Help Wanted- Mafe

by Cooper McKenzie

  Chapter Six

  After they cleaned up the kitchen together, Harper refilled their coffee mugs with the last of that pot of coffee. She didn’t start a fresh one as she normally did because as the first cup kicked in, her nerves began to jitterbug.

  While she agreed with Brenna that she needed help around the house, and the women she had hired in the past had either ghosted after the first few weeks, or were so incompetent at the chores she’d asked be completed that she’d fire them by the end of the third day. And now that Brenna had advertised for a man—not only to run the house, but also to keep her happy and relaxed, Harper wasn’t sure it was going to work out.

  Yes, Foster had been amazing in bed, but was he willing to cook and clean toilets? And what about Miranda? Would he be able to deal with her five-year-old snarky genius when she decided to be an over-the-top tiny bitch, or would he run for the hills?

  “You’re thinking too hard,” Foster said as he stepped up behind her and began to massage her knotted-up shoulders. “I can smell the wheels in your brain burning from across the room.”

  “Are you sure you want to take this job? I’m heading into my busiest season, though lately every day seems too busy. That means I’ll be depending on you to keep the house going and Miranda in line and alive,” Harper said as she continued staring out the window over the kitchen sink into the back yard.

  She sighed at the sight of the flowerbeds that needed to be cleaned out and prepared for spring. She loved playing in the dirt but wasn’t sure when she’d have time to get out there and plant anything, even with Foster helping out.

  Foster’s hands continued to work the stress out of her shoulders, which, in turn, caused all her muscles to loosen down her body. She had to grab hold of the edge of the counter to maintain her footing as her legs went weak.

  “I understand, but I still want the job. You need to remember that all work and no play makes Harper a grumpy, too-tense mommy and that will make Miranda a grumpy little girl who acts out to get attention.”

  Harper turned her head to look over her shoulder, her eyes wide with surprise. “Are you Dr. Spock? Or Mr. Rogers? How do you know so much about children?”

  Foster brushed a kiss on her nose before smiling down at her. “I had parents who were too busy to spend time with me. I ended up in trouble quite a bit. Instead of spending time with me, they shipped me off to my grandparents the summer I turned twelve. My grandparents straightened me out by keeping me busy, and spent time talking to me, listening to me. They supported my dreams of joining the military, which was something my parents never did.

  “I’m sorry,” Harper said, her own bad-parent guilt rising up. “I know I need to spend more time with Miranda. I’m hoping that having a mafe in the house will help me be able to do that.”

  “That will be my hope as well,” Foster said. “So, show me the house, my room, and tell me my duties. Afterward, we’ll rescue Brenna from the fairy princess Randa and have lunch together. Then you can spend the afternoon working while Miranda and I run over to my apartment and get my stuff. Then she can help me fix dinner. Tomorrow, we can talk about my duties, and I’ll work up a schedule and a menu for the rest of the week. We’ll get this place cleaned up and organized in no time.”

  Harper blinked and turned around. Taking the step and separating them, she threw her arms around his middle and hugged him tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said as she blinked back tears of relief.

  She snuggled even deeper when Foster’s arms came around her body and returned her hug. The long, strong hug added to the relief his shoulder massage gave her. He released her as soon as she began to pull back.

  “You’re welcome,” he said with a smile. “Now, please give me the grand tour.”

  Her earlier jittery nerves settled, Harper led the way to a closed door on the wall beside the pantry door. “The washer and dryer are in the pantry. This is your suite. You’ve got the basics in furniture, and a full bathroom all your own. And the lock on the door works, so you can have your privacy whenever you wish.”

  ****

  Foster stepped into the room and nodded at the queen-size bed, dresser, and nightstand in the room. The furniture might be mismatched, but they went together well. There was room for his television on the dresser and a glance in the large closet showed more than enough room for his belongings, all of which fit into two duffel bags and three cardboard boxes. The bathroom, while dated, had a tub with a shower fixture that was high enough on the wall that he wouldn’t have to get on his knees to wash his hair.

  The rest of the tour went quickly as Harper listed the cleaning she did in each room. Foster made mental notes of other chores he saw that needed to be attended to, though he didn’t say them out loud. He would come through later with a pen and paper to make notes and set up daily, weekly, and monthly cleaning schedules.

  Downstairs consisted of the living room, dining room, kitchen, his room, and one other. Finally, Harper opened a door off the living room to an office that looked like a mailing supply store had exploded.

  “This is the packing room. As you can see, it’s a little disorganized at the moment. Don’t worry about cleaning in this room.”

  Foster looked around and said, “Looks like you could use some better storage systems.”

  “Yes, but like everything else, I haven’t had time to figure out what I need so it hasn’t gotten done,” Harper said, sounding tired and dejected.

  “Well, hopefully in the next few weeks you will,” Foster pointed out.

  “Maybe,” Harper said, sounding skeptical.

  “Not maybe, definitely. Now, let’s finish the tour.”

  Harper led the way upstairs, and Foster took the time to admire her legs and butt. She showed him Miranda’s room, which was decorated in pinks and purples, fairies and princesses, and about a thousand stuffed animals covering every flat surface, except for a path that led from the door to the bed, and another that branched off to the dresser.

