Brooke could tell that something was bothering Nick, something that wasn’t bothering him before he went to see his dad. The two of them were sitting at the kitchen table, eating the amazing chili and corn bread Nick had made. Of course the man cooked. She barely knew Nick Garroway, but she would not be exaggerating by calling him a domestic god. He didn’t look the part; he looked more like he should be on a horse or out patrolling the streets. But he sure was the part.
I have a manny, she thought, smiling to herself. Oh, that’s my manny, she imagined herself saying if someone asked who the hunk holding her twins was. Meet my manny. She almost laughed out loud at how crazy it sounded to her own ears.
Well, Nick Garroway might be the twins’ new manny, but she loved bath time and readying the babies for bed with fresh pajamas and stories, so she’d insisted on taking care of that, and he’d unexpectedly made them dinner. To come downstairs to the aroma of chili almost made her think she’d dreamed this whole arrangement. When was the last time someone had cooked for her? He’d even set out the cloth napkins. She’d forgotten she actually had those.
“Everything go okay at your dad’s?” she’d dared to ask, not sure if she was prying.
He pushed his chili around on the plate. “Yes and no.” She almost lost her appetite as he explained how his father and brother thought he’d betrayed them by enlisting in the army instead of working toward a business degree and joining Garroway Paper, and how his brother had explicitly blamed him for making his frail mother sicker. How his relationship with his father and brother had never recovered from that. “But now he’s engaged to a yoga teacher who appreciates the origin of paper, and I guess happiness and her more zen qualities rubbed off on him, because he practically welcomed me home with open arms. He even invited me to dinner tomorrow night.”
Her mouth dropped open and she felt her eyes going wide. “Wait a minute. My prospective new client is a yoga instructor. She invited me to dinner tomorrow night, at her fiancé’s house, to meet the two of them and discuss plans.” She grabbed her phone and checked her calendar for the note she’d made. “Is your father’s address 249 Applewood Road?”
He smiled but seemed hardly surprised. That was life in a small town. “Guess you’ll be seeing where I grew up. Oh, and you’ll meet my brother, who hates me.”
“Hates you? That’s a pretty strong word.”
Nick nodded, his blue eyes narrowing. “Trust me. He does. Over a decade later, he still blames me for my mother’s death.”
You’d never know it from Nick’s expression, but somehow she could tell that he was deeply affected by it and had been all those years. She wondered if he blamed himself too. She sure hoped not.
He dug into his chili and barely looked up, so she sensed he wanted to change the conversation, that maybe he’d decided he’d said too much. She took a piece of his delicious corn bread and lathered it with butter. Pure comfort.
“Feel free to make corn bread every single day,” she said. “It’s so good.”
He smiled. “Army cook’s recipe. I begged for it. I’ve never been much of a cook, but I had to know how to make Doogie’s chili and corn bread. You’ll soon see that my chef skills are limited to about five basic dishes.”
“Eating home-cooked food that I don’t have to make when I can’t afford to get takeout?” she said. “Sounds very good to me.”
He eyed her, then took a piece of corn bread himself. “Dream Weddings isn’t doing well?”
Brooke frowned, her appetite disappearing for good. “Well, it’s not what it was when my grandmother was here. She was Dream Weddings. Everyone knew Aggie Timber and she knew everyone. My gram was very warm and friendly, a real schmoozer, the type who’d talk to the person behind her and in front of her in line at the grocery store. I’m on the quieter side and kind of shy. I don’t have her larger-than-life personality.”
“Do you need that to plan someone’s dream wedding, though?”
“No. But sometimes I wish I were more like her. One of my competitors is. She’s raking in a lot of new engagements. And weddings are a big tourist draw here in Wedlock Creek, as I’m sure you know.”
“Because of the chapel, right? Some legend about multiples?”
She nodded, picturing the beautiful century-old white chapel in the center of town. “According to the legend, those who marry at the chapel will have multiples in some way, shape or form, whether through luck, science, marriage or happenstance.”
He nodded. “Not sure I believe in the legend, but we definitely have a lot of multiples in Wedlock Creek. Including your two.”
“And I didn’t even get married in the chapel. Or at all,” she added. She hadn’t figured on getting pregnant at twenty-five and turning twenty-six as a single mother. But as her gram always said, Expect the unexpected. It was Aggie Timber’s motto for running her business. You plan an outdoor wedding and the big day arrives, raining cats and dogs. What’s the plan B? Always have a plan B and you’re fine.
