“Fine.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t believe me—I can hear it in her voice—but I know she’s not going to question me any further. “Sent.”
“I’ll call you back.”
I hang up before she can say anything else.
Reaching into the briefcase I have sitting on the passenger seat, I pull out the tablet I keep stashed in there.
I open the email, waiting and waiting for it to download.
When I read the name on my phone, I didn’t connect Doris and Dory right away, but the name Doris felt familiar to me.
Then it hit me.
Last year when I decided I’d be moving out here, Wren’s best friend Drew told me about the woman who babysat her son. I remember thinking it was weird a nineteen-year-old girl was named Doris. That name is reserved for old ladies in bingo halls, not teenagers.
Drew gave me her information and I passed it on to Mel, not thinking about her again because I knew I wouldn’t even need someone until the following summer. Who knew if she would even still be around.
It didn’t cross my mind that Dory could be that Doris.
Her resume loads, and I gulp, sliding my finger over the screen.
Doris Lorraine Palmer. Born…
Her birth year written out in front of me makes me pause. She didn’t lie last night. Nothing we did was illegal. But on the other hand, she’s not even of legal drinking age yet. I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone I couldn’t buy a drink for.
Yet another thump.
“Shit.”
I mutter a whole string of curse words as I scour her resume.
If I’m being blunt, it’s pitiful.
She didn’t graduate high school but did receive her GED a year after dropping out. She’s been attending a community college for the last two years, and she’s currently working…
“One, two—three jobs?” I sigh. “Holy shit.”
Based on what’s in front of me, she must be busy every day of the week. There’s no way she’s not, which means her having last night off was a fluke.
Thank god for flukes.
Guilt racks me.
I shouldn’t be thankful for the fluke. It ruined her chance of getting this job, and we both know it. There is no possible way I could hire her now. We crossed the line you don’t cross, especially not with your child’s nanny.
But looking at her resume hurts my heart.
I’m not stupid. I see the way she looks at me. She thinks I’m pegs above her. Which, sure, economically I am…right now. I haven’t always been up this high, though.
In fact, Dory and I have much more in common than she realizes.
I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I scraped and clawed my way to the top, and I’ll be damned if I feel bad about doing so.
What I do feel bad about is stripping away the opportunity for someone else to have that same chance.
Maybe I don’t have to, though. We’re both adults. We can come to some sort of agreement about her taking the job and not let our past cloud that. We can be professional.
After all, last night was just a one-time thing. We already promised not to repeat it.
I’m a firm believer in keeping my promises.
My phone buzzes, and I already know it’s Mel before I look at the screen. She’s as impatient as I am sometimes. That’s why we get shit done.
MEL: Would you like me to cancel your next interview?
ME: Yes.
* * *
“How is it possible you look relaxed and even more keyed up at the same time?” Foster eyes me from his doorstep. “Take a wild one home last night?”
I grit my teeth. “Is my daughter here?”
“Somewhere.” He pushes off the doorjamb, and I follow him inside and into the kitchen, where there’s a big spread of sandwich supplies across the island counter.
Mike, Foster’s yellow Lab, lazily makes his way over to me for pets. Not far behind him is their chocolate Lab—because apparently they have a thing for them—Prison. He’s the opposite of Mike, all activity and tongue hanging lopsidedly out of his mouth.
He skids into me, nearly knocking me over with his weight.
“Hey, fellas,” I say, bending to give them my attention. They both get right up in my face, their wet noses nuzzling against me. Maybe I should get Kyrie a dog.
Speaking of my child… “Where’s Kyrie?”
“Who?”
I pin him with a glare, standing.
He doesn’t shrink away.
“A lot has changed since you last saw her. She changed her name,” he informs me. “We are now supposed to call her Your Majesty, Queen of the Tea Party Room.”
“Just the tea party room?”
He shrugs, dipping his knife into the mayonnaise. “She dreams, but not very big.”
“I’ll make sure I work on that with her.”
He nods, continuing to spread the condiment on the bread I hope he knows to cut the crust off of.
“You have to do both sides,” I tell him as he moves on to loading the sandwich with everything Kyrie likes—cheese.
Yep, just cheese and mayonnaise.
Kid is weird.
“Trust me, Her Majesty has already given me very specific instructions. Three pieces of cheese and mayo on both sides. No crust. Cut into squares because she likes to ‘act fancy’ while she eats her finger foods.”
I laugh and take a seat at the island. “Just think, in a couple years, Nellie is going to be running this kingdom.”
“Don’t remind me,” he mutters.
“Did you at least have fun with my hellion last night?”
“Between her snoring—which is absurd for a seven-year-old—and Nellie crying, there was hardly any sleep to be had.” A smile tugs at his lips. “But it was so much fun. We built a fort in the living room and watched roughly eighty billion hours of princess movies.”
I glance that way. Place is a wreck, though I didn’t even notice it before. Probably something to do with all my years of living in disaster. I’m blind to it now.
