Single Dad's Surrogate: A Billionaire's Baby and Nanny Romance

He knew that he couldn't hang onto her forever. Someday, he'd have to let her go. He knew that Caroline wouldn't have ever wanted him to live like this. He was a total mess. The only thing that felt normal to him any more was Maggie and his job. Everything else felt foreign without Caroline in the picture. He'd become a walking zombie, living a painful nightmare where everything he saw reminded him of what he'd lost.

“I miss Mommy, too, honey,” he finally said. “I miss her, too.”

They both stared at the photo for a moment longer, then finally Wyatt drew in a breath and stood up from the ground.

“What do you say we make some breakfast?” he asked.

Maggie nodded, gazing up toward him. “Yeah, I'm hungry.”

He smiled and took her hand. The two of them walked out to the kitchen. It wasn't even six o'clock in the morning and he'd already been up and down the roller coaster of emotions. From happy to sad and from joyful to heartache. He'd been on this same roller coaster ever since Caroline's death and he feared he'd never get off of it.

“Okay, are you ready to try my french toast?” Wyatt asked, as he topped off the meal with a generous supply of maple syrup. “I've added extra strawberry jelly and syrup to the top, just like you like it.”

Maggie was waiting eagerly. She was seated on one of the stools that surrounded the center island in the kitchen. With orange juice in one hand and a fork in the other, she looked as ready as she'd ever be to try Wyatt's first attempt at homemade french toast.

“I can't promise that it will be as good as Mildred's or Mommy's,” he said. “But just know that I did my best.”

“It looks good,” Maggie said, in the cutest little voice he'd ever heard. “It smells good, too.”

He set the plate down in front of her and stood by eagerly as she took her first bite. He watched her face go from a smile, into more of a frown. It was like gravity had taken an extra toll on her lips right then, pulling them down into a look of disappointment.

“Well?” he asked.

“It's tastes like burned,” she said, washing down the bite with orange juice.

“Honey, don't you mean to say that 'it tastes burnt'?” Mildred popped her head around the corner. She stepped into the kitchen, wearing a red robe. Her gray hair was pulled into a ponytail on the back of her head. “Wyatt, you know that you shouldn't try to use the stove. Remember the last time you did that? What was it? Chicken Parmesan? You almost burned the house down.”

He sighed, looking back toward the oven where a layer of dark smoke still lingered from overcooking the French toast.

“I know, Mildred,” he said, with a grin. “I just thought I'd give cooking another try. I'm just afraid we'll starve to death if you ever decided to quit working for me. I figured I should practice in case that ever happens.”

She smiled warmly. “First off, you don't have to worry about me quitting this job. I'm far too old to go stand in the unemployment line to try to get some other job. Plus, I love it here. There's nobody in the world I'd rather take care of than Maggie. Besides, I'm just giving you a hard time about your cooking, Wyatt. I'm sure the French toast is great. Little Ms. Maggie here is kind of a picky eater anyway. She's rather tough to please. Aren't you, honey?”

Maggie giggled and her cheeks turned a bit red. “A little.”

“I personally prefer my French toast with a little char on top,” Mildred said, grabbing a few pieces for herself and placing them on a plate. “It gives it that extra flair that normal French toast is missing.”

Wyatt knew that Mildred was just trying to be nice. She was sweetest old lady he'd ever known. He and Caroline had hired her four years before, right after Maggie had been born. They figured it would be nice to have someone around the house to help out with the baby. The added bonus was that Mildred was an amazing cook and she also kept the house as clean as a whistle. Needless to say, Wyatt wasn't the best at either of those things. He was only half kidding when he said that he feared he'd starve to death without her.

“Daddy, we still need to find my swim suit,” Maggie said, between bites of food.

“Oh, right,” Wyatt said. “Mildred, have you seen her swim suit? She has swim lessons at noon.”

Mildred shook her head. “I haven't seen it, but I'm happy to go look.”

“No, no,” Wyatt said. “Eat your breakfast and relax. I'll go see what I can find.”

He left Mildred and Maggie in the kitchen and headed upstairs. It only took a few minutes of digging through Maggie's laundry to find her little red swimsuit.

Thank God, he thought, tossing it over his shoulder. I'm not sure that was worth waking me up so early, but at least she has it now.

He made his way back down to the kitchen. Mildred was busy in front of the stove, making another batch of French toast. Her batch w

as flawless, though, unlike his. It was cooked perfectly, with just the right amount of golden brown on the edges of the bread.

“Wow. You're making me look bad, Mildred,” he said, with a playful smile. “Look at that. Perfection.”

Mildred laughed, placing the toast onto a plate for Wyatt. “I've got many, many years over you. The only reason I'm a better cook is because I've had quite a bit more practice.”