In Brooke’s case, a plan B for how to raise twins without a husband, or any family at all, was to make family: good friends, good neighbors, good nanny. But Brooke’s two closest friends had moved out of town before her grandmother had died, and her neighbors were busy with their own lives and their own children. So what was left was a good nanny. And right now, thanks to Nick, she had that.
“Have you planned a lot of weddings at the chapel?” he asked.
“It’s split half and half. Some couples want nothing to do with multiple babies at once. Some hope for quadruplets.” She smiled. “Anyway, I like believing in legends and magic and fate and all that, so I’m a sucker for the legend. Something is definitely in the water in Wedlock Creek. We have more multiples here than just about anywhere. So brides from far away who believe in the legend hire wedding planners in town. I’ve had clients from all over the country.”
“Well, I have no doubt my dad’s fiancé will sign with you instead of your chattier competition. I hear you have an in with the son of the groom.” He grinned, and for a moment she lost herself in the way his entire handsome face lit up. But then his expression darkened, as if remembering that being the son of the groom came with its own problems.
“I just realized something, Nick. The dinner with your dad and Cathy is work for me, so I’ll need my manny to watch the twins. But my manny needs to be at the dinner too.”
“Let’s bring them. Babies have a way of calming people down.”
“Or enraging them with their cries and poop explosions. You witnessed that firsthand.”
He laughed and ate the last of his chili. “That’s a good point. I’ll ask my dad. He loves babies, so I’m sure it’s no problem.”
The doorbell rang, and Brooke headed over to answer it just as a cry came from upstairs. She waited a heartbeat to see if Mikey would self-soothe back to sleep. But the cry came louder. Then louder.
The doorbell likely hadn’t woken up Mikey, but Brooke was struck by the notion that she could actually answer the door, because Nick was heading up the steps to check on the screecher. By the time Brooke pulled open the door, the crying stopped, which meant Nick had Mikey in his arms and was sitting with him in the glider.
On the doorstep were two of her nosiest neighbors, one from across street and one from two houses down on that side, standing there with strange smiles and peering past her.
“Evening, Brooke,” said Amy Landon. The middle-aged redhead gazed past Brooke’s shoulder as if expecting a naked man to be standing there. “We heard you have a new male nanny—a live-in—so we thought we’d come say hi and meet him so we know who’s coming and going from your house.”
Her gram used to call Amy their own personal Mrs. Kravitz—a real busybody.
“Someone said he looks like he’s part of a motorcycle gang,” Erica Jarello added, also peering past her.
Brooke almost smiled at that one. She was more likely to envision Nick on a horse, working cattle, but she could see him in a black leather jacket, revving a Harley. Oh yes, she could.
“Nick,” she called behind her. “Some neighbors would love to meet you.”
He came down the stairs with Mikey, bright-eyed and holding a little finger puppet, propped up in his arms. “Hello,” he said with a smile to the women. “I’m Nick Garroway. You know Mikey, of course.”
Brooke watched both women stare up at him, practically licking their lips. The man was unusually attractive—she’d attest to that. Tall and lean and muscular in those low-slung dark jeans and a blue T-shirt.
Amy feigned interest in the baby for a second before dashing her eyes back up to Nick. “That little sweetie—of course, we do,” she said, then introduced herself and Erica before Brooke could even get a word in. Both their hands lingered in Nick’s for the handshake. “We live just across the street.”
“It’s very nice to meet you both.” A high-pitched shriek came from upstairs. “Ah, that’s Morgan, who just discovered he’s alone in the nursery,” Nick said. “I’d better go check on the little guy.”
Brooke would swear both women literally swooned. Of course, it would be all over town the minute she closed the door behind them that Brooke Timber had a male nanny. Tongues would begin wagging about whether or not they were “involved.” Fine, let them talk. Brooke, meanwhile, would enjoy her home-cooked chili and corn bread, and the novelty of watching someone with rippled muscles changing diapers and playing peekaboo with her children. If the neighbors would begin wondering if something was going on between them, Brooke herself would enjoy thinking about that very subject too. She might not be remotely interested in anything to do with romance—men said one thing and then did another—but fantasizing about kissing Nick? No harm there. It wasn’t like she’d ever do it. Look But Don’t Touch was a motto for a reason.
Amy and Erica peered behind Brooke again, clearly hoping for something juicy to see or hear to spread around the neighborhood, but there was no sign of the manny. They smiled at Brooke, and Amy said, “Well, that’s sure a change from the usual!” and then the two women finally turned and left.
