Runaway Love: A Single Dad Nanny Small Town Romance (Cherry Tree Harbor Book 1)

I WOKE up to the sound of Xander pounding on the back door to the house.

“Bro!” he was yelling. “You made me get up early on a Sunday to help you, and you’re not even awake? Get your ass out of bed!”

“Shit,” I mumbled, tossing the covers back and going over to the window. When I peeked behind the shade, I saw him standing at the back of the house shouting up at my bedroom window. I’d left my phone at the house last night, so I couldn’t text him, and I didn’t want to wake up Veronica by yelling back.

“I’m giving you five minutes!” Xander shouted, then plunked himself down in one of the Adirondack chairs by the fire pit.

I noticed he had a cardboard cup of coffee in his hand, so I figured he’d be fine for a few. Going back to the bed, I slipped in beside Veronica again, curling up behind her.

The bedroom window faced the east, so the light filtering through the shade was soft and pink. It made her skin glow angelically, and her gossamer hair was like a halo around her head. She had the sheet pulled up to her hip, but it was low enough that I noticed the tiny pattern of stars just above her right butt cheek. They were connected, like a constellation. I wished I knew enough about astronomy to recognize it.

She inhaled, her ribs expanding, and I heard a contented little sigh as she exhaled. I leaned over and pressed my lips to her ink.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily.

“Morning. I found your tattoo.”

“I noticed.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the constellation for Virgo. That’s my sign.”

“Ah.”

She rolled onto her back and gave me a smile. “What’s yours?”

“Aries. Are we compatible?”

“No. Actually, those two signs are terrible together.”

“Hm. That’s too bad.” I lowered my mouth to her chest, taking one perfect pink nipple in my mouth, teasing the pebbled tip with my tongue. Her fingers moved into my hair, and she arched her back, moaning softly. My cock stirred to life, and I wished I’d woken up fifteen minutes earlier.

Outside, my brother yelled, “You’re down to three minutes, asshole!”

Veronica laughed. “Is that Xander out there?”

“Yeah. He’s here to help me get the table into the truck. I forgot I told him to come at seven. Actually, I didn’t forget, I just had no idea what time it was and didn’t really care.” Reluctantly, I picked up my head. “And I really don’t want to stop what I’m doing, but I don’t think Xander would appreciate the wait or the sound effects.”

“I agree. But you know what he will appreciate?” She giggled. “You walking out of my apartment with no shirt on.”

“I wish there was a way to sneak back to the house. He’s going to give me so much shit about this.” I groaned. “Fuck! I owe him a bar now.”

“A what?”

“The bar top he wants out of reclaimed wood. He bet me I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, and he was right.”

She laughed. “Serves you right for taking that bet.”

“I guess you’re right.” After planting one last kiss on her breast, I dragged myself from the bed and looked around for my clothing. “And you know what?”

“What?” On her side, she watched me get dressed, her cheek propped in one hand.

I tugged up my pants. “It’s worth it.”

Her smile validated that sentiment.

I dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Eight o’clock,” I reminded her as I headed through the living room.

“I’ll be ready, Dad!” she shouted.

Frowning, I yanked the door open. “Jesus, don’t call me that!”

I heard her laughing as I let myself out. Moving down the stairs slowly, I tried to play it cool.

When Xander heard my feet on the steps, he looked over. Probably expecting Veronica, he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and squinted at me. When it registered that I was exiting her apartment wearing nothing but sweatpants, he started to laugh.

“Dude,” he said, replacing his sunglasses. “I knew it.”

Ignoring him, I went straight for the house and opened the back door.

“The door was open?” Xander followed me into the kitchen.

“Didn’t you check?”

“No. I knocked, and you didn’t answer, so I just assumed it was locked and you were still in bed.” He grinned, leaning back against the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. “And I was only wrong about one of those things.”

I looked at my phone, glad to see I hadn’t missed any calls from the kids or texts from Sansa.

“I want details.”

“Too bad.” I switched on the Keurig and stuck a pod in the machine.

“You used the condom at least, right?”

“Fuck off.”

