Will
Chef Arushi Patel was proof that angels were real.
It had been Uncle Mitch who’d first found her. Shortly after Jenny died, when I could barely keep my kid alive and drag my ass to work, I came home one day to find her in my kitchen. My uncle knew I needed help, but he also knew I wasn’t capable of seeking it out myself.
A normal, well-functioning person would have been shocked by a stranger in their home.
But I was numb to everything at the time.
I hadn’t so much as questioned her presence, tending to Ava as Chef Patel cooked me my first hot meal not from a drive-thru in weeks. When I finished eating, she cleaned up the kitchen, crossed her arms, arched a brow at me, and said, “We doing this?”
I’d had her on a weekly payroll ever since.
Tonight, she was whipping up an elevated version of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese — something Ava loved, but I could also tolerate, with Chef putting her spin on it. The chicken was always well-cooked and juicy, seasoned to perfection without too much breading, and the pasta was so good I’d licked my plate clean the first time she made it. Add in that she always somehow found a way to sneak in vegetables and get Ava excited about them, and you could say Chef was first on my short list of things in life I was grateful for.
“Thank you for accommodating an extra guest,” I said to her as I sat at the kitchen island, wincing a bit as I did. Practice had been brutal, and so had the last few games. January was when every team in the league started getting a clearer picture of whether they had a shot at the playoffs or not, and we were hungry for the Cup this year.
“Are you kidding? I’m just happy you have a guest.” She shook her head as she stirred the pasta. Her black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that swung a bit as she did. “I was beginning to worry you didn’t have any friends.”
“I have plenty of friends,” I grumbled.
“Uncle Mitch doesn’t count.”
“I have my team.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, leaning a hip against the edge of the stove and tapping the wooden spoon against her chin. “I think I met a few of your teammates. One time. In the five years I’ve known you.” She pointed the spoon at me. “You must be so close.”
I leveled her with an unamused look as she shot me a wry grin. Chef Patel loved to give me shit.
I’d never tell her that I secretly liked it, too.
At the rink, I was all business. I always had a team to wrangle and a game to win. Somehow, in the last nine years, I’d gone from a decent rookie, to a promising rising star, to a fucking train wreck, and then to the best goalie in the league.
I was now a veteran player for the Tampa Bay Ospreys, and for the first time since I’d been a part of the franchise, we had a real shot at the Cup.
My sole focus rested in getting us there.
Which didn’t leave much time for friends.
My teammates were like family, though. I may not have shown it as much as I should have, or in the ways most people were used to — but they knew I loved them. They knew I was there for them. Hell, if it wasn’t for me slapping them upside the head sometimes and making them think straight, half of them would probably be sent down to the AHL, or completely wiped from any league.
I would push them. I would remind them of their priorities. I would show them how to play better, faster, stronger.
But no, I wasn’t going to party at the local puck bunny spots after a win, nor was I going to crack open a beer and shoot the shit at a barbecue in the off-season.
I didn’t want friends.
I wanted a team.
I wanted the Stanley Cup.
And I wanted my daughter to be okay.
That last part was always the most difficult of the equation. Not only was I struggling more often than not to be a good, present father with a career that demanded so much of my time and attention, but I also apparently had a massive ineptitude when it came to finding a nanny to help me balance it all.
A heavy sigh left me at the thought of Ava standing in the car line waiting for the last sorry excuse for a nanny I’d hired — the one I’d promptly fired just thirty minutes ago. Actually, I’d let Chef Patel do the honors. She was all too eager after I’d told her what happened. Chef thought of Ava like her own daughter at this point, and she never did like that nanny.
I wasn’t too proud to admit that I wasn’t exactly the easiest guy to work for, but I also wasn’t going to apologize for laying out the expectations I had for my daughter’s caretaker.
It shouldn’t have been so fucking hard to find a competent female figure for Ava to connect with and look up to, to learn from and feel safe with.
But fuck if it wasn’t the most difficult game I’d ever played.
The security system announcing that someone was at the front gate shook me from the thought. I tried not to groan out loud as I pushed the button on my phone app that granted access, but Chef Patel chuckled — which told me I didn’t succeed.
“It’s just dinner,” she said in a way a mother might scold a child for throwing a tantrum over cleaning their room. “Besides, I looked up your friend,” she added, waggling her brows. “She’s quite pretty. Don’t think you’ll have to suffer too much.”
I ignored that comment and made my way to the driveway just in time to see Miss Knott opening the back door of an old Honda Accord.
Chef was wrong.
Miss Knott wasn’t quite pretty — she was fucking gorgeous.
