My (Mostly) Temporary Nanny: A Grumpy Boss Romantic Comedy

by Penelope Bloom

  “Oh stop it. You’re not dumb. You are broke, though. You seriously spent everything he’d paid you on the down payment? Actually, maybe you are just a little dumb.”

  “I thought if I risked waiting any longer, the possibility would slip away. I was trying to do the right thing. So we’re flying down to Florida tomorrow and I’m going to give this restaurant a shot.”

  “You’re giving up on Jack?”

  “What else can I do? Not taking ‘no’ for an answer is only cute in movies. In real life it’s called earning yourself a restraining order. So, yeah. It breaks my heart, but who cares? I’m going to Florida to start up the restaurant. One way or another, I’m going to figure out how to make enough money to do it while getting Griff to school and back and taking care of him. Because that’s my only choice.”

  “You could help me and Luca. There’re always ways to find work when you run your own business. You could be our social media girl or something.”

  I thought about Griff, who was never going to forgive me for screwing things up and making him lose his best friend. “No. I already sacrificed too much to make this happen. I need it to be worth something, at least.”

  36

  Jack

  The days crawled by.

  Ben asked about Miss Nola and Griff several times a day, and each time felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. He’d ask why we couldn’t make up. Why they left. If it was his fault. If Griff didn’t like him anymore.

  The questions were endless, and I found they all seemed to point back to a common answer: your dad fucked it all up. Miss Nola practically begged to stay, and I pushed her away because I was too worried about this exact thing happening when we’d grown even more attached.

  Was it the right choice? Hell, if I knew. But it was the choice I’d made, and I was learning it was the one I needed to live with.

  Nola never did come running after me when I left. She never called or texted. And when I had stooped to trying to knock on her apartment door a few days later, a stranger answered the door. Apparently she’d already moved out and someone else had moved in.

  She wasn’t just out of my life, she was out of the city, and that made the loss feel even more real.

  I went through the motions of my life while Ben slowly retreated back into the distant, forever buried in a sketchbook version of himself he’d been before Nola and Griff entered our lives. My teammates ribbed me for seeming even grumpier than normal, although they hadn’t thought that was possible. Damon even commented a few times on how I hadn’t seemed myself.

  But life moved forward. Sponsorship deals were reached, and I shot commercials for shoes and sports drinks. I pitched a shutout in our playoff run and, according to Damon, guaranteed I was going to get paid a record deal when my next contract came up.

  I should’ve been thrilled, but I found myself withdrawing right along with Ben. I turned women down who made passes at me when I was attending team parties. I ignored inviting looks at the bar. I just existed.

  It was a testament to how far I’d slipped that I was willing to agree to meet up with Chris Rose after one of my games. Ben stayed with Belle while Chris and I went out to grab some drinks.

  Chris had a thick white patch of gauze taped to his forehead when I met him. “What happened to you?”

  He sat down on the barstool beside me, grimacing. “Word of advice. A washer and dryer may look stable, but if you stand on top of them and move around vigorously enough, they are not.”

  I waited for more of an explanation, then decided it was best he was leaving it at that. I sipped my drink, trying not to think about anything. That had become my favorite pastime. Clearing my brain. If I focused long enough, I could get at least a few seconds of peace. A few blissful seconds where I didn’t keep going back to the thought of Nola and how she’d looked that first night when she tried to blot the spilled drink from my pants. Or how she’d laughed when I tackled the couch or any of the other dozens of times I klutzily hurt myself in front of her.

  I could also forget about the looming possibility of the legal battle Ally was promising. Although one good thing had come of Nola’s exit from my life. The constant barrage of legal threats had completely stopped for the time being. If it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now.

  Ally only cared about pissing me off because Nola drove her into some sort of jealous rage. With Nola out of the picture, she could care less about getting custody of Ben.

  “I was surprised it didn’t work, you know,” Chris said out of nowhere. He’d been preoccupied with whatever was on the TV, but his attention seemed back on me. “I gave her my best advice.”

  “About what?”

  “Winning you back.”

  The last time I’d seen Nola played in my mind. The low-cut dress, the corny music, and the extravagant meal. “Wait. You put her up to all that?”

  Chris held out his hand and rocked it back and forth like a boat on troubled waters. “You know, I’ve got this problem, Jack. When people ask me for help, I try to help them. I know that’s an impulse you probably can’t relate to. How can I put this in a way you’d understand?” Chris made a show of searching the ceiling for some appropriate answer. “Okay. You know that feeling you get when someone asks you for something? The urge to growl, grumble, and possibly punch them in the face? I get an urge just as strong to be helpful. It’s weird, I know.”

  “Getting asked for help isn’t the only thing that makes me want to punch people in the face,” I noted.

  Chris smiled nonchalantly, despite the threat in my eyes. “And that’s part of your charm, Kerrigan. Don’t ever change.”

  I flinched when he patted me on the shoulder, then ordered another drink from the bartender. “Why would she ask you for help?”

  Chris drained his previous drink, then pushed the glass away with a satisfied sigh. “She knew you and I were friends. Honestly, I thought it showed she had a good pair on her shoulders.”