“So I’m thinking pine for the bar you’re going to make me, or maybe oak, like from some old whiskey barrels.”

Dammit.

“Come on,” he scoffed. “You have to give me something. When you guys got out of the car last night, you weren’t even speaking.”

“We had a good time.” I poured some almond milk in my coffee.

“I’m surprised she even let you in, let alone stay over.”

“Guess I’ve got more finesse than you thought.” I took my cup and left the kitchen. “I’m going to get dressed. I’ll be back down in a minute.”

Upstairs, I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. After combing my fingers through my hair, I stuck a cap on my head and went back down to the kitchen.

“So is this like a romantic getaway?” Xander asked.

“We’re going to her dickhead ex-fiancé’s apartment to get her clothes. Does that sound romantic to you?”

“No, but once that part is over, why not hang around the city for a couple days?”

“I’ve got work to do. We’ll be in and out.”

Xander smirked. “I bet you will.”

“Knock, knock.” Veronica entered the kitchen, looking fresh and pretty in denim shorts and a black top. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and her lips were bright red. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to watch them close around my cock. Would they leave a mark?

There was something about that I liked.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Xander was full of cheer. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“It is.” She smiled at him and at me, a little wistfully. “I wish we didn’t have to spend the whole thing in the car. Your dad keeps asking me if I’ve been for a ride on the old ferry boat yet, and I have to say no every time.”

“Sounds like your mean boss should give you more time off,” Xander said with a meaningful look in my direction.

I rolled my eyes and rinsed out my coffee mug, placing it in the dishwasher. “Let’s get that table loaded so we can hit the road.”

Veronica was quieter than usual on the four-hour drive to Saugatuck, where I delivered the table I’d made to a home owned by Gus’s nephew Quentin and his husband, Pierre. They’d seen a table I’d made for Gus and his wife last winter when they’d visited and begged Gus to tell them where he’d found it.

After we’d brought the table into their dining room, they asked me about the wood, and I gave them the details about where I’d salvaged the old cedar planks and how I’d transformed them.

“It’s just incredible,” Pierre said with a slight French-Canadian accent. “Are you sure you won’t make another for us to sell on consignment at the gallery?”

“Gallery?” Veronica piped up.

“We own an art and antiques gallery in town,” Quentin explained. “And we think something like this would interest many high-end customers. You’d probably have a dozen orders by the end of the summer. What do you think, Austin?”

“I don’t really have that kind of time.” I felt Veronica’s eyes on me, but I didn’t meet them. “It’s really just a hobby.”

“Let us know if you change your mind,” said Pierre. “We want to be your first call.”

While Quentin wrote me a check, Pierre gave Veronica a quick tour of their home, which was also a bed and breakfast. Her laugh rang out from the front parlor, and we both looked in that direction. Veronica had a great laugh, deep and loud and joyful.

“Your wife is so lovely,” Quentin said. “I didn’t realize you were married.”

“I’m not. Veronica and I are just friends. Actually, she’s the nanny—I’m a single dad.”

“Oh, you have children! But you didn’t bring them?”

“No, they’re visiting their mom in California for a week. I just brought Veronica along to—to—” I groped for a word to appropriately finish the sentence, and Quentin took pity on me, patting my shoulder.

“I understand completely,” he said.

After we delivered the table, we stopped into a small sandwich shop for lunch. I ordered a meatball sub, and Veronica ordered a B.L.T. Seated across from each other in a booth, I watched her take a bite or two, then lose interest.

“Do you want something else?” I asked.

“No.” She wrapped up what was left and pushed it away from her. “It’s just my stomach is a little weird.”

I took another bite and observed her sip her iced tea. “You nervous about running into him?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to be.” My protective instincts were sharp today. “I’ll be there the whole time. He won’t come anywhere near you.”

“I’m not afraid of him like that. It’s just, he might—he might say things that hurt me. Or embarrass me.” She scratched at a chip in the tabletop with her thumbnail. “I don’t want you to hear them.”

I finished my sandwich in one bite and balled up the wrapper, wondering how mad she’d be if I punched this guy on sight just for fun. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She smiled, but it was half-hearted.