Even after what I could assume was a long day of herding little brats at the private school she taught at, she still had a glow about her. I’d been annoyed that I’d even noticed her shapely body when she’d come to the rink earlier. Now, with practice over and nothing else calling my attention, it was all I could do not to stare too hard at those curves as she bent down to help Ava out of her booster seat, the swell of her ass framed perfectly by that damned polka dot skirt.
Fucking Christ.
She handed Ava her backpack as I straightened my shoulders and brought my eyes away from her backside. My daughter slipped the straps over her shoulders with a blank stare, dragging her feet a little on her way over to me.
“Hey, Pumpkin,” I said in greeting, ruffling her hair when she made it to me. “Have fun?”
“Yeah,” she said — in the way someone might sound if they were telling you about a root canal. “I painted a butterfly.”
“A butterfly? That sounds pretty. Can I see it?”
“Nacho threw up on it,” she said, and then she was heading inside without further explanation or waiting for me to follow. “Guess you were right. Cats are assholes.”
She disappeared inside the house with me internally cursing myself for how blatantly unaware I was of my mouth around my kid. I heard Chef Patel greeting Ava inside at the same time I heard a soft giggle behind me.
I turned slowly, cocking a brow when I found Chloe with one arm crossed over her abdomen and the other covering her mouth as she fought back another laugh.
“Find that amusing, do you?” I asked.
“Oh, immensely so.”
I shook my head, nodding toward the front door. “Please, come in.”
I really did try not to grit the words, but I was fairly certain I failed in that attempt as Chloe smirked to herself and led the way inside. She paused once she was in the foyer, and I shut the door behind us.
“I didn’t even think to ask if you had a booster seat,” I said.
“Always have one in the car.”
“You have kids?”
Her cheeks flushed red enough you’d have thought I asked her if she was wearing panties.
“No. Just like to be prepared as a teacher, and a babysitter. I take care of my neighbor’s kids sometimes.”
I nodded. “Well, thank you. For bringing her to me, and even more so for taking her to your house while I finished up at the rink.”
I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, thumbing out a few hundred-dollar bills and handing them to her.
Chloe blanched, blinking before her wide eyes slid to mine. “That’s entirely unnecessary.”
I blinked back at her, but didn’t smile or drop my hand.
With an exasperated sigh, she took the money, slipping it inside the purse she had on that looked like a gold coin. She snapped it shut again before folding her hands together.
“Um, would you like something to drink?” I asked, so out of practice having a guest in my house I was practically breaking out in hives.
“Wine would be great.”
Shit.
Chloe smirked at my expression. “You don’t have wine, do you?”
“He doesn’t drink,” Chef Patel said, rounding out of the kitchen and wiping her wet hands on a dish towel. She threw it over her shoulder before stepping down to greet Chloe with an outstretched hand and her million-dollar smile. “Fortunately for you, I do — and I have a stash in the kitchen.”
“You do?” I asked.
Chef rolled her eyes at me, then looked at Chloe and pointed her thumb my way. “No one better on the ice. But at home? This one’s about as observant as a turkey.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A turkey?”
“Gobble, gobble,” she said with a saccharine smile, and then she hooked her arm through Chloe’s and led her toward the kitchen. “I’m Arushi Patel, but you can call me Chef.”
• • •
Dinner was served a short ten minutes later, Chef Patel making sure we were all settled and taken care of before she kept herself busy cleaning up the kitchen. I was thankful she was still close enough to where we were in the informal dining area that she could help me carry the conversation with Chloe because I was as good at small talk as I was at braiding my daughter’s hair.
I must have worn my discomfort on my sleeve, too, because as soon as dessert was cleared away, Chloe smiled into her napkin, blotting at her lips before folding it on the table. “Well, I’m sure you’re ready to relax. I’ll get out of your hair and be on my way.”
Before she could stand, Ava said, “But I wanna show you my room.”
Chloe’s eyes shot to mine before she smiled at my daughter. “Maybe we could save that for another time.”
She was doing that thing again where she shoved her hair behind her ears only to immediately fix it the other way, her lips pinned between her teeth, weight shifting from one hip to the other.
“You’re more than welcome to stay,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Oh yeah?” She smiled like I’d told a joke. “Pretty sure you just checked the time on your watch for the tenth time since I got here.”
Chef Patel sucked her teeth at me as she cleared our dessert plates. “Manners of a goat.”
“First I’m a turkey, now I’m a goat?”
That almost got a smile out of my daughter, and then my phone was ringing. I frowned down at Carter’s name on the screen before standing and excusing myself out the back sliding glass door that led to our pool.
“Okay. You win. Why don’t you take Miss Knott up to show her your room?” I said to Ava. “I’ll be right back.”
