Caveman: A Single Dad Next Door Romance Page 6

  “What? The Chinese consider it a compliment. Good soup, Mom.”

  She sighs, but then smiles. Merc is her baby and always will be, even when he’s six feet tall and being a douche. He has her wrapped around his little finger.

  “And what about our new neighbor?” Gigi says, fluttering her lashes at me.

  “What new neighbor?” Mom asks.

  “He’s real handsome. And has manners.” Gigi nudges Merc in the ribs.

  “Hey.”

  “Is that the nice young man who helped me with the groceries the other day?” Mom starts gathering the empty bowls into a stack. “Adam.”

  “That’s the one,” Gigi says triumphantly. “See? The boy has manners.”

  “He’s not a boy,” I mutter, not sure why I’m annoyed. I remember Jasper calling Matt a boy. So condescending.

  “Where does he live?” Mom asks.

  “Old Mr. Collins’s house.”

  She frowns. “Didn’t know he’d moved out. Him and all his cats. Maybe he’s renting out the house?”

  Maybe.

  “Adam likes you, Tati,” Gigi singsongs, stuck in that rut. “I saw him talking to you the other day. He only has eyes for you.”

  Merc makes gagging noises.

  “He doesn’t like me,” I say firmly and get up to help Mom. “He was just being polite.”

  But I’m not sure about that, either. He did seem to be flirting with me. I’m not an idiot. I can tell when a guy wants into my panties, even if I’ve never let anyone try.

  “Oh come on. Live a little, Tati,” Gigi whines.

  My mind flashes to Matt standing with me by the window, tall and powerful and mysterious, dark hair gleaming, his profile strong, handsome and forbidding.

  Dark to Adam’s lightness, a brooding beast versus the boy-next-door charm of our brand-new neighbor.

  “I think he’s going to ask you out,” Gigi says, and I frown, because Matt doesn’t even look at me that way. “Adam,” she clarifies.

  Oh right. Adam.

  Can’t figure out why for a moment there I wondered how Matt’s mouth would taste if he kissed me, how his strong arms around me would feel.

  What I’d do if he gave any sign that he finds me pretty.

  But that won’t happen, and I know it.

  Chapter Nine

  Matt

  I ignore her.

  Most of the time I manage pretty damn fine, keeping my gaze anywhere but on Octavia, keeping myself busy before I leave for work, or when I return in the afternoon.

  That’s easy. Lots to do between the kids and the house. There are still boxes to unpack, furniture to fix, walls to paint. It’s an old house and lots of repairs needed.

  Not that I had any interest in making them when we arrived. I had no interest in anything, and nothing has changed, but it takes my damn mind off her, turns my focus elsewhere.

  But this morning is rough.

  The kitchen is a fucking mess, milk and soggy cereal dripping from the table, the shards of a bowl all over the floor. I have Cole squirming in my hold, and I swear, the kid has eight legs and arms, while Mary is pulling on my hand like she wants to tear it right off, and then the doorbell rings.

  The bright, brittle sound shoots through my skull like a bullet, and I groan.

  Cole pats my face with a sticky hand, and Mary tries again to escape. This time her small fingers slip from mine, and she runs to the door.

  Dammit.

  “Tati!” Mary shouts as she expertly unlocks and opens the door.

  When the fuck did she learn to do that? I thought she was safe at home, and now I find out she can open the door to any fucking stranger.

  And then there she is, that persistent, fearless woman-child, standing right outside the door, all big blue eyes and prim dress barely showing under her long, light coat that’s buttoned up to her chin, dark hair chastely pulled back.

  Looking at me.

  Normally I control my reactions, my temper, my lust.

  My reflex attraction to her.

  But not after the night I just had. A bad night. Bad nights, stretching back into time. Three years without real sleep.

  My control is slipping.

  And I can’t let it show. “You’re early,” I snap.

  “By ten minutes,” Octavia counters easily.

  “And you’re wearing a fucking dress.”