  I turned in my stool, now seriously considering punching him. “You were looking at her tits?”

  “What? No. Pair of brain hemispheres.” He paused, then nodded a little to himself. “Yeah, I can see how that wasn’t the clearest expression. My bad. But think about it. She was willing to jump through the hoops required to get a hold of me and desperate enough to grasp at straws. The girl really does care about you.”

  “For now. Maybe.” Inwardly, I cursed. I had promised myself I wouldn’t reveal any of my doubts or real thoughts to Chris when I agreed to come. I had just hoped his usual lunatic ravings would distract me for a few hours.

  Sure enough, I could see in his face that Chris was dissecting the few syllables I’d carelessly tossed his way. “Okay,” he said finally. He swirled his drink theatrically, then tapped the rim with his index finger as he chose his words. “So you are worried all you can get from the nanny is temporary. Is that it?”

  “I didn’t come here for a therapy session, Rose. Save it.”

  “And,” he said, pressing on as if he hadn’t heard me. “You probably also think she’d be better off with a normal human. Like one who occasionally smiles and sometimes does nice things. Granted, yes, she probably would. But for some reason she has decided she wants you, flaws and all. That means it’s not your call to decide what would be best for her.” Chris tapped his head, leaning in. “You get that? It doesn’t matter if you think she deserves better. You’re what she picked. If she goes to the fanciest steak house in the country and orders a well-done hamburger patty on white bread, that’s what she orders. Doesn’t matter if you wanted her to go for the filet.”

  As much as I hated to admit anything Chris said carried some sense, I grudgingly saw the point he was making. “Assuming I give you that point, it still doesn’t solve the temporary issue.”

  “No. That’s called being a fucking human being, doofus. Guarantees only come with power tools, and that’s if you pay extra. Also, only if you don’t lose the damn piece of paper they give you, which is totall
y bullshit. Because who really can keep track of that kind of thing for five years?”

  “Did you have a point?”

  “Yes. Every relationship has an expiration date, and you don’t get to know if it ends because of a fiery car crash or because she can’t stand that little moaning noise you make when you eat chocolate.”

  “I don’t...” I frowned. “I don’t moan when I eat.”

  “No,” Chris said, waving me off. “That was one of my examples. Bullshit too, if you ask me. But what’s important is that you find someone you’re willing to risk everything for even for a temporary ride. If she’s the right person, you’ll say, ‘fuck it,’ and give it all you’ve got, even if it could be over tomorrow. At least that’s how I see it.”

  I ran my tongue across my teeth, hating that of all people, Chris Rose was the one who was managing to change my mind. I refused to give him the full credit, though. The real factor was the image of Nola that kept popping up in my head. I could still see her standing there when I’d left after the elaborate dinner she’d planned. I could see her scurrying around in the kitchen, desperate to win my forgiveness. And every passing day had made me feel like more of a monster for walking out on her, even if I thought I was doing what was best for Ben.

  I got up, grabbing my jacket.

  “You going to go get her?” Chris asked with a knowing wink.

  “No,” I said. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  Then I may or may not look into getting a pair of tickets to Florida for Ben and I.

  37

  Nola

  I used to think being poor was the most stressful state of existence a person could occupy. Every time you wanted to purchase something, you needed to look at the thirty dollars in your bank account and try to project it out until your next paycheck. You needed to figure out if that box of dry noodles was going to cut into your funds for something essential you weren’t thinking of, like toilet paper or the water bill.

  My first month in Florida had taught me there was a more stressful state of existence than poverty. It was called debt.

  As the proud new renter of a commercial unit near the beach in Palm Coast, Florida, I had quickly learned what it cost to get a restaurant up and running. Here’s a hint. It cost more than the roughly zero dollars I had left after paying the deposit.

  So I’d stuck Griff in his best suit and dragged him around with me to go beg for business loans at every bank I could find. We made it as far South as Miami before a nice woman with owl-eyed glasses had finally taken pity on us and put in a good word with her boss.

  And just like that, I was now also the proud owner of a hundred thousand dollars in debt.

  Hooray.

  But it had been enough to get things rolling. I had used ovens, used refrigerators, used everything—in fact. If it was dented, slightly broken, or prone to misbehavior, I’d bought it at a steep discount and said, “good enough.”

  Because leaving New York and Jack behind had made my situation abundantly clear. I’d traded one life for another, and if I couldn’t make this one work, it’d be even harder than it already was to stop from living every moment in a crippling state of regret.

  It was a little past noon, and my second customers of the day rolled in.

  “Hi, welcome to Castille’s!” I channeled my years of waitressing to get the proper balance of excited and not overwhelming. The couple—a young pair who looked like they might be on one of their first dates—shot me a nervous glance and paused at the menus by the door.

  I’d had to use part of my loan to hire a legitimate cook who put together a menu for the restaurant. My belief that I could run a restaurant mostly came from working in them for so many years, and not from my ability as a cook. Still, I liked to think I had pretty good taste, and when I’d tried all the menu items my new cook, Pierre, put together, I thought I’d hit the lottery by finding him. He was fresh out of culinary school and trying to find a place to make his mark, and his passion was bread making.

