Caveman: A Single Dad Next Door Romance Read online

  Goddammit, the illusion runs deep. Maybe I’m still asleep—only in my dreams I never see the good times. No, I always revisit the bad and ugly, and see all the ways I have and could have failed my family.

  My stomach growls like an angry bear, and how’s that for a greeting?

  Octavia is standing in the middle of the living room, looking right at me, a faint smile on her face.

  “Someone’s hungry,” she says.

  Okay, what the fuck? Maybe I entered some fucking alternate universe? I’d consider the possibility if not for the trace of pain in her eyes. They’re red-rimmed, as if she’s been crying.

  Fuck.

  “Daddy!” Cole jumps up from his spot on the carpet and runs to me, grabbing my knee. “Tati made dinner. And cake!”

  Mary who’s still kneeling on the carpet grins and waves at me, and makes her doll wave at me, too.

  I blink.

  And then my traitorous stomach growls again—probably because it caught another smell under the cake, like chicken and sauce.

  “Chicken and mushroom casserole,” Octavia says. “Cake for dessert. That okay?”

  I nod dumbly, not sure what I’m supposed to say or do at this point. Okay? Hell yeah, it’s okay, and yet it sends dread through me.

  We sit at the kitchen table, and this time I have Mary beside me, a napkin tucked under her chin, her hair in pigtails.

  I’m still shaking my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Where did we get chicken and mushroom and…” I gesture at the pot Octavia just placed on the table. “All of this?”

  “I had Gigi shop for us at the grocery store on the Main.” At my questioning look, she says, “Gigi is my sister.”

  Right. Did I know her sister’s name? Or that she had a sister at all? All these days, weeks she’s been working for me, have I ever asked her a single question about herself?

  “I’m gonna go shop tomorrow,” I say as she serves us food. “Thought I saw a Walmart just out of town.”

  “Two towns down,” Octavia says.

  But who’s counting? “I’ll head out early. And let me know how much you paid for all this.”

  She nods. “You guys need to eat,” she says, stroking Cole’s hair. “Them. And you. Proper meals, not only sandwiches and take-out pizzas.”

  The kids ratted me out, huh? This is just another reminder of how much I suck as a parent, but I forget to get pissed when I take the first bite and discover just how hungry I am.

  Fuck, this is good. And I’m starving for the first time in ages. I stuff my mouth and inhale my food, losing track of time.

  I surface from my eating trance, still chewing and swallowing, to a silence so thick you can cut it with a knife.

  “What?” I mumble, frowning at my kids and nanny.

  All eyes are on me. What, do I have sauce on my face? I pass my forearm over my mouth and beard, just in case.

  “Daddy,” Mary says in a reprimanding tone, her dark, serious eyes so much like mine. “You didn’t use your knife. And you eat like a pig.”

  “Pig!” Cole yells, his mouth full of food.

  “Eat your food,” Octavia says to him, but she looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

  For some reason, my mouth twitches, too. “This is what pigging out is like,” I say solemnly. “Watch and learn.”

  Mary giggles, and it turns into laughter. “Daddy is funny,” she says.

  Cole laughs, too, spitting food everywhere. “Funny.”

  I freeze with a forkload halfway to my mouth. “I am?”

  Octavia says nothing, forking a tiny amount of food into her mouth. Her eyes sparkle, though, and I’m left staring at her, my food suddenly forgotten.

  There’s something in the way her lashes curve over her eyes, the way her lips part that has me fucking breathless. She’s not looking at me, but I can’t look away.

  Fuck me with a rusty fork. I can’t help myself when she’s right in front of me. My dick is hard and my skin prickling all over. I want her.

  With my kids at my sides, at the kitchen table, on the night she’s leaving us.

  Jesus Christ, Matt.

  And you, dick. Down. Haven’t we been over all the reasons why this won’t be happening again? Why it was the mother of all bad ideas in the first place—and look where it’s led us. To Octavia leaving.

  Easier said than done. Then again, what’s new?