  “Language,” she replies, slender jaw tight.

  Goddammmit.

  I put Cole down and push hair out of my eyes. “Mary, take your brother and go to the kitchen.”

  “We want breakfast!” she whines, and the headache throbbing behind my eyes spikes.

  “In a minute. Now off you go.”

  “Want me to make them breakfast?” Octavia asks.

  “No.”

  “I could just—”

  I smash my fist into the door, breathing hard, and I feel nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  She has jerked back, away from me, her face white. “What,” she says, her voice not quite steady, “is the matter with you?”

  That’s a damn good question.

  Pain finally seeps through the numbness, traveling from my busted knuckles up my arm, settling in my shoulders and neck.

  Ow. Shit.

  With it, some of the haze clears, and the cold fear in her gaze cuts through the rest like a knife.

  Hell. Turning my back to her, I stalk over to the sofa and sink down, putting my head in my hands. It’s so fucking heavy. And I can’t think.

  My mind’s fucked up.

  I hear her light steps, the click of her heels. The door clicks shut. She approaches me and I lift my head, not sure what to say. I should say I’m sorry, but the words stick in my throat.

  My breath stops.

  She’s unbuttoning her light coat, and she’s not wearing a dress underneath like I thought. Her red blouse fits like a glove, dark like blood, hugging her curves, kissing her collarbone. Her jeans are old and faded, ripped at one knee, and I find myself straining for a single fucking glimpse of her bare flesh.

  “Sit down,” I rasp.

  She doesn’t. Of course not. “I’ll see to the kids,” she says, her voice so soft I barely hear her. I watch her lips move. “I’ll be right back.”

  The kids have fled the living room—and me—as fast as their little feet could carry them, vanishing into the kitchen, and she follows them.

  They don’t really like me.

  Like that’s news. How many times do I have to experience it for the knowledge to sink in?

  And I suck at taking care of them.

  But I can’t employ this nanny. Fuck, what am I doing, letting her into my house, letting her think she can work for me?

  Telling others she’s mine?

  I flex my hands—one bruised and aching, the other stiff and half-numb ever since that night when the dark became too much.

  One more thing I’d rather not remember.

  She returns, takes a seat across from me. So close.

  What the hell, isn’t she afraid anymore? She doesn’t recall my fist smashing into the fucking door, right in front of her, or my damn angry words?

  If her memory is so short-term, she won’t survive long in this world.

  She licks her lips, clasps her hands nervously together. “Matt…”

  But she doesn’t continue.

  She’s leaving. I know she is.

  And that’s good, that’s what she should do, so why the fuck am I hunching over, my stomach in knots? My head is pounding. I should be getting ready to go to work, but I don’t move.

  Can’t.

  “Bad night?” she finally asks, and I blink, certain I didn’t hear her well.

  I drop my gaze down to my hands, curled on my thighs. I shrug.

  And she leans closer. She’s in my space. Nobody stands or sits so close to me except for my kids. “I wanted to ask you about the kids’ mother.”

  Fuck. I climb to my feet. “We’re done here.”


  “I need to know.” Said so earnestly. Naively. “Mary needs—”

  “What the fuck ever.” Hot anger rockets through my chest, burning up my neck. “She doesn’t concern you.”

  “Doesn’t she?” She gives me an incredulous look that only makes me angrier. When I don’t speak, a flush spreads on her cheeks. “I’m going to be looking after these kids. It may be hard for you to talk about her, but the kids seem to miss her and—”

  “It’s none of your fucking business.”

  She flinches. Hard.

  Fuck. Fuck!

  I glance at the kitchen door where Cole is standing, staring back at me with wide eyes. He scurries away.

  “Look…” she begins.

  “You don’t need to fucking know,” I hiss at her. “Just look after them. That’s what I’ll be paying you for. Feed them. Keep them busy. Don’t let them fall and break their neck. Keep them safe.” My chest hurts. My throat burns. It feels like more words than I’ve strung up together in years. “Fuck.”

