. Standing there in all his shirtless, sweat-glistening glory was my new neighbor.

  Chapter Two

  Everett

  Everybody can use a little distraction from the bullshit life throws at you from time to time. Doesn’t hurt if that distraction comes in the form of a blonde bombshell.