  The dinner has gone to ashes in my mouth. I put my fork down, unaccountably depressed. “So… is this like the last supper? Farewell dinner and cake?”

  She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

  It wasn’t meant to be funny. What’s funny about it? I’m asking in all seriousness, and I hate how tight my chest is. Because I fucked up badly, and I know it.

  Still… Reasons, Matt. You know it’s for the best that she goes. You knew it’d be for the best if she’d never set foot inside the house, but you let her in anyway.

  Like I said. Can’t help myself.

  Can’t now, and couldn’t then.

  Dammit.

  The kids take their slice of cake to eat in front of the TV, squabbling about which program to watch. I can see them from where I’m sitting in the kitchen, their little heads bent together as they fight over the remote control.

  I grin.

  Strong-willed, cute little shits.

  Reminding me so much of their mom.

  And not only. It hits me as I look back at Octavia. It hits me every time just how much she reminds me of Emma.

  Which is sick. Which is why I said no to her the first time—and the second, and the third. Why I told her not to wear dresses, like Emma liked to do. Not to be around my kids, act like their mom.

  It scared me. I can’t replace Emma. Can’t let myself fall for a girl because she reminds me of my dead wife.

  But she’s not a mirror image of Emma, is she? The more I get to know her, the more different she seems, in so many fucking ways. She’s more innocent, more fragile. Emma was tough like nails, tougher than she should have been at that age.

  Octavia is softer, sweeter. More fragile. Easier to break. I can’t bear to be the one to break her.

  My chest squeezes again. What the fuck am I thinking?

  There’s a thick slice of cake on my plate, a pretty girl across from me, and I just… can’t do this.

  Needing to punch something to feel better, or stop thinking, I push my chair back and prepare to storm out, find my poison and drink it up.

  “Matt.”

  Her soft voice stops me in my tracks. I sit back down. “What?”

  “You said… you said your kids have the best nanny already.” Her eyes seem too bright. I can’t read her expression.

  “That’s right.”

  She pokes at her cake. A frown draws her brows together, then fades. A smile flits over her mouth and is gone.

  Is that a good sign? Damn, I wish I could read her better.

  “Look,” she says quietly. “My mom… we have some debts. I need the money.”

  Of course she does. What was I thinking? That’s why she’s still here. It makes me feel like shit, and I deserve it. “I get it.”

  “But I also love your kids. I love this job.”

  I watch her face. Determination tightens her fine features, that core of steel of hers shining through her gaze. “Yeah?”

  “Let’s forget what happened last night,” she says quietly. “You need a nanny. And I need a job.”

  “All right.”

  What am I doing? Letting her go would be the smart thing to do.

  I guess I’m not that smart. And as for forgetting… maybe she can, but I’m coming to realize I can’t. Not the damn hot sex, nor the fact she came to look for Cole with me, that she stayed with my kids today despite my assholery, cooked us dinner and made up her mind to stay.

  Yeah, I can’t put it behind me and erase the traces. But I nod anyway, because she was right the first time.

  I don’t just need a nanny.
/>   I need her.

  Whatever that means.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Octavia

  I can do this.

  After all, it was my decision—all of it. Insisting to work for Matt Hansen, practically pushing my way into his house and his life, and last night… it was my decision, too. Maybe not entirely conscious at the time, but still.

  I agreed to it. I accepted it.

  Wanted it like few things in my life.

  Matt gives me the money I spent on shopping, and asks for a list of things I need for the house, for the kids, for the kitchen. It’s a strange feeling, running a house.

  Then again… not really. I’ve run our house most of the time, since Mom is out working at all times. It’s weird because it’s another house.

  His house.

  Makes me feel like I’m part of his family. His girlfriend, his wife… Which is a trip down the rabbit hole.

  Makes me wonder how he must feel.

  I cast him a glance as I get ready to go and stop buttoning up my coat.

  He’s sitting on the sofa, sprawled back, powerful shoulders pressed to the cushions, watching his kids play at his feet. His arms aren’t folded over his chest, his hands not clenched into fists, instead lying by his sides.