  Her lower lip trembles, and my heart is jackhammering in my chest.

  It’s too early. It’s fucking bad. I’m raw and open wide, so I’m throwing up defenses like crazy, spikes and walls. Hurting her.

  So I walk away from her before I hurt her more.

  It would be so damn easy.

  Snatches from my nightmares visit me all day long as I work on an old Honda Civic, and while I eat a burger I grabbed from a hole in the wall across the street, manned by an old guy who’s half-blind.

  I keep rubbing the inside of my left wrist, an unconscious gesture I don’t notice until Evan asks me about it.

  After that, I throw myself into the work with all I have, trying to forget.

  Jasper watches me from across the car bay, standing outside his small office, his face unreadable. I didn’t win any favors when I got in the way of his little bullying session with Octavia the other day, I’m well aware of that.

  Nothing I would’ve done differently, though, and he still hasn’t said anything to me about it. Doesn’t mean he won’t find a way to turn it against me in the future. That’s how the world turns. Everything you throw at it comes back and bites you in the ass, sooner or later.

  Sometimes you don’t even know what the hell you did in a past life to deserve the suckerpunch in the gut life delivers you.

  But you feel it. Oh yeah, you sure as hell feel it when it lands.

  “So… Octavia works for you?” Evan asks me later, as I wipe my hands on a rug, getting ready to head back to my kids.

  I glance at him. He’s a good guy, but right now he’s plain nosy. “Yeah,” I say shortly.

  “Is she taking care of your kids? She talked about wanting to work as a nanny when she finished school. She’s a natural, man. She all but raised her brother and sister. Good choice, is all I’m saying.”

  “You know her.” Not a question. It’s obvious—and why do I care?

  “It’s a small town,” he says, nodding. “I know her family. Good people. Her sister is very pretty, a little minx, and...” He throws me a sheepish glance. “Sorry. Gigi is a character. And her brother, Merc, good kid. Their mom is a nice, hard-working lady, and takes good care of them.”

  What do I care about her family? All those ridiculous names. And what do I care that there doesn’t seem to be a father included in the list Evan seems to think I need?

  I pull on my hoodie and push the hair off my face. I’m covered in sweat and car oil, and the evening is falling, warm and soft, the sky deepening into a perfect blue.

  Emma’s favorite color.

  My heart is hammering. Yeah, it was her favorite, and I can picture her perfectly sitting on the porch of our house, in that shimmery blue dress she wore when I proposed to her. So young. So fiery.

  So beautiful.

  “Hey.” Evan punches me lightly in the arm. His brows are drawn together. “You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Maybe I have.

  Chapter Ten

  Octavia

  “Long day?”

  The voice startles me, and then I see him, leaning on the fence three doors down from my house, the glowing embers of a cigarette between his fingers.

  Adam.

  He pushes off the fence and approaches me, a wide smile on his face. “I was hoping to see you tonight.”

  I shake my head, hiding a smile of my own. “So you waited out here, on the street, in the dark, just in case I showed up?”

  His cigarette is burning, but he doesn’t bring it to his mouth, instead letting the ashes fall and drift away on the warm breeze. He wags his brows. “That’s how I roll, baby.”

  I snicker. “I see that.”

  I’m pleased, and flattered, but I have to remind myself he’s just teasing. He went out to smoke and happened to see me passing by, that’s all.

  “Want to go for ice cream?” He drops his cigarette and steps on it, crunching under his heel. He steps closer, and his aftershave smells of something oceanic. His smile is blinding white. “It’s too warm.”

  I can’t think of a reason why not. Not even sure why I’m looking for a reason. “Let me tell Mom I’m back first.”

  “Sure thing,” he says as I open the gate and walk up the path to the house. “Hey, I saw you talking to that bearded guy at the garage. You work for him?”

  I stop, turn back around. “You were there?”

  I don’t remember seeing him.

  He nods, runs a hand through his curls. “Sorry if I seem indiscreet. He looks…” He huffs.