  When he stepped back into the central hallway, she pointed to her room as she blushed. He smiled at her sudden shyness when she had been anything but the night before.

  She then turned and pointed to two doors that were side by side. “That’s the second bathroom up here. And that’s the linen closet.”

  She then moved to the last two doors that were also closed. “These two rooms are the offices of Harper Ellis Designs. You don’t have to worry about these rooms either. I keep them as clean as possible. I also try to keep Miranda out of them if at all possible.”

  Foster nodded but made no comments. She didn’t need him questioning her about how she had raised her daughter to this point. He could tell from their earlier conversation that Harper was feeling guilty about not being there for Miranda as much as she wanted. Well, he would see if he couldn’t help so Harper and Miranda could spend more quality time together. And if he and Harper got to spend some grown-up time together, all the better.

  Though he didn’t want to invade his employer’s privacy, he was intrigued by what she hid behind the closed doors of her offices. Stepping up to the first one, he opened it, and, ignoring her near-silent gasp, stepped inside. He looked around, entranced at the dresses hanging on hooks high on the walls and the three dresses on dress dummies along one side of the room.

  Then he focused on the dress in the middle of the room, a floor-length ballgown with a barely-there, blue, corset-style top. The dress got darker and darker as it went down the skirt until it was navy blue with sparkly sequins just above the floor.

  “They’re beautiful,” he whispered at the exquisite beauty she had created from cloth and thread.

  “Thank you,” she replied softly. “I’m gaining a reputation as having the ability to make any woman feel like a princess and just recently got invited to do a wedding dress for a billionaire’s daughter. That one is in the other room. These dresses are for a fashion show next month, and I’m hoping to sell them and gain some free publicity.”


  She didn’t tell him about the third arm, the most lucrative arm, of her business. Creating and selling designer clothes for dolls was a secret enterprise she kept entirely to herself.

  Foster nodded and stepped out of the room. Looking over his shoulder at the woman, he grinned. “I’m impressed. You’re not just a clothing designer, you are an artist and should probably have your work in a museum, not just a fashion show.”

  Harper’s blush deepened as she looked away. “Thank you again.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m only eating orange foods today,” Miranda stated as she climbed into her chair in the kitchen that held a small booster seat.

  “Only eating orange foods?” Foster asked, glancing from the little girl to her mother.

  Harper rolled her eyes and lifted her hands to her shoulders. “Here’s your first challenge as the mafe,” she murmured with a grin.

  “Yes, I’m in an orange mood today. Everything has to be orange,” Miranda said, sounding so regal and sure of herself that Foster had to fight back a smile.

  “How did Brenna make your waffles orange?” Foster asked as he tried to think of what orange foods he could serve a five-year-old.

  “Her waffles were orange enough. And they tasted really good with orange m’lade on them.”

  “Orange m’lade?” Foster looked to Harper for translation.

  Harper frowned for a few seconds before smiling. “Orange marmalade.”

  She then moved to the table and took a seat beside her daughter. He quickly deduced that meant she would be no help in his hunt for orange foods.

  Opening the refrigerator door, he bent over and visually searched for anything inside that was orange.

  Milk and orange juice on the top shelf. Tangerines in a bowl on the bottom shelf. Individually wrapped cheese slices in a plastic box.

  Straightening, he closed the door and turned to Harper. “Noodles?”

  “In the pantry,” she said with a smile and a motherly nod of approval.

  “Okay, Princess Randa, why don’t you take your mommy into the living room while I make you an orange lunch?” Foster said as he found his footing again.

  A five-year-old with food fetishes wouldn’t take him down, he vowed to himself as he retrieved a bag of egg noodles from the pantry. What Miranda didn’t know was that Foster was a noodle and cheese wizard. He collected recipes and could even make boxed macaroni and cheese taste like a gourmet meal. Or at least that was what his battle buddies had told him when it was his night to cook for the crew.

  Twenty minutes later, Foster put a bowl of noodles and cheese and a small plate with a peeled tangerine in front of Miranda. He then followed with a small glass of orange juice. He waited patiently as she picked up her spoon and lifted a single noodle to her mouth. She chewed and swallowed and then looked at him with wide eyes.

  “That’s really yummy,” she said before looking at her mother. Scooping her spoon through the noodles, she lifted it toward her mother. “Mommy, you gotta try this. It’s really yummy.”

  Foster took a breath and tried not to let his relief show too much. No need for the little girl to know he had been really, really nervous about her reaction.

  “How about I get your mom her own bowl?” he asked as he turned back to the stove.

  A moment later, he served Harper a bowl of noodles and placed his own bowl in front of the empty chair. He’d already put glasses filled with ice on the table along with a pitcher of iced tea. He then retrieved two bowls of lettuce salad and dressings to the table before sitting down to join the ladies for lunch.

  He waited as Harper tried her lunch and nodded her approval. “I agree, Miranda, these noodles really are yummy.”

  Foster smiled with pleasure at the thumbs-up she gave him before diving into his own food. The next few minutes were silent except for the clinking sounds of silverware on stoneware.