“I’ll make sure she helps clean up.”
Foster nods, like he already knew that would be the case.
On one particularly rough night when Wren was pregnant, Foster called me from a locked bathroom, crying because his wife was in pain and he had no idea how to help her. He admitted he was scared, and I told him it was normal to be scared.
“What if I fuck it up, Porter? What if my baby hates me?”
“You’re going to fuck up. You’re gonna fuck up a lot, man. It happens. Just as long as you keep trying and keep being there, it will all work out.”
I can picture him pulling at his hair, sitting on the edge of the tub, trying to be quiet so he doesn’t disturb Wren. “I don’t know how you do this shit, dude. The baby isn’t even here yet and I want to give up.”
“Some days, I don’t know how I do it either.”
He sighs quietly. “I hope I’m half as good of a father as you are.”
I didn’t tell him then—and never will—but I was crying too.
It was my favorite moment we’ve ever had together, and we were miles apart.
“I assume the girls are in the tea party room?” I ask.
He nods. “Yep.”
“Were you kicked out again?”
This time he laughs sardonically. “Your daughter might not dream big, but damn is she whip smart. When we got back from the store last night—two new princess dresses in hand, mind you—she let me in for teatime. I was in there for all of one minute before she shoved me back out.”
I try so hard to hide my smirk. “Really?”
“As she was literally shoving me out the door, she informed me that all she said was I could join teatime, but she never ‘pecified’ how long she had to let me stay in the room.” He uses air quotes and all, rolling his eyes. “You’re raising a damn businesswoman, all right. Sneaky little shit.”
The laugh bursts free, and Foster lau
nches a slice of cheese at me.
“Stop laughing at your tiny evil genius offspring!”
“I can’t. I’m just so proud of her.”
“Fucker.”
He launches another piece of cheese and this time I catch it, taking a big bite out of it. “Thank you.”
He glowers at me, then resumes making lunch, this time moving on to something for him and Wren based on the adding-more-than-just-cheese-and-mayo aspect.
I watch him, but my mind soon begins to drift to other things.
Other people.
Dory.
I don’t know why I told Mel to cancel my interview with the other applicant. Part of me thinks it’s because I feel connected to Dory, not just because we’ve seen each other naked, but because of our similarly colored pasts.
The other part of me knows it’s because I want to see her again.
I can’t not see her again.
“I can hear you thinking. What’s on your mind?”
I scratch at the hair lining my jaw. I don’t usually keep my face this covered, but I figured maybe since I’m in a new place, I’ll try a new look.
Besides, Dory didn’t seem to mind the way it felt against her skin last night.
I groan at my line of thinking, annoyed with myself. Maybe talking this out with someone else can help me come up with a solution.
“You sure the girls are occupied?” I ask Foster.
He glances up at the seriousness in my tone, studying me hard, then holds his finger up. “Be right back.”
He takes the plate of sandwiches—one for Kyrie and one for Wren—and heads down the hall. I peek around the corner just as he raps his knuckles against the door of the nursery.
“Your Majesty?”
“Yes?” I hear my daughter’s dainty voice.
“I have your lunch, Your Majesty.”
“You may enter, squire.”
Squire? I mouth.
He rolls his eyes. Your kid.
He hurries into the room and I hear him coo at his own daughter before popping back out, making sure to close the door behind him.
“We’re good for about fifteen minutes,” he says as he re-enters the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“Can I get a water?”
He goes to the cabinet beside the fridge and pulls down a glass…and a bottle of booze, offering it to me.
I shake my head. “Not fire water. Regular water. I gotta drive.”
“Right.” He nods. “That makes sense.”
“But I will take that bottle back home with me.”
“Bullshit you will, Mr. Richie Rich. Buy your own booze.”
He fills the glass with ice and water, sliding it over, then chucking a coaster my way. “Wren’s rules.”
“Such a diligent husband.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, ass pressed up against the counter behind him, arms crossed over his chest. “Tell me what’s going on, man.”
I chug half the glass of water and sigh, letting my shoulders drop.
“I fucked up last night.”
“I thought you were going home to unpack. How’d you fuck that up? Whatever it is you broke, you can replace it.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t go home right away.”
His eyes widen and he stands up straighter, starting to catch on to what I’m telling him.
“You hooked up with someone?”
I nod.
He lets out an excited squeal and I scowl.
“Dude, keep it down.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, rubbing his hands together, practically bouncing on his heels. “I just can’t fucking believe this.”
“You’re acting like you’re the one who got laid.”
“So you went all the way?” His brows shoot up. “You wildcat.”
“I’m about two seconds from punching you.”
He puffs his chest out. “I could take you.”
“Anyway,” I say, “it turns out I kind of know her.”
His brows crush together. “How? You’ve only been here two weeks.”
“Last night was my first night meeting her.”