“I mean it. The only one who should be worried is your dipshit ex. If he so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll cold-cock him in the jaw.”

“No!” She shook her head. “Do not get rough with him, Austin. He’d probably call security. Just . . . no. Leave him to me.”

I sighed and sat back. “And you guys call me a party pooper. I was looking forward to the chance to drop that asshole like a bag of dirt.”

“I’m sorry, but no,” she said firmly. “It’s bad enough I’m dragging you down there, taking up your whole day. I don’t want you thrown in jail on top of it. Then who’d drive me home?”

I laughed. “Now she tells it like it is.”

She smiled, and it looked real this time. “Seriously. I do appreciate this. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

“I just want to handle him on my own, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

But first we had to deal with the uncooperative doorman. Neil had, of course, given instructions that Veronica was not allowed on the premises. My contempt for her ex grew as I watched her argue and plead.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Sutton,” the doorman said. “I can’t let you in. Mr. Vanderhoof expressly forbid it.”

“Tony, come on,” she begged. “You know me. I lived here for a year. My clothes are still here. That’s all I want.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and he did look apologetic. “But I have my orders from management.” He lowered his voice. “It’s my job.”

“I understand,” said Veronica. “But isn’t there anything you can do?”

“If I let you into the lobby, you could ask the concierge to call him,” Tony suggested. “Maybe he’d give the okay.”

Veronica exhaled. “I doubt it, but I suppose it’s worth a try.”

Tony opened the door to the building, and we went inside. My first impression was that the place was fucking freezing. The thermostat had to be set at fifty-five—I couldn’t imagine how expensive it was to keep a place this size so cold. And it wasn’t just the air conditioning. The place looked cold too. Lots of glossy white tables and white marble surfaces and frosted lighting. There was something almost antiseptic or institutional about its cool, curated perfection. Even the white flowers in silver vases looked fake. Nothing about this place said home to me.

Not that I could afford it.

My second impression was that it must cost a fuck-ton of money to live here. This place probably had a rooftop swimming pool and an underground wine cellar. The parking garage was probably full of Land Rovers and Porsches. My pickup, proudly stating its affiliation with TWO BUCKLEYS HOME IMPROVEMENT, was parked in a garage up the street for an astronomical hourly rate. How anyone whose last name wasn’t Vanderhoof could afford to live like this was beyond me. I remembered what Veronica had said about wanting this kind of fairy tale life and wondered if she missed it.

She approached the older gentleman at the concierge desk while I hung back, and although he appeared to recognize her, he didn’t seem hopeful. “Mr. Vanderhoof’s instructions were very clear,” he said, “but I can make the call.”

He picked up a phone and spoke too quietly for me to hear, then held the phone slightly away from his ear. “Of course, Mr. Vanderhoof. Sorry to disturb you. I’ll be sure to—what’s that?” He looked at Veronica. “Well, yes, she’s right here in the lobby. Would you like to—very well. I’ll let her know.”

“Can I go up?” she asked hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” he said as he replaced the receiver. “But Mr. Vanderhoof has agreed to come down and speak with you.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to talk to him. I just want my clothes.”

“It’s the best I can do,” the concierge said, his tone regretful. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks for trying, Walter.” Veronica turned toward me, her expression crestfallen. “He’s coming down.”

“I heard.” I wanted to put my arms around her, but I didn’t. Instead, I shoved my hands in my pockets.

“I’m just going to be rational and polite,” she said, more to herself than me. “I’m going to stay calm and be nice. My mom always said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“I’ll stay out of your way,” I told her. “But I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at me. “If we didn’t have to get back tonight, I’d take you to my favorite steakhouse and treat you to dinner.”

It sounded so good, I was about to say I could call my dad and tell him I wouldn’t be at work tomorrow when the elevator opened and a trim, athletic-looking guy strode out, rudely elbowing other people aside. He had windblown blond hair, a chin that looked too big for his face, and an impressive suntan. He wore all white—white shorts, white Lacoste shirt, white socks, white tennis shoes, white sweatbands around both wrists and his head. The only thing missing was the racket. I might have laughed if I hadn’t been filled with so much animosity. He looked like a Saturday Night Live skit.

