Heartless: A Small Town Single Dad Romance(2)

I grunt. “What about someone from another town? Someone who doesn’t know our family. And all my shit. Someone who hasn’t slept with one of my brothers.” My nose wrinkles. “Or my dad.”

Harvey makes a little choking sound, almost a laugh. “I’ve been single for decades, son. Mind your business.”

Summer’s cheeks pinken, but I don’t miss the smile on her lips as she turns to peer out the window.

“I could just do it, you know,” Harvey adds. And not for the first time.

“No.”

“Why not? He’s my grandson.”

“Exactly. That’s what your relationship should remain. You’ve done enough helping with him for his entire life. Your back, your knees—you need a rest. You can still have your fun days with him any



time you want. But you don’t need to run yourself into the ground with long hours, early mornings, and possibly late nights. It’s not fair, and I’m not taking advantage of you that way. End of story.”

Then I turn back to my future sister-in-law. “Summer, can’t you just do it? You’d be perfect. Luke loves you. You don’t like me. You already live on the ranch.”

I see her jaw twitch. She’s getting sick of me asking her, but I don’t want to leave my boy with just anyone. He’s a handful. More than one handful. And I can’t accomplish everything I need to do on this ranch this summer without someone here to take care of him. Someone I can trust to keep him safe.

“I’m also a new business owner, and these summer months are my busiest. It’s not an option. Stop asking. It makes me feel bad. Because I love you and Luke. But we’re getting tired of bending over backwards interviewing people just to make zero progress with you.”

“Okay, fine,” I grumble. “I’ll settle for someone just like you, then.”

Her head quirks in response to that, her body stilling. “I might have an idea.” She brings a finger up to tap it against her lips, and Harvey turns to her, eyes full of questions.

He looks so damn hopeful. If I’m tired of the saga that is finding a new nanny for the summer, then Harvey must be downright exhausted.

My eyebrows knit together. “Who?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Does she have experience?”

Summer stares at me, wide, dark eyes giving nothing away. “She has experience with handling rowdy boys, yes.”

“Will she fall in love with me?”

Summer snorts in the most unladylike way. “No.”

Her certainty should probably offend me, but I’m not bothered by it. I push off the counter and twirl a finger around. “Perfect. Let’s do it up,” I tell her as I march out the back door toward my house and away from the clusterfuck that is finding a capable nanny for a five-year-old boy.

I just need someone to get in and get out. Someone professional and complication free.

It’s only two months. It shouldn’t be that hard.

I count in my head the last time I had sex.

Or at least I try.

Two years? Three years? Was it that one time in January when I spent a night in the city? How long ago was that even? What was that chick’s name again?

The woman in front of me shifts, one hip popping out, full ass rounding out her skinny jeans in a way that should be illegal. The under-cheek crease is almost as alluring as the swing of her copper hair as it swishes across her slender back.

She’s distracting. Tight shirt tucked into tight jeans. Every fucking curve on display.

I lose count entirely. It’s the sight of her in front of me in line for coffee that has me counting anyway.

The takeaway here is I had sex so far back now that I don’t even remember. But there’s no forgetting why I haven’t even let myself consider members of the opposite sex.

A kid I’m raising on my own. A ranch I’m running on my own. A million responsibilities. Too little time. Not enough sleep.

Time for myself hasn’t been a thing for a long time. I just didn’t realize how long.

“What can I get you, ma’am?”

The woman in front of me laughs, and it reminds me of the chimes on my back porch when the wind dances through them—melodic and airy sounding.

What a laugh.

It’s a laugh I’d recognize. I’ve definitely never met this woman. I’d remember it because I know everyone in Chestnut Springs.

“Ma’am? I don’t know how I feel about that,” she says, and I swear I can hear the smile in her voice. I wonder if her lips match the rest of her.

Ellen, who runs Le Pamplemousse, the little gourmet coffee shop in town, smiles at her. “Well, what would you have me call you? I usually recognize every face that walks in my door, but not yours.”

Ah, it’s not just me. I lean forward a little, hoping to catch the name. But one worker chooses this exact moment to grind coffee. Which just makes me grind my teeth.

I don’t know why I want to know this woman’s name. I just do. I’m from a small town, I’m allowed to be snoopy. And that’s all this is.

When the grinding noise stops, Ellen’s wrinkled face lights up. “What a pretty name.”

“Thank you,” the woman in front of me replies, before adding, “How come this place is called The Grapefruit?”