Nick came back downstairs, this time with Morgan in his arms. “Mikey’s eyes drooped halfway up the stairs. He’s asleep again. This one?” he said, hoisting up Morgan. “He got lonely up there by himself and asked me for a story, so I’ll tell him one about the time a lizard tried to steal my lunch and then put him back down.”
“Oh, he asked for a story, did he?” Brooke said with a smile.
“I can read him. Mikey too. For example, just before, Mikey made it clear he wanted a back rub, so I gave him one before laying him down and wham—asleep.”
“How are you so good with them?” Brooke asked in wonder.
He shrugged. “Probably because I’m just passing through. Novelty makes everything easy and fun. Doesn’t it.” Statement, not a question.
Damn straight it did. Will Parker’s good-looking face appeared in her mind. She’d been a novelty to him and he’d made her feel like she was everything. But he’d just been passing through too.
Nick might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water on her head. Then again, that was a good thing. She needed to keep being reminded that he wasn’t her fantasy come to life. He wasn’t the man of her dreams. The man of her dreams wasn’t just passing through. And anyway, there was no man of her dreams, because she didn’t believe in any of that anymore. People did one thing and said another. Said one thing and did another. She could only trust herself. Once burned so badly, a million times shy.
And with her life, there was no room for anything but what was already there: her children and her business.
“About the neighbors,” Nick said, gesturing toward the door. “Is my living here going to be a problem for you?”
“Tongues wagging?” Brooke asked. “Let them. I’m used to being the focus of gossip. I went from being single, quiet Brooke to suddenly being visibly pregnant and, boy, did that spark a lot of gossip. I actually overheard one of the neighbors who was at the door, talking about me in Java Jane’s one day, wondering who the father was and if he’d abandoned me.” She shook her head. “I wanted to poke my head around the column blocking me from view and say, ‘Why, yes he did, Amy.’” All that old hurt and embarrassment—more at her own stupidity for falling for all that nonsense Will had sputtered—came over her, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Happens to the best of us,” he said.
She eyed him. “Including you?”
“Including me—for the craziest reasons that often have nothing to do with us. Know what I mean?”
She shrugged. “That it’s not always personal? If that’s what you mean, sorry but it’s baloney. It’s always personal. I wasn’t this or that enough.”
“To one particular guy, at one particular time,” he said. “In the space-and-time continuum, Brooke, you’re everything.”
“The space-and-time what?” She laughed. “I have no idea what you mean and totally do at the same time.”
“I’m just saying that everyone gets hurt. Victoria’s Secret supermodels. The Pope. Little kids. No one is immune, no matter how gorgeous or how good or innocent. And it very often has nothing to do with you and everything to do with someone else. No immunity.”
“Including you,” she said with a bit of a prompt in her tone, hoping he’d elaborate on his own love troubles.
But he didn’t. Rats. She wanted to know the juicy details. Plus she wondered who his type was, what kind of woman could win his heart.
“Yeah,” was all he said, then did a one-handed peekaboo with Morgan. “I see you,” he said in a singsong way to the baby, who gurgled happily at him.
I want to know more about you, she thought. I want to know everything about you.
But she didn’t want to pry. If he wanted to talk about his ex, he would. She certainly didn’t want to talk about hers.
“I think this little one is ready for bed again,” he said. “There’s another big yawn. Tell you what, Brooke. Let’s me settle him back in his crib and then I’ll take care of the kitchen.”
“I’ll put him back,” she said, reaching for him. “I know I need a nanny for when I’m working, but I’m certainly not working right now.” She cuddled Morgan in her arms, kissing his baby-shampoo-scented hair. “Giving them their baths, putting on their pj’s, snuggling them as I read a story in the nursery, then laying their sleepy little bodies in their cribs. Every night, when I do that and then just watch their eyes start to close, I feel like I have everything.”
She sighed inwardly. There she went again, saying too much, making herself look...needy. She didn’t want to come across that way.
“Well, you do have everything,” he said.
That made her wonder. He’d said he wasn’t the marrying kind. Or the father kind. And yet, because she had Morgan and Mikey, this sweet little family of three, he considered that everything. There was a contradiction there. Or maybe just ambivalence.
It doesn’t matter, she reminded herself. You’re not looking for holes in his story about who he is. And was there anything worse than ambivalence?
“So, you go put Morgan back to sleep, and I’ll straighten up in the kitchen. Then we’ll meet in the living room and talk about my schedule and what you’d like me to handle, and you can give me the grand tour of the house.”
Part of her was glad to escape him again—he listened too intently, looked at her too closely, inferred too well. The other part never wanted to be more than a foot away from him.