  He looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in days, his eyes sleepy, shaded by his lashes.

  With his dark hair and beard, with those pretty eyes, that broad chest and long legs, God… He’s so handsome my mouth dries up.

  This is such a bad idea…

  I know I said we should forget all about it—but how do you forget your first night? Your first sex experience with a handsome guy, who also happens to be your boss and whom you’ll see day after day? I’m still smarting from the aftermath, but the sex itself? It was so good. Just thinking about it makes me throb deep inside.

  Just then he looks up, catches my gaze and his gaze sharpens, narrows.

  And he smiles, a faint, soft curve of his lips that brands itself on my soul and stays with me as I take the bus home and lie in my bed in the night.

  He has beautiful smile, even hesitant and uncertain like now. I’d love to see him grin. As a matter of fact, what would his laughter sound like?

  So I lie in my bed and wonder… what would it take to hear it?

  The next couple of days pass smoothly enough. Matt went shopping like he promised and brought back everything I could think of and then some. We stuffed the fridge and cupboards, and there’s even ice cream and cookie dough in there.

  I want his kids to eat healthy, but they’re kids, and they deserve something sweet at the end of the day.

  As does he, that little voice in the back of my head pipes up. He deserves some sugar.

  That’s one naughty, bad little voice.

  Matt can eat ice cream with his kids, and shut up about it.

  Talking to myself probably isn’t a good sign for my sanity. As if I didn’t know it when I told him I was staying. We’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room, pretending it never happened. Never mentioned it again. What happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen, and it’s okay. I’m over it.

  I don’t really want to talk about it, anyway, so this suits me just fine.

  Really. Just fine.

  And it makes no sense why, when I find Adam waiting for me outside my house and suggests we go for ice cream, I immediately say yes.

  I mean, he didn’t come back after our last outing. I figured he wasn’t coming back. Not that I’d blame him. I told Matt that Adam is not my boyfriend, and I thought the message had gone through, loud and clear when I refused to kiss Adam goodnight.

  You’d think he’d avoid me after that. That he’d be pissed. His masculinity wounded, or something. But he smiles at me as we walk through the quiet streets.

  I stare at his smile a moment too long, still thinking of Matt’s faint smile when I told him I was staying. So different, their expressions. I still haven’t put my finger on the difference when Adam asks me how I’ve been.

  “Fine,” I tell him. “Busy.”

  “Still a nanny?”

  “Yeah. I love those kids.”

  He starts whistling a tune, his hands in his pockets as we reach the ice cream shop. He only stops when we stand in the small line. “Didn’t think you’d still be working for that guy. He’s a real piece of work.”

  “Why do you say that?” I frown at him.

  He doesn’t reply.

  We give our orders, and I catch Jessica winking at him.

  Seriously?

  And should I be upset?

  Shaking my head, I accept my cone and we walk back outside. I’m quiet. Not sure what to say when he’s not saying a word. Weirdly, he’s smiling again.

  “So, no more threatening messages?” I finally ask as we approach the house. “I haven’t seen you around. You’ve been busy, too?”

  “Been visiting my sister,” he says.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Not really.” He swallows his ice cream in three bites, cone and all. We stop at my front gate and this time when he smiles down at me, I think I’ve figured out what’s bothering me about this expression.

  Matt’s smile may have been faint, but it was at the same time deep, full of thoughts and feeling. Full of questions and maybe promises. Or so it felt like.

  Adam’s smile is steady. Fixed. A bit flat.

  Disconnected from his gaze that’s so hard right now I squirm.

  “My sister,” he says, “is in pain. The kind of pain I can’t take away, or else I would. She lost someone dear to her.”

  I take a step back, my hand flying to my chest. “Oh God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “So am I.”

  The hard look fades for a brief moment from his green eyes. Pain replaces it.

  Then he turns away and leaves without another word.

  “Go, Tati.” Gigi giggles later on, the window casting moonlight between our beds. “Caught between two tortured men. Torn in two.”

