Six Hot Single Dads. Lynne Marshall
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* *
AFTER NATE WAS sure that Kristi was down the hall and out of earshot, he dialed his mother’s number before he lost his nerve. While it rang, he let himself out through the patio doors and walked to his greenhouse, where there was no chance of being overheard. His mother would be full of questions and in case he needed to get creative, he’d rather Kristi not have a chance to eavesdrop.
“Hi, Mom,” he said when she answered. “Sorry I had to cut you off.”
“No problem. Are the girls okay?”
“Oh, yeah. They were just…ah…being a little too quiet so I thought I’d better check on them.”
“Of course. So, about Friday night. Your father and I are throwing a little cocktail party to celebrate Britt’s thirtieth. I wanted to give you enough notice so you can find a sitter for the girls. And of course now we’re hoping your friend can join us.”
He drew a deep breath and took the plunge. “I just talked to her and she’s free. So yes, we’ll be there.”
“Wonderful. You said her name is Kristi? We can’t wait to meet her. I’m glad we talked before I invited Evelyn’s daughter.”
So was he. “So, about the party. Do I…we…do we need to bring a gift?” He hated shopping for anything, groceries included, but he could always grab some flowers on his way there.
“It would be a brave man who showed up empty-handed at Britt’s birthday party.”
Flowers it is.
“We’re also having a family brunch on Sunday and of course you’ll bring the girls for that. Kristi, too.”
The fake date tally rose to three. And he would have to take another gift, and it couldn’t be flowers. “We’ll be there.”
Would Kristi agree to go? He hoped so. He had no more interest in meeting Evelyn’s daughter than he’d had any of the other daughters, sisters and second cousins twice removed of his mother’s friends. In the past six months she and his sister had introduced him to a string of women deemed to be suitable wife-and-mother material. Apparently they discussed his sorry existence with everyone they knew. He shuddered to think how those conversations played out, but he could well imagine they’d read like an ad on an online dating site.
Desperate widower seeks equally desperate single woman. Must love kids and dogs.
Not anymore. He and Kristi had an arrangement that was both mutually beneficial and blissfully uncomplicated.
“I should go, Mom. I’ll see you on Friday.”
“Tell Kristi we’re looking forward to meeting her.”
“She’s looking forward to meeting you and Dad, too,” he added because he knew that’s what she wanted to hear.
“See you on Friday. And Nate, we’re so glad you’re seeing someone. All any of us want is for you to be happy.”
Leaving him alone would make him happy. Taking Kristi to his sister’s birthday party would feel a lot like being under a microscope, but it couldn’t be as bad as any of the blind dates he had agreed to. Like the one he’d met for coffee and an awkward conversation after work last month. Or the woman he and the girls had met at the park one Saturday afternoon when the babysitter backed out at the last moment. That woman had made a valiant effort to find his daughters engaging, and failed dismally.
Back in the kitchen, he dropped the phone into its cradle and scrawled the time and dates of his sister’s two birthday parties on the magnetic calendar on the fridge door. Before he left for the market he should do a little tidying up in the kitchen. He stowed the girls’ breakfast dishes and his coffee mug in the dishwasher and wiped down the counter. He closed his laptop and lifted it up, uncovering the pageant information Alice had dropped off. Kristi’s arrival and his mother’s phone call had pushed all this nonsense out of his mind. He set his computer down, picked up the envelope and removed the contents. Fanning through the pages, he saw there were application forms, which Alice had conveniently completed, waivers that required his signature, a bio for each girl, and pages of information about the venue and answers to frequently asked questions. Alice had clipped a note to the sheets describing the contestants’ talent, pointing out that if the girls were taking ballet or piano lessons, they could also enter this part of the pageant. The head shots were at the bottom of the stack.
Nate set the application package on the counter and stared at the photographs. Molly and Martha stared back. Instead of their usual pigtails, which were the only way he knew to manage their flyaway blond curls, they each had a poufy updo with flower barrettes that matched clothes he’d never seen before. He took a closer look. Was that makeup? Had Alice actually put makeup on his kids, got them dolled up and taken them to a photographer? How did he not know about this? He remembered them saying they’d had pictures taken, but he assumed Alice and Fred had done them. Dammit, what was this woman thinking? This crossed a line.
He stuffed everything back in the envelope, fighting the urge to toss it in the fireplace with a match and a can of kerosene. That would be the easy way to resolve this. What he needed to do, what he should have done long ago, was sit down with Alice and Fred and remind them who called the shots here. He did. He was Molly and Martha’s father, he made the decisions and they needed to back off. Way the hell off.
He tucked the laptop and the envelope under his arm and strode through the house. For now he would put this stuff away and deal with his in-laws when he cooled off a little and wouldn’t say anything he’d regret. Then he would find Kristi and break the news that two fakes had turned into three, an idea that was sounding better by the minute.
* * *
“GOOD MORNING, CLAIRE.” Kristi settled into Nate’s creaky old desk chair with her BlackBerry in her hand and her notebook on her lap.
“Hi, Kristi. Sam’s on the line, too.”
“Hey, Sam. How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m finishing up at the Baxter house this morning.”
“That’s the place that needed the faux wood paneling stripped out of the living room?”
“That’s the one. And I’m happy to say the drywall underneath was in good shape, except for the nail holes. It’s been patched and primed, and I’m painting it this morning.”
“Big job.” Claire, who claimed she didn’t know one end of a hammer from the other, was always impressed by Sam’s work.
“The paneling was a lot easier to take down than wallpaper,” Sam said.
Kristi took that as an opportunity to shift the conversation to Nate’s place. “I was just thinking about you and wallpaper. I need some stripped from one of the bedrooms here in the McTavish house.”
Sam groaned.
“Just two walls.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. I promise.”
“You’re sure you can’t make it work?”
“Not a chance, and when you see it, I think you’ll agree.” The juxtaposition of the sports motifs with Nate’s old desk and scholarly-looking books was laughable. “It was a boy’s bedroom at one time, but the current owner uses it as an office.”
“Speaking of the owner…” Claire said.
Here we go. “What about him?”
“He’s very photogenic,” Sam said.
Kristi doodled in the margin of her notebook. “He is, isn’t he?”
Sam, usually so serious, was laughing. “You’ve photographed a lot of homes, but I’ve never seen you take pictures of the owners. Last night you sent three of this guy.”
“And we thank you for it.” Even Claire thought it was funny.
“I