Fifteen minutes later—Morgan needed a story and a little rocking to fall back asleep—Brooke came downstairs to find the dishwasher going and the kitchen spotless. In the living room was a pitcher of iced tea that he must have made and a plate of the mixed cookies she’d picked up yesterday, unable to resist anything from the Solero Sisters bakery. The man was amazing. Every woman should have one of him.
“Army taught you all this?” she asked in complete wonder. “Making a kitchen spotless? Whipping up iced tea with lemon wedges?” she asked. Or had a previous live-in love? An ex-wife? An ex-girlfriend? She doubted he’d been married before. But he’d hinted at an ex. She was so curious.
“Not so much how to clean a kitchen counter or load a dishwasher,” he said, “but to take care of business. Do what needs doing, the right way and efficiently, and it’s done. A little initiative is all it takes to learn how to do something—and correctly.”
Did he have any idea what an aphrodisiac this kind of talk was to her? Someone she could trust to take care of stuff? Without her even asking? “It sure is nice to have you around, Nick Garroway.”
He smiled—that big, sexy smile that made her knees wobble. “I’m glad one person in this town feels that way.”
She reached out and touched his shoulder, which was hard, muscular and broad, and he looked at her for a moment. Uh oh. She quickly pulled her hand away. He was attracted to her; she could tell. And if it wasn’t obvious, now he knew she was attracted to him too. Dammit. She needed that to be a secret. From him.
“About that work schedule,” she said, clearing her throat and moving into the living room, trying to be all business.
But he poured her a glass of iced tea and nudged the cookie plate toward her, and she felt so taken care of that again she just wanted to run with it and lay her head against his chest, feel his arms around her. Just for a few moments, even. Ever since her grandmother had passed away, and then she had found out she was pregnant, she’d had to tell herself that everything was going to be okay. In Nick’s company, she believed it.
She took a sip of the iced tea, so refreshing and perfectly sweet and lemony. He sat just a foot away from her on the sofa, angled toward her, and again she was struck by the urge to lay her head in his lap and have him stroke her hair. Or to kiss him hard on the lips. She sat back, so aware of him. Brooke was five foot seven, so not exactly petite, but Nick towered over her.
To distract herself from him, she started talking about the ideal schedule for her, and of course he said that whatever worked for her worked for him, since his whole point in taking the job was to be of help to her. They decided on a similar schedule that her former nanny had. He’d do overnight wake-ups so that she wouldn’t be bleary-eyed during the day while working on weddings and dealing with bridezillas—her New Year’s Eve–client was one of those. She’d care for the twins from 5:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m., for breakfast and playtime, and then he’d take over from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m., including on Saturdays, which was always a busy workday, and again between 5:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m., when for some reason her brides tended to panic most. Sunday would be a complete day off for him—unless she needed him to watch the babies because of a crazed client or wedding emergency. In fact, he’d added, he would be on call all day, all night.
“I’m here for you,” he said—quite seriously.
What was that famous question by Sigmund Freud? What did women want? Brooke Timber wanted someone there for her. Someone in her corner, someone who had her back. Someone she could count on. Trust. Until August, that someone was Nick Garroway.
“And I mean it,” he added. “Let’s say you get a call that the caterer can’t switch the hip sole for the dull salmon and you have to find a new caterer the night before the wedding. Text me and poof—” he snapped his fingers “—I’m in the nursery. That simple.”
He had no idea how much that made her want to lean over and kiss him. Full on the lips.
He was becoming way too indispensable—in every possible area of her life. But Nick would only be here for another couple of weeks. She had to remember that.
“I appreciate that. Very much,” she said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said.
Because she could barely handle being so close to him on the couch, she took him on a tour of the small house. The cozy living room, the sunny kitchen and the Dream Weddings office made up the first floor. Three bedrooms on the second floor—the nursery, her room and the guest room, which was his bedroom. She peered in to see his big green duffel bag on the bed. Tonight he’d be in that bed.
There was no way she’d get any sleep knowing that. Even if she didn’t have to get up to take care of her own children.
Just after midnight Nick heard a cry and got out of his very comfortable bed in the guest room in Brooke’s house. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway. He’d been thinking about Brooke. All about her.
He kept seeing her face—all her different expressions. Concentration, curiosity, frustration, surprise, contentment. Contentment was usually when she was holding one of her babies. And when she discovered he’d taken care of something she hadn’t yet gotten to—changing a lightbulb, scooping the litter box, replenishing the diaper stack in the nursery from the huge bag in the garage. Putting together that bookcase for the nursery. He’d just walked around the house while she’d been working earlier tonight, checked things out and he’d done what needed to be done, whether or not it was baby related. The way he saw it, taking care of the babies meant taking care of their home too. And their mom—their beautiful, sexy mom.
