Falling For Her Manny (Single In the City 2)

Grant rolled his eyes. “And we know how much Garwoods prize their heirs.”

Blake glared at him. “So I need to prove that I’m good with kids.”

“So do some volunteer work in your spare time. Do the whole big brother thing. Perfect.” Grant dusted his hands. “Problem solved. Now, can we get out of here and go back to the shop?”

“I’m going to get a nanny position.”

Grant choked on his coffee. “A what?”

“A steady babysitting gig. It’s the best way to prove I’m father material and that I’m dedicated to Jen. I think this is just as much about me proving how much I care about her than it is proving I can handle kids.”

“This is stupid. You know nothing about kids.”

Blake leaned back in his seat. “That’s the whole point of this, to learn what I don’t know. And thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way.”

“But you’re a man.”

“And. . .? Men can’t take care of kids? Since when are you so sexist?”

“So, you’d be, like, a manny?”

“Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” Blake grinned, but, really, he was dying inside. He’d miss the odious smell of motor oil, rubber, and stale coffee in the shop. The gleam of chrome and the satisfaction of viewing a finished product after hours of hard labor.

“You’re totally messing with me, aren’t you?”

I wish I were. “Afraid not.”

“I’m surprised they’re even willing to consider you as a son-in-law, considering you’ll taint the precious Garwood bloodline.”

Blake ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, they’re not that bad.”

“Oh, really?” Grant arched a brow. “They have concerns about you marrying their daughter because you come from nothing and have no parents.”

“It’s not like that. It’s . . . everything. The whole biker image, combined with our rough background. It’s foreign to them. They don’t understand it, and most people are afraid of what they don’t understand.” And, okay, Blake did suspect it had something to do with the fact that he had no Ivy League degrees or corporate titles under their belt. The Garwoods were nothing if not highbrow.

“So, you’re going to, what? Be some amazing manny and receive glowing recommendations for Jen. Get an A+ in potty-training and nap time, and suddenly you’re husband material? They’ll give you their blessing, no questions asked?”

Blake groaned and dropped his head in his hands. When Grant said it like that, it sounded ridiculous. A fool’s errand. But what choice did he have? How did he explain this desperation to prove himself? “Man, please. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t blame her, ya know? I mean, what do we know about having kids or getting married? We didn’t exactly have solid role models growing up. Maybe their concerns are founded.”

Grant grimaced. A myriad of memories floated between them—some good, some bad. “You realize how crazy this is though, right?”

Blake nodded. “But girls like Jen don’t come around too often.” It was the understatement of a lifetime. There were days Blake still couldn’t believe she’d given up the Manhattan elites chasing after her for someone like him. “If I need to take a break from the shop and watch some kids to prove I have what it takes to be a good husband, I’ll do it.”

Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you have a month. That’s it. No more. B’s needs you, bro, and you know it.”

Blake pinc

hed the bridge of his nose. “You’re just being dramatic. Our guys are great mechanics.”

When push came to shove, the Britton Brothers always had each other’s backs, which is why he knew Grant would pitch a fit, then back off.

“Fine. But just so you know,” Grant said, fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. “I think you could do better.”

Blake rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. Here we go.

He opened his mouth with a smart retort when the door to the coffee shop chimed and in walked a woman. Her long, dark hair swung wildly over her shoulders, and when her eyes briefly met his, the force of her gaze hit him like a Mack Truck. Whatever Blake was about to say shriveled and died somewhere in the back of his vocal cords.

A shiver shimmied up his spine as he stared. Those eyes—they were the most exquisite shade he’d ever seen. Tawny-brown. Like the smoothest of caramel. Like the Johnnie Walker Jen’s father had imported with its ridiculous price tag.