  “Like a hermit?”

  “I was going to say like a dick.”

  I laugh. “He is kind of a douche.”

  “I knew it.”

  The breeze brings his scent over to me, along with the smell of cut grass and blossoms. We smile at each other, sharing our understanding of Matt Hansen.

  Then I think of how Matt grabbed me as I fell in the drugstore and defended me at the garage, how he put his head in his hands today.

  How he stood beside me, smelling of man and strength and despair.

  My stomach knots up. I hurry into the house, and stop for a moment in the cool interior, just breathing, battling the confusion I shouldn’t be feeling.

  This is an easy one, Octavia. Between the douchebag and the cute neighbor, you really shouldn’t have trouble choosing the right one.

  The question is, the right one for what?

  With orders to bring back a family-size tub of chocolate chip ice cream for Gigi and my mom, and mint for Merc, I set off with Adam.

  The town is quiet. Some kids play football in an empty field. A dog is barking. The main street isn’t very far, and it’s a perfect evening for a stroll.

  That’s what I tell myself, trying to quell the voice in my head insisting it feels too much like a date.

  So what if it does?

  I glance at Adam as we walk by rows of houses with peeling fences and overgrown lawns. He’s talking about his job as online marketer, which apparently allows him to settle pretty much anywhere where there’s an internet connection—but which doesn’t explain why he’d choose to live in the backwater that is Destiny.

  He’s waving a hand as he talks, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright. Again I examine the cut of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders.

  He’s undoubtedly handsome. Objectively cute.

  He obviously likes me—at least well enough to talk to me and take me for ice cream. Oh, the glamour!

  Still. Not like there’s much to do around here, and it’s sweet of him.

  It is, I repeat to myself, sweet of him.

  No idea why I have to keep repeating these things to myself when they are so obvious. It’s nerves, I decide. And exhaustion from running behind Matt Hansen’s giggling kids all day.

  “What are you smiling at?” Adam asks, reaching for my hand to cross a street.

  Without thinking, I take a step away from him and tuck my hand into the pocket of my coat. “N
othing.”

  A shadow of disappointment crosses his face, and I look away as we take a shortcut down narrow streets that will take us out to the main street.

  Why did I do that? I keep thinking about it as we buy ice cream—that he insists on paying—and head back, about me snatching my hand away, not trusting him with it.

  I really need to work on those first, stupid instinctive moves. I’m just not used to a guy treating me right, showing me he’s attracted to me.

  It’s just hand-holding, for God’s sake.

  It doesn’t escape my attention that he doesn’t try it again. That’s right. Great job, scaring nice next-door hunks off.

  You’re as bad as Matt Hansen.

  And… that brings me right back to the one guy I’ve been trying to put out of my mind.

  Nice work, girl. Nice work.

  “He has a girl, right? And a little boy.”

  I nod. “Mary. And Cole.”

  I can’t remember how the conversation swung back to Matt, but as we sit underneath the stars in the garden, on an old bench, it seems that at some point it did.

  “I’ve seen them around town,” Adam says, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head. “Tiny things. I hope he treats them right.”

  I hope so, too. I think of how he asked me to take care of them, in that soft voice.

  And then how he told me I’m only paid to feed them and keep them from falling to their deaths, and stiffen.

  Matt doesn’t like me. He gave me the job because he tried to protect me from Jasper and Ross. He claimed me, somehow.

  And I shouldn’t like that so much.

  He did it as a last resort, and then gave me the job because he felt sorry for me. It was obvious from the first time he laid eyes on me that I wasn’t what he’d been looking for in a nanny.

  Or in a woman, a voice whispers in the back of my mind, and I wince.

  A woman who’s barely legal, too insistent and opinionated. And who knew that a man would object to a woman wearing dresses?

  “You like being a nanny?” Adam asks.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Practice for the real thing, huh?”

  Never thought of it this way. I turn to look at him, and there’s a hardness in his gaze that startles me.