He headed out of his room just as Brooke was coming out of hers. She wore yoga pants, with a long T-shirt and furry slippers, and her hair was in a high ponytail.
“I’ve got this,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “It’s my job.”
She smiled and slapped a palm to her forehead. “I heard Morgan cry and just popped out of bed without thinking. I forgot I had help.”
Morgan let out another shriek, and they smiled at each other and both headed into the nursery.
“I know I could be getting back into bed and blissfully going to back to sleep,” she said, “but I guess it’s just instinct to want to make sure he’s okay. Tired as I always am, I like cuddling the twins in this chair, rocking them back to sleep. I always want them to know everything will be okay.”
“I get it. You’re looking out for them, and I’m looking out for you.”
She smiled. “Is that why I was saved from scooping cat poop earlier?”
He nodded. “If you’re not doing those kinds of chores, you’re freed up to spend quality time with Morgan and Mikey.”
“Yup, I thought it before and now I’ll say it aloud—everyone needs one of you.”
As she crossed in front of the window, where a sliver of moonlight shone through, she was silhouetted and he was struck—again—by how beautiful she was. He had a sudden yearning to touch her, feel her hair, her face, her lips.
None of the above was why he was here, though, so he tried to focus on the baby fussing. But once they had reached the crib, Morgan had stopped crying; perhaps the voices had lulled him back to sleep. They crept back out of the room and stood in the dim lighting of the hallway.
He had to prolong this. Anything to keep her from turning and disappearing into her bedroom. He wanted to talk to her, look at her, drink her in.
He was surprised by how much too. After Elena and the way she’d blindsided him, he thought he was done with women, done with it all. Now here he was, unable to take his eyes off Brooke, the pull of her too strong.
Then again, he had thought another baby couldn’t possibly grip his heartstrings and yank, and the Timber twins were doing just that.
“Well, good night again,” she said.
Well, hell. He was about to suggest making some hot chocolate—with marshmallows. Or maybe a game of backgammon, not that he remembered how to play, but he’d seen a set on the coffee table. Or they could watch an old movie.
Except Brooke had to work tomorrow and so did he. If he had to get up a few times a night with the twins, he’d better sleep when he had the chance or he’d be no good to anyone.
Rats. “From now on,” he said, “burrow right back under the covers if you hear one of the twins in the middle of the night. I’ve got it.”
“I’ll try.” She glanced up at him, shaking her head with a smile. “Are you even real?”
“Here,” he said, taking her hand and putting it on his cheek. “Real?”
He hadn’t meant to do that.
She held his gaze, and parts of him he’d suppressed for months came back to life.
Then suddenly they were kissing and he wasn’t even sure who leaned closer to whose lips first. Her hands were on his back, his shoulders and then his hair as they deepened the kiss, and his were inching under her long T-shirt, higher and higher until he felt bare skin. He felt her shudder and he drew her closer.
“Waaah! Waah-waah!”
Noooo. He never wanted this—warmth and magic and sensation—to end.
“Waah-waah!”
“That’s Mikey this time,” she whispered against his ear. “And a good thing too, because this is crazy.” She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “We can’t do this, Nick. I can’t do this. For many reasons.”
And he could probably list them right here. She’d been hurt pretty badly by Parker—that went without saying. Her trust level was probably at an all-time low. Plus she had enough on her plate without adding a love affair with her live-in manny to the mix. Her temporary live-in manny.
Plus he’d said it himself. He wasn’t a family guy. She was a family woman, a package deal. So he’d better keep his lips and hands and mind off her.
And anyway, tomorrow night they’d be having dinner at his dad’s house. With his brother running his mouth. Nick had no doubt he’d need all his focus on getting through the meal without making a fist.
He headed back to his room, one of the black-and-white cats—Smudge, he thought—padding up the stairs and stopping in front of his doorway. The cat stared at him with narrowed green eyes, as if shaking his furry head at him. Hands off the woman, he was pretty sure Smudge was telling him, but then the cat went into his room and jumped on the bed, making himself comfortable. A few seconds later, Snowball joined him.
If he had to be honest, he was glad for the company. Nick had become something of a loner over the years—lately in particular—but he didn’t like being alone. Not at all.
We can’t do this, Nick. I can’t do this, for many reasons...
Listen to the cat. No more touching Brooke—no matter how badly he wanted or needed to.