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If you give a single dad a neighbor, he may be tempted to ask her to be his daughter’s nanny. And if he asks her to be his daughter’s nanny, he’ll start to have feelings for her. He’ll want to invite her over for dinner and take care of her when she’s sick, and then he’ll kiss her in the hallway and call her a “good girl” in the back of an art gallery because she’s all he’s been able to think about…
If you give a mouse a cookie with a twist
“I left a bowl of carrot sticks and blueberries on your craft table.” I nod to the other side of the room. “You can eat those while you wait for dinner.” It’s no easy feat keeping a highly energetic five-year-old entertained. “I love blueberries,” she declares. “I know you do.”
“How are your brothers?” Mom asks. I raise a brow. “Didn’t you call them both earlier today?” “Yes, but that was this morning,” she reminds me.
It’s not natural for a person to be so damn happy all the time.
I have an unhealthy habit of putting off responding to texts and emails when I can’t think of a good response or if I don’t have a definitive answer to a question. I tell myself I’ll reply later, but I usually forget.
When I broke the news she had to settle for pigtails, I distracted her with a set of pink, glittery bows that matched her outfit to avoid a complete meltdown.
One unexpected challenge of being a parent is that no one tells you how difficult it is not to swear in front of your kid.
God, why is she so damn pretty all the time? Even with paint on her face, she’s stunning… I dismiss the thought with a shake of my head. Happy. I meant, why is she so damn happy all the time?
You could say I have a thing for pushing his buttons—it makes me positively giddy.
“I’m so excited I could burst.”
Its giving im so happy i could die
Even in text messages, she’s snarky, and her sunny disposition shines through. It’s incredibly irritating so I’m not sure why I’m smiling
“See you later, alligator,” she hollers over her shoulder. “In a while, crocodile,” I yell back, ignoring the irritated looks from several parents loitering in the hallway.
“He’s totally not my type.” That’s a lie. He looks like Clark Kent—he’s everyone’s type.
I was merely suggesting you go to the Willow Creek Café and socialize with people your age. Would that be so bad?” Yes, it would.
I relate
“Lola isn’t the only one I missed while I was gone.” “She’s not?” Her eyes widen at my admission. I shake my head, not able to find the right words. “Does this mean you’re finally ready to confess your undying love for Waffles?” she asks with a gleam in her eye.
It’s like an invisible string draws me to her and it’s all I can do to keep myself from getting tangled up in her beautiful chaos.
It’s safe to say avoiding uncomfortable situations is my specialty.
“We’ll talk about it when I’m in a condition to win the argument.”
I reluctantly tried the vegetable lasagna, and he wasn’t exaggerating; it was delicious. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to give up my precious frozen corn dogs quite yet.
“We’re just two people who know what we want, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that,” I say, quoting her words from earlier. “And what is it that you want?” she asks, her gaze filled with uncertainty. “We’ve tiptoed around this conversation for weeks, and I don’t think you’ve ever said.” “For starters, I really want to kiss you, and if we’re being blunt”—I glance down the hall to make sure Lola’s still in the other room—“I want to strip you bare and fuck you.”
I might not be able to change Marlow’s past, but I’ll damn well do everything in my power to shield her from being treated like that in the future.
I often struggle with reading social cues. I get so caught up in my own emotions that I miss how others interpret my words or actions. This often results in me unintentionally saying or doing the wrong thing.
I’ve explained that Marlow and I are taking things slow, but that word isn’t in her vocabulary.
“I’ll buy you flowers every day, if it makes you happy.”
Only eighty-three days until Marlow comes home, but who’s counting?