  “It’s not funny. And I’m not torn.”

  “Oh yeah. Whatever.”

  “His sister lost someone. Must be depressed or something. Give him a break.”

  “I am. But it’s you I’m teasing, not him. Besides… you’re in love.”

  I throw a pillow at her. “I’m so not.”

  “Uh-huh. Question is, who are you in love with? Pretty neighbor with the tragic sister or tortured man-bear with a side of asshole?”

  “Gigi!” I flop on my back to look up at the ceiling, something I’ve been doing a lot lately. Sleep evades me, thoughts of Matt crowding my mind.

  Images, memories of that smile, his voice, his gentleness with his kids… his strong body covering me, his cock moving inside me.

  Heat washes over me, pooling in my belly, a deep pulse starting inside me.

  Oh God.

  “Tati? Why are you blushing?” Suddenly Gigi has jumped out of her bed and climbed into mine. “Don’t tell me… holy crap!” Gigi’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t do it with him, did you?”

  With perfect timing, Merc pokes his head through the door right then. “Did what? The ugly deed? And with whom?”

  “Merc!”

  “That’s my name,” he says easily.

  “You’re not supposed to eavesdrop,” Gigi accuses.

  “I’m not eavesdropping.” He leans against the doorframe in his Assassin’s Creed PJs and half-closes his eyes. “Have you talked to that Adam guy lately?”

  “Yeah. We went for ice cream earlier today. Why?”

  He shrugs. “Just wondering.”

  “Wondering what, Merc?”

  He’s grown so much. I still expect to see the little, gangly, freckled kid he used to be when he enters a room.

  Of course his voice often ruins the impression before he even enters. It broke a couple of years ago, and now it’s deep.

  Not as deep as Matt’s, though.

  And there goes again my resolution to stop
thinking about Matt.

  Jeezus, Octavia. Get a grip.

  “So what about Adam?” Gigi asks, making herself way too comfortable in my bed, grabbing my pillow and pulling it toward her. “You been investigating him, or what?”

  “Or what,” Merc says flatly. “I don’t go about playing at being one of those detectives you and Mom like to watch on TV.”

  “Homeland?” Gigi sighs and folds her arms behind her head. “Rupert Friend is dreamy.”

  Merc sighs and tilts his head back, all but rolling his eyes. “No, Gigi. That’s not even a detective show. Sometimes…”

  “Merc, what about Adam?” I press. I shouldn’t care about gossip or whatever it is Merc heard. But I can’t deny I’m curious.

  “Tongues wagging about town?” Gigi drawls.

  “No, it’s not that. I didn’t hear anything.” Merc looks uneasy. “I’ve heard much more about Matt Hansen than Adam. Like… nobody seems to have noticed Adam moving here, or knows anything about him.”

  “Discreet,” Gigi says approvingly.

  My turn to roll my eyes. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Adam is hot. I’d go out for ice cream with him anytime.”

  “And what about Quinn?” Merc shakes his head. “Wait, forget I ever asked. Anyway, the thing with Adam…” He blinks, shakes his head again. “Actually, you know what? Forget about that, too. I probably made a big deal out of nothing. G’night, gals.”

  “Wait!” I jump out of bed as he turns to go. “You can’t leave it like this. It’s unfair.”

  I think he’ll laugh and ignore me, but he stops and chews on his lower lip.

  “Listen, I may be wrong, but you said Adam lives in old Mr. Collins’s house down the street? Or did I imagine that?”

  “No, that’s right.”

  Merc nods. “Then why is Mr. Collins still living there with all his cats?”

  I ring Mr. Collins’s doorbell the next day on my way to the bus stop, but nobody answers the door. When I try to peek through the windows, I find the curtains drawn.

  There has to be an explanation. I’m pretty sure this is the house Adam showed me. But maybe I misunderstood. I must have.

  Or maybe he’s renting a room. God knows that house is small, but who knows? Maybe there’s an attic. Or he’s renting the house and Mr. Collins only came by to collect the rent.