Page 19 of Single Daddy Scot
‘That sounded a little too excited for my comfort zone. Nannies don’t wear uniforms, you know? And if you’ve popped a boner under your desk, Idon’twant to know.’
‘Piss off! On second thoughts, I can’nae see a London nanny being in my price bracket just now, but maybe an au pair would work.’ I think I’d prefer that over a child minding service. ‘Where do I find one, do you reckon?’
‘There are agencies.’
‘Agencies,’ I repeat, scribbling the words down on an empty corner of my littered desk pad. ‘That could be the way.’
‘Glad to have helped. If you get stuck in the meantime, I could ask Agnes if she’d mind—’
‘No, you’re fine.’ Agnes is seventy if she’s a day. I can’t ask her to look after Louis and Sorcha.
‘How are you doing otherwise?’
‘I don’t have the bandwidth for anything beyond Louis and work these days.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he answers carefully.
‘You’re talking about Fin.’ My response is flat, my grip tightening on my phone.
‘Well, I wished I hadn’t now.’
Me too, mate, I think as the familiar sense of loss returns. I know it’s ridiculous—she was never mine in the first place—but I could kid myself before that she might be. But not these days.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ I respond quietly. Except for maybe the time I have to commit to thinking about her. Thinking about him. Before black jealousy has time to rear its head, I breathe out long and slow.
‘Business as usual, eh?’ By his tone, he believes that about as much as I do.
‘Having bigger things to worry about doesn’t give me a break from the smaller things, unfortunately. Not that being in love with someone I can’nae have is small, but it’s less pressing. I might now be living in a shitstorm of my own making—’
‘No, that’s not fair. You can’t help that Louis’s mother died.’
‘Or that she didn’t tell me I had a son. But that’s besides the point. This unrequited-love-shite situation isn’t going anywhere. I can’t tell her, and I can’t fix it. I just have to deal. And meanwhile, I still have a fucking business to run. A fridge to fill wi’ things kids eat. I get the impression his mother was an accomplished cook ’cause the wee gommeral doesn’t like what I put down in front of him.’ Small practicalities sometimes seem insurmountable. ‘And there’s only so many days a week you can eat pizza without kissing your six-pack goodbye.’
‘No,’ Keir breathes, fake scandalised. ‘You mean he’s not into protein shakes and endless meals of chicken and kale? Steak and kale. Fish and kale. If you really are what you eat, you’d be boring.’
‘Listen, pal, I had a fucking breakfast burrito just now, and it’s given me indigestion.’
Keir laughs delightedly. ‘Aggravated your delicate constitution? As for the kid, give him pasta. They all love it.’
‘You think I’ve no’ tried? My kitchen pantry is carb heaven just now. He keeps asking for noogles, and I’ve tried every noogle, I mean, noodle, known to man.’
‘Ah, you’ll get there. There’s no secret formula with kids, unfortunately.’
‘My fucking oath.’
‘Just a word to the wise about au pairs,’ he adds.
‘Aye, what’s that, then?’
‘Steer clear of petite blondes.’
‘I’m not stupid, man.’ But I’m also not tempting fate. She can be black, white, yellow, or green, but if I’m going to do this right, she’ll be anything but blonde.
Just in case, y’ken.
‘See you Saturday, then?’
‘Definitely.’
