RAFE: A Buff Male Nanny (Loose Ends Book 1) Read online

  He was pretty damn shocked when he got a call from Winnie Baker’s teacher. She got right to the point and when Rafe agreed to at least check things out, they hung up and she texted him all the contact information he needed. It had happened so fast, he was in a daze when he stepped back into the garage.

  “Rafe.” His dad’s head popped up on the far side of his Harley. He’d heard his dad call his name, but his brain was still caught up in the conversation he’d just had. “Close your mouth or you’ll catch some flies.” This time his dad’s thick Boston accent caught his attention. Rafe shook his head and swallowed.

  “Yeah, sorry. What’d you say?”

  “Who’s on the phone?”

  He glanced again at the texts that had just come through. “Uh, Sarah Kato. She was Winnie’s teacher last year.”

  “And? What did she want? You look like she just confessed to switching Winnie out for a robot.”

  “Nah. One of their incoming parents at Whippoorwill is having a childcare emergency. She needs a live-in by Monday. Single mom.”

  “She want you?”

  “Well, yeah. Sarah said she recommended me.”

  “You gonna do it?”

  “I don’t know. Give me one sec.”

  “Yeah. Take your time.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Rafe almost took a seat on the weight bench against the back wall, but his body switched to autopilot, directing him right to his old bedroom. He’d taken personal offense when his step-mom announced her plans to turn his bedroom into a guest room, but she’d really been on to something when she switched out his shitty twin bed for a Cal king.

  He sank down and grabbed his laptop off the nightstand, then googled Dr. Sloan Copeland at the ULA Medical Center like Sarah suggested. When he clicked on her profile on the ULA website, he did one hell of a double take. Dr. Sloan Copeland was hot as fuck. And young. Rafe didn’t know how long it took to become a heart surgeon and even factoring in what his step-mom had explained to him about Black women and aging, Sloan Copeland looked five minutes over twenty-one.

  The photo on the website was your standard professional headshot, Sloan sporting a white lab coat over blue scrubs, but she looked like a model. Her dark brown skin was practically glowing. High, round cheeks framed her plump lips, which were turned up in a bright smile that showed off perfectly white teeth. Her hair was in long braids that she’d put up in a high bun. Her looks aside, Rafe was stuck on the timeline of having two six years olds and finishing all her medical training. Not impossible, but obviously hard.

  He clicked around on a few more links and some things slid into place. Article after article, including profiles in Ebony, Essence and O Magazine about the child prodigy bound for Harvard Med School. More articles and posts on the youngest doctor to complete a surgical residency at US Medical Center in Seattle. If his internet math was correct, she was twenty-eight. Still pretty young for an established doctor.

  He realized how far down the rabbit hole he’d gone when he scrolled through a good portion of her Instagram. There were plenty of pictures of her twins, and close ups of human hearts on full display. Dr. Sloan Copeland appeared to be enjoying a full life. And she needed his help with her kids. Eventually, when Rafe found himself searching through her social media looking for pictures of just Sloan on her days off, he knew he’d gone way off track. Yeah she was hot, but that wasn’t a part of this equation. He walked back out to the garage.

  “What are you thinking?” his dad asked as soon as he stepped back outside.

  “Single mom. She’s a doctor. Two girls. Nanny bailed last minute, so it looks like she could use the help.”

  “How old are the kids?”

  “Sarah said they’re six. They’re twins.”

  “You can handle that. Two kids is a walk in the park for you.”

  “I know.” Rafe knew his dad was right. The Bakers’ four kids were actually pretty easy to handle. Before that, he’d been with the Craigs and they had five kids, and before that he’d helped his step-mom with his sisters, who were only a year apart. He could handle twins.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Just what I told you. I have to move on at some point.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like you to leave a lady in the lurch like that.”

  “She needs a nanny, Dad. Not a lift from the airport.”

  “I know, you smart ass.”

  “I’m just saying. This is more of a commitment.”

  “How much commitment can you handle?”

