Page 1 of The Single Dad

1

ADRIAN

“Yes? Can I help— Noelle? Is that you?”

Breath chokes in my throat, and my head spins.

I know my best friend’s sister, Noelle, is coming, but I remember her as the freckled-faced, chubby-cheeked ten-year-old next door who kept tagging along with me and my friends. More specifically, me and her brother, Peter. I remember how she would hide outside his bedroom door, drawing in her journal or doing her homework or braiding her Barbie doll’s hair.

It wasn’t because she liked to eavesdrop and report us to her parents, but more like she didn’t want to be left out. Noelle didn’t have a lot of friends at the time, so she always hung out with her brother’s buddies. I used to stay there a lot after school to play games, so we’d always see each other. She even liked to bring me snacks. Me, not her brother, but me. That always made me laugh.

Those are my memories of her.

So when she shows up at my front door, a twenty-five-year-old who’s about to become my son’s live-in nanny, I’m equally confused and disoriented. Gone is the awkward Noelle who’s always trying to keep up with us, and in her place is a grown woman. Not just any grown woman. A curvy, beautiful woman. And definitely not awkward. Definitely not the Noelle I used to know.

She’s grown. Those pale green eyes are full of amusement and knowing as she catches me staring. If someone told me years ago that one day I’d be staring at Noelle, slack-jawed and a little nervous, I would have laughed. I never saw her that way. But like I said, this is a different Noelle. A warning would have been nice.

Her copper hair that she used to cut above her ears now cascades in waves over her shoulders. I’m thoroughly unprepared for the barrage of images shuffling in my mind. Images of that same hair wrapped around my fist as I tug or yank it, however she prefers. Of how her hair would look good fanning on my pillow, how her full red lips would feel against mine, how good she would feel around me, if she’s responsive, if she likes to be dominant or be dominated.

Ah, fuck.

The world tilts, and I have to grab the door frame for support. I wasn’t prepared to meet her … or this version of her.

Goddammit.

When did this happen? When did she grow into this person who made my heart pound in my chest and my throat dry? When did I have a weak hold on my self-control? Why do I feel an instant deep longing in my bones?

Noelle flips her hair over her shoulder, and her face splits into a smile. No. This isn’t the Noelle of old, all right. The confidence, the sexuality radiating from her. This is the Noelle who can make every head turn and wish they were either her or with her. This is the Noelle every man wants to marry.

My stomach flips at the realization, and I’m drowning. Completely, unspeakably, and utterly lost with one look from her.

“Hi, Adrian! Missed me?”

That playful tone is the only giveaway that somewhere under this woman is the girl who enjoyed my company and laughed at my jokes, no matter how awful they were.

My gaze drops to her mouth just briefly, and my blood rushes south. This is dangerous. She’s off-limits and untouchable. Just thinking of her this way feels wrong, like her brother can show up behind her and smack me in the face for letting my mind stray into forbidden territory.

Something rushes to the surface. Something raw, intense, primal, forgotten, and long buried.

“God, look at you. Come in, Noelle. The house is a bit of a mess, by the way. I just picked up Tomtom from preschool, and our place is never clean when he’s around.” Tomtom is my five-year-old boy. The center of my universe and the sole reason for my happiness these past few years. “Actually, you know what, the house is never clean. Let’s leave it at that.”

Noelle chuckles as I take the small luggage from her. “Wow, Adrian Grant. The guy who always had girls trailing him, offering him snacks, and giving him flowers. Now a single dad with a kid. Who would have thought?”

I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow at her, feeling that familiarity between us bloom into something else. “Not really surprising since I’m already thirty-two. High school was decades ago.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a pretty old man. How are your knees and back, by the way? I have a peppermint balm you can use.” She has the audacity to laugh, a rich, full sound that reverberates in the living room.

I snort, masking how my stomach tightens at the way she calls me that. “Old man? That’s bold coming from someone who used to have braces and trip over her own feet. I mean, remember when your dad put all those anti-slip tapes all over your stairs so you wouldn’t end up with a concussion every time you came down?”

She rolls her eyes. “That was years ago. I’m perfectly graceful now.”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

Before she can respond, tiny feet thump against the stairs, and my kid barrels into the room, barefoot and in his favorite ratty dinosaur pajamas. His hair sticks up in every direction, and there’s a red Sharpie smudge on his cheek. No idea how it got there or that we even own a red Sharpie. He probably doesn’t even know it’s even there. After all, he’s supposed to be in bed now.

“Hi!” Tomtom chirps, grinning up at her.

I try not to show my surprise. Tomtom is not the friendliest kid. He’s painfully shy. He doesn’t come up to people he hasn’t met and introduce himself.

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