“Well, well, well.” He stood spraddle-legged, hands on his hips, and rocked back on his heels. “If it isn’t my little teacup. Change your mind, did you?”

The hell she did, I thought.

“Hello, Neil,” Veronica said evenly. “How are you?”

He tossed his head back and laughed too loud. “Me? Fantastic. Just played three sets at the club and won them all. My kick serve was practically unreturnable today. I had ten aces.”

“Right. Well, that sounds nice. I was wondering if—”

“I knew you’d be back.” Neil’s eyes gleamed with arrogance. “Miss me, did you?”

Veronica took a breath. “I’m only back for my things.”

“What things?”

“My clothes and the—”

“The clothes I bought?” He laughed derisively. “Those don’t belong to you.”

“Neil, come on. You didn’t buy all my clothes.”

“The things worth wearing, I did. The rest was garbage. I already threw it out.”

Her jaw dropped. “You threw out my clothes?”

“You don’t live here anymore.”

“Everything?” Her voice cracked.

“They were taking up space. I just ordered some new bespoke suits, so I’ll need that second bedroom closet.”

Veronica lowered her face into her hands, and I took a step toward her, torn between wanting to let her handle this, like she asked me to, or step in and mess up this guy’s tennis whites. But a second later, she picked up her head, and there were no tears. “Neil, how could you? I had things my mom gave me.”

“Your mom, who thought you’d be happily married right now? How do you think she would feel if she were here? Disappointed, that’s how!” He shook a finger in her face, like he was scolding a disobedient schoolgirl.

I pushed off the column I was leaning against and almost moved in, but that’s when Veronica dropped the nice act and glared up at him, batting his hand out of her face.

“You’re crazy!” she snapped. “She’d be glad I didn’t marry you! You never loved me one bit. You just wanted to control me. You’d have made me miserable all my life.”

Neil’s face assumed a fake, overdramatic sad expression. “Oh, poor little Roni in her penthouse apartment with her closet full of Chanel and her Mercedes-Benz! I feel so sorry for you.” He smirked again. “Tell the truth. You miss it all now, don’t you?”

“Not one little bit,” she said venomously. “You don’t know the first goddamn thing about me if you think I care about any of that bullshit.”

I leaned back again and folded my arms. She had this.

“Then what are you doing here? You honestly expect me to believe you showed up looking for your ratty old clothes?” He raised his voice. “Admit it—you’re here because you know you made a mistake, and now you want me back.”

“The only mistake I made was saying yes to you in the first place! I wouldn’t want you back if you were the last person on earth.”

“Suit yourself, Veronica,” he said with a haughty sniff. “But you’ll never find anyone better.”

I burst out laughing—I couldn’t help it.

Neil turned toward me. “And just who are you?” he demanded. His eyes narrowed in judgment as they took in my work boots and jeans, the lazy way I leaned against the column.

“I’m someone better,” I informed him.

He moved closer and parked his hands on his hips. “Excuse me?”

“Asshole, I met her three weeks ago, and I’ll tell you right now, I know her better than you do, I treat her better than you do, and you can be damn sure I fuck her better.”

A collective gasp circled the lobby. I imagined women clutching their pearls, but I didn’t take my eyes off Neil’s furious face. Once the shock wore off, he cocked his right arm back and took the most obvious, inexperienced swing at me you’ve ever seen. He might as well have announced he was going to hit me and warned me to duck.

I easily blocked it, and before I could stop myself, I landed a blow to his nose with my right fist. It knocked him backward onto his ass, and he sat there, stunned. Blood trickled from his nostril. Gingerly, he reached up and touched his upper lip, then looked at his finger. “I’m bleeding!” he yelled, in the same panicked way someone else might scream, “I’ve been shot!”

“I didn’t even hit you that hard,” I snarled, my hand still curled into a fist. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“Someone call the police!” he howled, looking like a belligerent toddler on the floor. “And an ambulance! A surgeon! I think he broke my nose!”