  Rafe didn’t respond right away. Yeah, he had plans, or he was planning to have plans, but he hadn’t put those plans into motion yet. He wanted to relax some more. Spend time with his sisters and parents. It had taken him two weeks to switch off and his internal clock still had him rising at six to get four kids out the door on time. He was in recovery mode, not start a new career mode.

  “I can give her to the end of the year.”

  “There you go. Let her know up front and then she’ll have plenty of time to find your replacement.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. Let me go call her.”

  “Bring me a water on your way back.”

  “A water?” Rafe asked, shocked. His dad’s sophisticated thirst could usually only be quenched with Coors, black coffee or knock-off grocery store Mountain Dew, which he drank proudly if he was feeling festive. He was surprised the old man didn’t glow in the dark.

  His dad was suddenly interested in his tool box. “Apparently dehydration is a thing. Your mom says I have to drink more water or find a new wife.”

  Rafe didn’t even bother to cover his laugh. “Water it is.” But first he had to give Dr. Sloan Copeland a call.

  2

  Sloan tried to get comfortable in the McDonald’s booth, but it wasn’t working. The last few days had been stressful as fuck and her nerves were fried. Drew had taken the news about Tess surprisingly well. Sloan was shocked that he didn’t attribute her shady exit to something Sloan had done, but he did manage to slide in a few predictable jabs about how none of this would have happened if she’d stayed in Seattle.

  That was her cue to end their call. She told him she’d be in touch when she found someone new, then “accidentally” hung up on him. As she tried to force herself to get some sleep, she reconsidered Xeni’s offer. Maybe she could put a hex on Drew. She woke up the next morning with both girls in her bed. They got clingy when they were stressed out. She wanted to strangle Tess anew, but she had to move on.

  She sat close to the entrance with an eye on the twisting tubes and ladders of the Play Place. She glanced at Avery talking with their sitter, Stacia, before looking back at the door. They were early. She still lived by her father’s mantra: five minutes early was late. She didn’t know how true that was until she had kids. She’d given herself plenty of time to get the girls ready and out the door so they would be on time to meet with Rafe Whitcomb.

  Sloan had never considered hiring a male nanny, but when her friend and Xeni’s fellow teacher Sarah insisted he was perfect for the job and available, she knew she’d be a fool not to check him out. Especially when all the other avenues she’d tried had come up empty.

  Her colleagues at the medical center had a few recommendations for babysitters and she’d signed up for a childcare service, but their extensive vetting process left her in a bind for the coming weeks. She needed someone now. He’d called while she was busy with a consult, but when she found a few minutes to call him back, they’d had a pretty good talk.

  He was thirty-four and had just finished working with a family who had decided to move overseas. He’d recently updated his first-aid and CPR certifications. Sloan was impressed by the thorough questions he had for her, beyond the girls’ ages and food allergies. He wanted to know upfront exactly what she expected from him, her parenting style, and her day-to-day vision for how he not only fit into the girls’ lives, but hers as well.

  She ignored the weird tingle that line of questioning
shot up her spine, just like she ignored the sexiness of his deep voice, with its hint of a Boston accent. The focus was finding a nanny for her kids, not a phone sex buddy for herself.

  She also appreciated that he didn’t flinch when she asked about his political leanings. No politics, no religion, no money mentions were a thing of the past. Rafe might be qualified, but she was trying to raise two young, biracial Black girls and she’d be damned if she let someone who was a fan of walls and assault rifles and playing fast and loose with general human rights spend that kind of time around them.

  He explained then that at fifteen he’d been picked up on an auto theft charge and spent six months in juvenile detention camp. Prison and police reform were things he held close to his heart. Sloan hadn’t expected him to come with a criminal past, but he was upfront about it, explaining that it didn’t appear on his background check since he’d been a minor. It was his one and only offense, and from the details he gave her, it sounded more like an instance of a young kid trying to fit in in a new city than the backstory of a violent criminal mastermind.