  Great menu and food or not, we’d been open two weeks and the restaurant was hemorrhaging money I didn’t have.

  It didn’t matter. I had to make this work, because it was all I had left.

  Jack Kerrigan was probably in bed with some pretty young thing at that very moment. Just a tangle of sickeningly beautiful flesh and sweat and—ugh.

  “You okay?” Pierre asked as the couple turned and left the way they’d come in.

  I blew a cluster of hair out of my eyes only for it to fall right back where it had been, then sat at the stool in front of the register. “I’m sorry it has been so slow. Your menu is great, though. If people would just give us a chance, they’d realize it.”

  Pierre had olive skin and long dark hair he wore too much product in. He also tasted everything he made, so he was happily plump. He smiled dismissively. “Don’t worry about me. I’m here as long as you are.”

  It was as simple as that with him, and I felt deeply grateful for it. I really had gotten lucky finding him, but that appeared to be where my good luck as a restaurateur started and stopped.

  Griff’s school was close enough that he could walk, and he came moping in with his backpack dragging on the ground. He took a spot at the booth in the corner and laid his head in his arms.

  Seeing him like that broke my heart. I knew he was playing it up a little to make me feel bad for taking us away from New York, but I also knew he really was hurting beneath the act, too. I wanted to tell him how much I wished I could fix things with Jack, if not for my sake than his. But I didn’t have the heart to explain it was Jack who didn’t want me back.

  We had a depressing trickle of business for the evening shift, which, by my calculations, meant we earned roughly way less than we needed to cover the day’s expenses.

  I decided what I really needed was something to take my mind off Jack. Things were bad enough without me feeling like I’d lost the only guy I’d ever care about. So I took the deep, depressing dive into dating apps that night and quickly found someone who was willing to meet me at the restaurant tomorrow. We were closed Monday until the afternoon to give Pierre a chance to actually have time off, so it worked out perfectly. Griff was at school, and I’d have the restaurant to myself.

  I stared at the last message “Tyler” had sent me. “See you then.” Except he’d added a kissy face emoji at the end of it.

  Jack would probably have died before he would use an emoji. But I told myself not to be judgy. Maybe his finger had slipped. Or maybe that was just how people texted these days.

  I sighed.

  Starting this restaurant had been the dream I was too scared to hope for ever since I’d lost my parents. It was the thing that was supposed to give all the hard work and struggle meaning—because some day it might be possible.

  So why did it feel more like those days with Nick had been the dream and this was the nightmare I’d woken up in?

  38

  Jack

  I arrived in Florida Monday morning and got a rental car. The plan had originally been to leave Ben with Damon and Chelsea, but he’d caught wind of where I was going and who I planned to see. Convincing him not to come became hopeless, so I’d relented and brought him along.

  The little guy was so excited he wasn’t even drawing or doing anything in the backseat. I glanced in the rearview and saw him just sitting, eagerly tapping his fingers on his knees and watching out the window.

  “Does Miss Nola know we’re coming?”

  “Not exactly,” I said slowly.

  “Is it a surprise?”

  “Yes. Sort of.”

  “Why? Is it her birthday?”

  “No. I just wanted to come make sure Miss Nola is doing okay with her new job. Owning a restaurant is a big deal. Maybe we could help.”

  There was a long pause. “Do you two still not like each other?”

  “It wasn’t that we didn’t like each other,” I said. “Sometimes adults have to go different directions for complicated rea
sons.”

  Another long pause. “But you’re going to be together again after this?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I just would feel better if I knew she was happy here. But we have our own lives back in New York.”

  “Florida has baseball teams. I looked. Miami Marlins and Tampa Bay Rays. You could play for them and then our lives would be here.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “You’re the best pitcher in the league. I’ve heard Mr. Damon say it. When I’m at school, kids always pick the best player first when we’re making teams. That’s you, daddy. If you want to play for them, just ask.”

  I grinned. Childhood innocence was quite the thing. Kids had a way of asking the obvious questions adults were too jaded to even consider. It didn’t matter to Ben that I’d take a pay cut because both teams didn’t have the same type of ownership as the ones Damon usually targeted for me. They weren’t in a playoff window looking to take the next step, and they weren’t going to pay out the ass for someone like me because of it.

  But on the other hand, he was right. If I wanted it badly enough, I could make it happen. I’d still be earning millions, and the only other price would be the sour looks Damon would give me. I’d personally never cared who I played for, either. All I cared about was that feeling of being in the zone that came when I was on the mound. I wasn’t great at talking to people or making them smile. I wasn’t great at a lot of things, but I could throw a fucking ball hard as hell, and I could make people miss.

  It was brutally simple, but that’s what drew me to it again and again. The repetition. The certainty of it.

  So what would it matter if I played in Florida, instead of New York?

  I spent far longer mulling the possibilities over as I drove toward the restaurant. I’d played in front of tens of thousands of people and never felt nervous. But I did now. I thought about seeing her and about how much willpower it was going to take to stop from throwing all my convictions out the window.