“Did you read every fucking Dr. Seuss book on the way over here or some shit? You’re talking in riddles and it’s really starting to piss me off. Just spill it already.”
I gulp down the rest of my water, and he watches my every move.
When I finish, I center the glass perfectly on the coaster.
“It was Dory.”
“You fucked a fish?”
I pinch my nose. “Doris.”
“Okay…”
“She is—or was—Drew’s sitter.”
“So?”
“I had interviews today to hire a new nanny.”
It hits him, and his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh.” He barks out a laugh, slapping the countertop. “You bagged your nanny, didn’t you?”
I groan, dropping my head onto the counter, thumping it a few times.
Maybe if I keep hitting my head against things, the memories of last night will crack and fade and I’ll no longer have images of a naked Dory burned into my brain.
Thump.
“This is amazing.” Foster continues to laugh. “Just absolutely perfect.”
“It is not.”
“You never do the one-night-stand thing, haven’t since your dumb ass slept with your intern and she went all crazy on you. You go out and score for the first time in forever and this is what happens?” He wipes at his eyes. “Priceless.”
“I really hate you.” I say it into the countertop, but I know he hears me.
Maybe this is what I get for going against my better judgment and dipping my toes into the wild bachelor life most people assume I lead. I know how people see me. They think because of my face and my body—I’m not arrogant; I just know I work hard for my body and own a mirror—I’m inviting girls into my bed left and right. I’m sure my padded wallet plays into that assumption as well.
But that’s not the case. I’ve never been into the one-night thing. I’m more of a long-term guy, which is apparently a wild concept in this day and age.
“You do not,” Foster says. He finally gets the last of his giggling out and clears his throat. “So what are you going to do?”
I lift my head. “I don’t know. I told Mel to cancel my other interview for the afternoon.”
“Because you need to process this or because you’re going to offer Doris the job?”
“Dory. Call her Dory. Doris makes it sound like I banged my grandmother.”
He presses his lips together, trying to hold his laughter in for my sake. “Are you going to offer the job to Dory?”
“I’m not sure. I want to,” I admit. “I really fucking want to, but don’t you think it’s wildly inappropriate given what…transpired between us?”
“You mean you picking her up at Slice?”
“Foster.”
Another held-in laugh.
Asshole.
“Is she a good fit for the job?”
“Yes.” I say it immediately. “She’s funny and spunky and I know Kyrie would love her. She also sent in this incredibly heartfelt cover letter with her resume that really made me feel like she was made for helping children.”
“Are you saying this as the guy who was balls deep inside her or as her future employer?”
Both. “Employer.”
“Then I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Really?”
“No, you idiot. There’s a whole hell of a lot wrong with it. It’s going to be really fucking awkward. But, you can both rise above it. This is a small town, and unless you plan to pay for someone to move here, Doris”—I glare and he holds his hand up—“sorry, Dory is probably your best candidate.”
I nod.
“Plus…” He shrugs as he begins to clean up the mess from lunch. “I’m sure she could use some new digs.”
“What?”
“That’s youngin’ talk for a place to live.
”
“I’m not that much older than you,” I grouse. “I know what digs means. I just want you to elaborate.”
“She lives in the same apartment building Drew used to live in. That information doesn’t mean anything to you, but I’ve seen it with my own eyes and can assure you it’s not the best place to live.”
That makes the weight in my gut feel heavier.
“I also know she busts her ass for extra cash whenever she can. It’s weird because she’s the one who offers to watch Drew’s son. It’s not Drew asking her. I think babysitting might be how she buys her groceries.”
Fuck heavy—this shit is crushing.
“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad about what happened, because I know you and I know you wouldn’t have compromised that opportunity for anyone, but I just think you should know.” He looks at me meaningfully. “In case you’re thinking you can’t be an adult and work with her.”
I receive his unspoken message.
She needs you.
And he’s right.
Dory does need me. Well, not me specifically, especially if we’re going to keep things professional, but a break—she could definitely use one of those. It was obvious in how tired she looked last night, and that was before I took her home and kept her up all night.
It just so happens I’m in the position to offer her one.
“Can you not tell Wren about this?”
“Not tell Wren what?”
The woman herself appears around the corner, nearly empty plate in hand.
“Kyrie full?” I nod toward the leftover sandwich.
“Someone missed some crust.” Wren gives her husband a dirty look. “What am I not supposed to know?”
This time she directs her question at me.
I flick my eyes toward Foster, begging him to keep quiet. He gives me a quick nod.
“Porter had a sex dream about you.”
Wren nearly drops the plate she’s holding, barely catching it before it clatters to the floor. Her bright eyes find mine, her cheeks washed in a crimson red.
I shake my head, not even surprised that’s what the moron went with. “I regret moving here.”
Foster laughs. “You do not. You’re glad you’re so close to your best friend and his lady. Even though you secretly lust after her, he trusts you to not try to get with his main squeeze.”
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 6