  By the end of their conversation, she was satisfied that Rafe seemed competent and capable. And honest. She was further impressed when Haylene Craig called her not an hour later to give Rafe a glowing recommendation. He’d watched her children before he’d been employed by the Bakers, who also emailed that evening to say that having Rafe with their family had been a wonderful experience and that they missed him terribly.

  After she put the girls to bed, she called Rafe again and asked if he’d be interested in meeting them on Saturday morning to see if they all meshed well. They agreed on the McDonald’s near her house and that if they could execute phase one of the in-person interview without incident, they’d move on to phase two.

  Sloan had tried to stalk him on social media, but she couldn’t find much. Mostly pictures of motorcycles and baked goods that he’d prepared. She was able to find a few candid pictures confirming that he was a white guy with red hair, but he clearly wasn’t the type to upload a bunch of selfies.

  Sloan checked her phone one more time, absently registering the sound of a motorcycle that had just pulled in the parking lot. Technically they weren’t supposed to meet for another five minutes, but she was ready to get on with it. Movement at the top of the jungle gym tube caught her eye. Sure enough, Addison had managed to scale the outside. Just as she was about to hop up, Stacia was on it. Addison made a face as she shimmied backwards and back into a large hole in the green plastic.

  “Dr. Copeland?”

  Sloan almost dislocated her neck as she whipped her head around at the sound of a newly familiar voice. If pictures were worth a thousand words, the few pictures she’d seen of Rafe Whitcomb had left out some pretty important details. They didn’t tell her that he was easily six foot five or that he was covered in tattoos from wrist to neck. They did clue her in to the motorcycle thing. She might have been staring up at his bright blue eyes, but that didn’t stop her from catching a glimpse of the motorcycle helmet hanging from his long, thick fingers. Those lying ass pictures left out the part where he’d grown a perfectly thick, gloriously manicured beard.

  “Yes, right. Hi!” Like a dumbass, Sloan stood too fast and realized a bit too late that she was trapped by the low table. Luckily Rafe didn’t laugh at her as she squirmed out of the booth. She swallowed and smoothed down the front of her outfit before holding out her hand. “Rafe. Hi. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” His fingers gripped hers in a firm, but brief handshake.

  “The girls are just playing. I thought we could talk for a few minutes and then you can meet them.”

  “That sounds good.” God, his voice was sex on a biscuit. “Let’s sit,” he said, motioning back to the booth.

  “Where are you from again?”

  “Woburn, Mass. Near Boston.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m from Rhode Island. Providence.” Sloan needed to chill. Her voice was doing that high floating thing it did when she was nervous. She hadn’t made those wheezing, squeaky sounds since she met Drew. She was going to ignore that inconvenient fact and get right on with her day. “Your accent is making me homesick.” Sloan watched Rafe as he supressed a smile. Sloan tried not to read too much into that.

  “I tried to get rid of it, but I’ve been spending time with my dad. When I’m around him, it comes back.”

  And there it was. An awkward silence. Then Sloan knew, there was no mistaking it. He’d realized she was checking him out.

  “So,” Rafe said.

  “So, right. How are you feeling about this? I know it’s extremely short notice. Ideally—well, not ideally—but, I’d like you to start tomorrow if we feel like things will work out. Sunday would technically be your day off, but you can get moved in and the girls can at least have a sense of you being in the house before you’re on your own on Monday.”

  “Why don’t I meet Avery and Addison? Let them be the judge.” His tone was even, but Sloan could hear what he was trying not to say. Slow the fuck down, lady. I haven’t agreed to this yet. Sloan felt herself slipping further into the jackass hole. That was the point of them meeting today—to see if they even fit, not for her to make heart eyes at him in a semi-crowded fast food restaurant. The part of her brain that was actually inhabited by a smart, professional, self-possessed woman got her ass in gear and gestured toward the indoor playground.

  “After you,” he said. Sloan nodded with a tight smile, then led the way. She took a deep breath as she went. She used the fact that he wasn’t checking her out to recalibrate her line of thinking. Rafe Whitcomb was drop dead gorgeous and that didn’t matter one bit. She entered the play area and narrowly missed stepping on a feral toddler as it ran by.