  “May I have more noodles, please?” Miranda asked once she’d swallowed the last mouthful of noodles.

  Before Foster could answer, Harper tapped the small plate. “Eat your orange first, please. Then, if you’re still hungry, you may have more noodles.”

  Miranda looked from her mother to Foster. She opened her mouth to argue, but Foster shook his head with a shrug. “Mom rules,” he said softly as he turned his attention to his salad.

  The little girl closed her mouth with her bottom lip poking out in a pout. She looked from one adult to the other again and then huffed a sigh before picking up an orange slice. “All right, but I’m not happy about it.”

  Foster shoved the last forkful of his salad in his mouth to keep from laughing at the little girl’s dramatics as his gaze met Harper’s. He could see she was fighting back laughter as well.

  The orange was eaten quickly, but instead of demanding more noodles, Miranda put her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “So, Mr. Mafe,” she said.

  Foster wiped his mouth on the paper towel they were using as napkins before sitting back to prepare himself. The way this little girl’s mind worked meant she might be asking him anything from how to turn the sun off to whether he could make green foods taste good.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re gonna take care of me and Mommy and the house, right?”

  Foster remained focused on her, though a quick glance showed that Harper was already fighting down laughter. “That is the plan your mom and I worked out. Is that okay with you?”

  “Maybe,” she drew the word out into several syllables before continuing. “Will you treat my stuffies with respect, and not stomp on them, or throw them in a pile in the corner?”

  “I will. With your mom’s permission, maybe we can go shopping for a bookcase or build some shelves in your room. That way your friends won’t have to live on the floor where they could get stomped on,” Foster answered carefully.

  He waited while Miranda looked at her mother. “We could do that,” Harper said with a smile for her daughter.

  That smile sent a shiver of warmth through Foster’s chest. He wanted to see that happy, relieved smile on her face every day.

  Before he could relax too much, Miranda turned back to face him. “Will you help me take over the world?”

  “As long as you’re doing it for the right reasons, and we have your mother’s approval then yes, I’m okay with helping you take over the world. Peacefully.”

  Miranda looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding again. “And will you keep chocolate and candy and chips in the house at all times for the sad, bad days we women sometimes have?”

  Foster had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter in check. His gaze shifted to check Harper’s reaction. Her cheeks were growing pinker by the second even as she was apparently fighting down the giggles.

  Then he turned his attention back to Miranda. “Yes, Miranda, I think I can do that, but your mother will be the one to dole out the sad, bad day treats. I’m not here to replace your mother or to do things behind her back. I’m here to help take care of you, and her, okay?”

  Miranda nodded then turned to her mother. “Is he going to keep sleeping in your bed like this morning?”

  The blush that had pinkened Harper’s cheeks faded in the next few seconds and she grew pale. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she managed to choke out, without looking in his direction, “No. He sleeps down here in the room behind the pantry.”

  “The maid’s room? But he’s not a maid,” Miranda said.

  “No, I’m not a maid, I’m a mafe. So maybe you can call it the mafe’s room?” Foster said as this child stole his heart.

  Miranda frowned and looked thoughtful for a moment before taking a deep breath and nodding. “Okay, Mommy, he can stay.”

  With Miranda’s approval, Foster lost it. He laughed long and loud at the little girl’s very serious tone. He knew that if she hadn’t agreed to him being the mafe, she would have put him through hell of a childish sort. He was even happier when a glance at Harp
er showed she was laughing hard as well.

  Yeah, being the Ellis family mafe was going to be just the life challenge he’d been looking for.

  Chapter Eight

  Feeling comfortable leaving Miranda with Foster for the afternoon, Harper headed upstairs with the hopes of putting in a couple of uninterrupted, focused hours of work on the billionaire bride’s dress. She had an appointment with the bride in a few days for the initial fitting and wanted to have as much of the dress done beforehand as possible.

  As she worked, she kept chuckling, thinking of how her daughter had kept Foster scrambling throughout their first meal together. And then her interview questions were priceless, and seeing Foster treat them with all the seriousness of a Congressional hearing made her heart fill with feelings she’d never felt before, not even for Miranda’s father.

  Though she had known him less than one full day, Harper already found herself falling for the big veteran-turned-man-wife. She would just have to be very careful about keeping him out of her bed, for her daughter’s sake as well as to keep her heart in one piece. Because she had a feeling that Foster Michaels might be the man who could take control of her heart without even realizing it.

  Which she wasn’t sure would be a good thing.

  Pushing thoughts of the night before and of what might come to pass in the future out of her mind, Harper forced herself to get to work on the dress that could change everything for her company and for the future of her family.

  ****

  “Mommy? Are you going to eat orange dinner with us tonight?” Miranda’s voice startled Harper out of her zen-like, deeply focused state.

  “Huh? What? Miranda?” Harper blinked several times before shifting in her swivel chair to face the hall doorway. She smiled when she saw the door was open just enough to allow Miranda’s head to peek around the panel at her. “Hey there, did you need me?

  “Mr. Mafe and I are hungry. Are you going to eat with us?” her daughter asked.