Page 7 of Big Bad Single Wolf Dad

“Aw, thank you, honey. Will you be a big boy and behave for the babysitter?” I ask him, checking the clock and wondering when she’ll get here. Ethan nods slowly.

“Will you be home when I wake up?” he asks tentatively. At six years old, he’s only moderately comfortable with babysitters, and I know he’s not thrilled to know I won’t be putting him to bed tonight.

“Of course, I will!” I reply, kneeling to give him a hug.

“Where are you going, anyway?” Mia asks. “You never go out unless it’s for a work thing. And you don’t look like you’re going to a work thing,” Mia says with a crooked smirk, crossing her arms. Nothing gets past this kid.

“I’m going to meet a new friend,” I say carefully. Ethan looks unphased, but Mia seems to understand the euphemism. Sometimes I wish she wasn’t quite so mature for seven.

“Really? Oh,” she says. She looks nervous, and I don’t blame her. “Do you think he’s good enough?” Mia asks. She’s always been so protective of me.

And while I appreciate her feeling that way, she needs to understand that I’m the adult and can make these decisions.

I can, can’t I? Yes. Yes, I can. And I’m deciding to go on one date with an incredibly handsome and filthy rich werewolf.

What could go wrong?

The babysitter arrives, covered in sweat and stuttering about a broken-down car. I ask her to just call me for a ride next time and head over to Greg’s place. It’s still fancy, of course, but looks so much different without the party. After parking in the massive driveway, a man in a very nice suit welcomes me and escorts me down a brick path to the backyard.

He leaves me there, and I suddenly feel like I’ve made a huge mistake. This place is enormous, and I can’t see Greg anywhere. Is he planning to hunt me for sport? But then I step inside, and everything changes.

My eyes widen at the twinkling little lights hanging all around me. The air is thick with the smell of flowers. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of trickling water is accompanied by a gentle orchestra of string music.

“Do you like it?” Greg asks. I spin around to see him standing in front of a gorgeous wooden gazebo, holding two flutes of something bright and sparkling. “I don’t get much time to spend out here myself, so I thought I’d have the space made over with you in mind.”

I look at him in shock. “Me?” My gaze shifts to the details around me. The flowers are color coordinated in little bunches of pink and yellow. The string lights make a tapestry above us like they were woven together with purpose.

“Surprise,” he says, offering me one of the flutes. I accept it, and we clink the crystal glasses together. The champagne tastes smooth and just a little sweet.

“So…how much did you pay to pull this off?” I ask suspiciously. It must’ve cost a ton to pull this together so quickly.

“Oh, not much, really. I did most of it myself.”

I choke on the champagne and force myself to not spit it back into the glass like a moron. “Yourself?”

“I had a little help,” he says, looking up at the lights with an air of frustration. “But yes, I put this together. You still haven’t told me what you think.”

I take his arm and let him escort me further down the cobblestone path toward the gazebo lined with exotic plants and aromatic blooms.

“I think it’s lovely,” I state. Then, I notice something. “It smells…a lot like champagne in here. Like, a whole lot.”

“There was a little accident an hour ago. Never mind that though, dinner is served!” Greg says quickly, offering me a seat at the small table in the middle of the gazebo. I accept it, as well as the basil cream peppercorn pasta topped with shrimp and parmesan he serves me. I finish my champagne quickly so he can pour me the white wine picked to perfectly pair with this dish.

It’s phenomenal.

“Are you going to claim you made this as well?” I ask coyly.

Greg chuckles. “Absolutely not. I pay a man very well so he can cook while I build. It’s very much worth every cent.”

I have to agree with him there.

“So, how are your kids?” I ask. The way he approaches raising his three children is the most important aspect of any potential date. If he simply drops them off with a nanny at all times, this is where the buck stops.

“Oh, fantastic. They have a sleepover with a family friend tonight. His kids are a couple of years older, but they get along with mine just fine. Ollie still has some trouble sleeping away from home. He hates going to bed without a story from me.”

My heart flutters at the implied nightly storytime.

“What about yours? They’re both old enough to be in school, right?” Greg asks. Oh, did he open a box that can’t be shut again. I love talking about my kids, to the point that sometimes I forget to stop.

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