  “Hey, love bugs. Can you please come here? I have someone for you to meet.”

  “Is it Rafe?” Avery yelled as she emerged from the base of the slide. She took one look at him and froze.

  “This is our neighbor, Stacia.”

  “Hi.” The nineteen-year-old’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she offered a shy, little wave. Same, kid. Same, Sloan thought. Only Addison seemed to be completely unbothered by Rafe’s hulking presence. She hopped off the jungle gym, walked right up to him and tapped his helmet.

  “Do you have a motorcycle?”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Rafe,” he said in response. Meanwhile, Avery was inching closer, her mouth still hanging open.

  “I’m Addison and that’s Avery. We don’t model.”

  Rafe glanced at Avery, then back at her sister. “Good to know. Nice to meet you, Avery.” He got nothing in response. She was still in shock, and Sloan didn’t push her. The girls sometimes took turns being the bashful one. Avery would come around, especially when she felt that Addison had tested the waters enough for them both.

  “Can I hold your helmet? Please?” Addison asked.

  “Yes, you may. And I appreciate the please. Thank you,” he said. “Here you go. Use both hands, it’s heavy.” Addison held up her open palms and let Rafe place the black helmet in her grasp. Sloan knew her child so well, she knew exactly what she was going to do as soon as her little nose scrunched up, but by the time she said, “Don’t sniff it!” it was too late. Addison had already pressed the seam where the interior lining met the hard outer shell right into her nose.

  “It smells like sunscreen. Can I wear it?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Okay,” Addison replied, She handed his helmet back, dreams crushed.

  “Thanks.” Rafe looked over at Avery. “Do you want a go?” Avery stepped behind Stacia and shook her head. “Well, you let me know if you change your mind.”

  “So I thought Rafe could hang out with us. We’ll go to Jo-Ann like I promised, and then we can go home and you can do some arts and crafts with Rafe while I get lunch ready.”

  “Can we go in the pool, too? I’m so hot,” Addison whined.

  “I don’t know, baby. I forgot to tell Rafe we have a pool. I don
’t think he brought his swim trunks with him today.”

  “I did,” Rafe piped in. “Got a whole just-in-case kit in my bag.”

  “Alright, then. Yes, we can go in the pool. Let’s go,” Sloan said cheerfully.

  “Ladies first.”

  “Thank you.” Sloan ushered Addison toward the door, with Avery still clinging to Stacia. As soon as they stepped outside, she spotted a shiny, like-new, black and gold sportbike gleaming in the late morning sun. After they got the girls settled in their car seats in the back of the Mercedes, Sloan turned around and nearly orgasmed at the sight of Rafe astride his Ducati. Lord, his legs were long and his thighs were thick. And he was completely off limits.

  “There’s a Jo-Ann’s—”

  “On La Cienega and Pico?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’ll see you there. Any tricks with Avery I should know about?”

  “Nah, she’s just being bashful. She’s the powder keg. Just give her a few hours. She’ll be asking you to play the most cutthroat game of Marco Polo.”

  Rafe nodded, his face otherwise expressionless. He lifted his helmet, a clear cue that this portion of the conversation was over and maybe Sloan should stop staring at him. Right. She climbed in the car and turned to Stacia.

  “Do you mind hanging around for a few more hours? I think Avery is scared of him.”

  “I’m not scared. I’m practicing stranger awareness,” Avery declared from the backseat.

  Stacia smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Great. Ready, girls?”

  “I am!” Addison yelled, before she started chanting “I love crafts! I love crafts!”

  “Rafe is coming with us?” Avery asked.

  Sloan looked at her daughter in the rearview mirror. “Yes, he is. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” After a beat, she went on. “He’s taller than Daddy.”

  “You’re right, he is,” Sloan said, choosing to ignore the loud snort Stacia failed to keep to herself.