Veronica grabbed me by the bicep and pulled me toward the door. “Let’s go. Now.”

We raced for the door, pushing our way out into the sunshine and then hurrying up the block. Neither of us said anything as we darted through groups of people on the sidewalk, but at one point I glanced back and didn’t see her. I stopped moving, and when she caught up, I took her by the hand and we hustled side by side all the way to the garage, up two flights of stairs, and down the row of cars until we reached the truck. I opened the passenger door for her, and she climbed in. By the time I rounded the truck and slid behind the wheel, she was sobbing.

I felt like shit. “I’m sorry, Roni. I fucked up.”

“It’s ok-kay,” she managed between shuddering breaths.

“No, it isn’t. I promised you I’d let you handle it, and then I let my temper get the better of me. I should have kept my fucking mouth shut.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she wept. “He h-had it c-coming. I just w-wish I’d stood up to him s-sooner.”

“Me too. But I was so proud of you today. And your mom would have been, too.”

She cried harder.

Slinging an arm around her, I pulled her close. “Come here.”

She wept into my shoulder for a minute or two while I stroked her back. I was used to holding Owen or Adelaide while they cried, but comforting a grown woman was something else entirely. There was no scraped knee to bandage or banged-up elbow to rub. I wouldn’t be able to distract her with a cookie or a bike ride. For a second, I thought about offering to go down on her in the back seat, but just then she straightened up and wiped her nose with the back of her wrist.

“God, I don’t even know why I’m so upset. It’s not like this is surprising. Neil’s a jerk.”

“Well, now he’s a jerk with a broken nose.”

She laughed ruefully. “I’m a mess. And your shirt’s a mess.”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you, by any chance, have any tissues in your glove box?”

“Hmm. I might have something.” I leaned across her and opened it up, grateful to see I’d stashed some fast food napkins in there. “How’s this?”

“Perfect. Thanks.” She grabbed one and blew her nose, then another and wiped her eyes. Then she balled them up in her hands and took a few shaky breaths.

“You okay?”

She nodded. Her nose was red, her eyes were puffy, and her mascara had left some black smudges, but her breathing was calmer. “I’m okay.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth about throwing out your things?” I asked. “Maybe that was a bullshit flex.”

“No. I think he really did it. He’s vindictive and spiteful.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “When you said that thing about stuff your mom gave you, I wanted to kill him.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t that much. A few pieces of clothing. The stuff of hers that really mattered to me wasn’t there—I left a box in Morgan’s storage unit when I moved to Chicago. Photo albums from when I was young, letters she wrote to me, some books.”

I exhaled in relief. “Thank god.”

“It’s funny,” she said thoughtfully, staring out the front windshield. “I didn’t even consider bringing that box to Neil’s with me. At the time, I told Morgan that I just hadn’t had a chance to sort through it all and the grief was too fresh to handle it, but that was a lie. I just didn’t want to share any of it with Neil. It was too personal. Too precious to me.”

“Maybe deep down, you knew.”

She nodded sadly and dropped her eyes to her hands, which rested in her lap, still clutching the napkins. “Maybe I did.”

I started the truck and buckled my seatbelt. “Well, what do you say we leave this place behind and head home?”

“Sounds good.” She looked over at me, her expression sorrowful. “I’m sorry I dragged you all the way down here for nothing. I’ll pay you back for the gas.”

“Listen, I’d have driven another six hundred miles to punch that guy in the face. And you’re going to need all your money for new clothes.”

“Still.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek, then tipped her head onto my shoulder, hugging my upper arm. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

My chest grew warm, and my heart beat faster. “Me too.”

She picked up my right hand and looked at it. “Does it hurt?”

I flexed my fingers. “Not a bit.”

“That was a hard punch you threw.”

“Eh. I’ve hit Xander harder than that. But Xander fights back.”

She laughed. “I bet.”

I was about to put the truck in gear when she did the craziest thing—she lifted my rough hand to her soft mouth and kissed the back of each finger. Then she studied it. “I like your hands. I like them even better when they’re on me.”

My dick jumped, and I threw the truck in reverse. “Then let’s get the fuck out of here.”