I thought I heard another joke at my expense from my darling chef before I shut the door behind me and accepted the call.
“What?”
Carter barked out a laugh. “Well, hello to your grumpy ass, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do you want? It’s a school night.”
“How’s my favorite girl?”
“Currently as close to happy as she gets because she’s showing her kindergarten teacher around our home.”
There was a brief silence before he said, “Um… care to elaborate on why her teacher is there this late?”
“Not even a little bit. What do you want, Fabio?”
Carter Fabri was the closest thing I had to an annoying little brother. The kid had rolled up as a rookie last season with a feather in his hat and a grin the size of his home province. As much as he gave me gray hairs, I liked his attitude. I liked that when he was here, he was dedicated — no matter how much he partied in his off time.
The problem was that he wasn’t here long.
He rode the bench for a lot of his first season, coming in for sporadic line changes every now and then before he was sent down to the AHL to help them with playoffs. He came back to training camp for this season and stuck around for a few months, but he just wasn’t quite where he needed to be to stay put.
And so, he was back with our AHL affiliate once again.
I knew he had it in him to secure a permanent spot here in Tampa, he just needed to grow up a little bit. He also needed to get laid more or find some kind of way to beef up his confidence. As a center, he needed to be a leader. He needed to call the shots and communicate with his linemates without any hesitation.
As it was currently, he had the backbone of a grasshopper.
“I sent you a film clip,” he said, and my phone buzzed in my ear with the text arrival. “I need some Daddy P tough love because I’m about to lose my mind if I can’t figure out why this shit keeps happening to me.”
Daddy P was the nickname bestowed on me by my team. Daddy for obvious reasons, and P for Perry — or Pickles, depending on who you asked, because I was “cool as a cucumber.”
The Pickles side of that argument clearly hadn’t seen me at my lowest.
I watched the clip, seeing the error immediately. He’d cleared the puck up the middle only to lose control and have the opponent take it the other way and score.
In other words — a turnover.
He wasn’t back checking hard enough, and I told him as much, coaching him through the scenario and giving him some drill homework.
It took nearly thirty minutes to get him off the line, and as soon as I did, my phone rang again.
This time, it was Maven — fiancée to Vince Tanev, one of our right wingers and, in an interesting twist of events, a good friend of mine.
Well, as good of a friend as I let into my life, anyway.
“What?” I answered.
“Don’t what me, you prick.”
The difference in how she responded to my greeting compared to Carter wasn’t lost on me. Maven King was feisty. I liked that about her.
“I heard another nanny bit the dust today,” she said. “Was just calling to see if you needed me. I have a lot going on with the foundation right now, but I should be able to move things around to help.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose on a long sigh, feeling like an asshole — which was nothing new.
“Thank you,” I said. “I might take you up on that. Let me try to figure something out, but if I can’t…”
“I’ve got you,” she said. “You can take her to school in the morning before pre-game skate?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me a call after and let me know if you need me to pick her up. I could bring her to the game with me, too.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Mave.”
My head was pounding by the time I ended the call, and I made my way back inside to find the kitchen spotless and a note from Chef on the counter.
Pre-game pasta is in the fridge. See you in a couple days, turkey.
I dragged my sore ass upstairs, nearly forgetting Miss Knott was still here until I heard her voice coming from Ava’s room.
I frowned, the words familiar as I crept closer, and when I made it to the door, I paused at the sight of her sitting against Ava’s headboard reading one of her favorite bedtime books.
My daughter was already sound asleep, one arm around her Ospreys stuffed animal fish, her mouth half-open and a little drool coming out.
Chloe startled when she saw me, glancing down at Ava with a soft smile before she carefully slid off the bed, replaced the book on Ava’s shelf, and tiptoed toward me. I waited until she was out of the room before I took her place, bending to kiss Ava’s forehead and turn on her night light.
I met Chloe in the hallway, and she waited until we were away from Ava’s room before speaking in a whisper.
“I hope you don’t mind, but after she showed me her room, she was already yawning. I ran a bath for her, checked on her a couple times, and laid out some pajamas for when she was finished. She brushed her teeth without me asking, and then asked if I’d read to her.”
I couldn’t articulate why, but there was a thick knot in my throat.
This.
This was what I had been looking for, what I needed. Someone who had common fucking sense. Someone who knew how to handle kids — no, not just any kid. My kid.
Someone who could figure out what needed to be done without asking me for a fucking play by play.
“How attached are you to your job?”
Chloe blinked at my question, and then chuckled. “Very much so. Why? Are you going to try to get me fired?”
“No, I want to hire you.”
She blinked again. “Oh.”
Her fingers wound together at her waistline, and I let out a long sigh. Not only had I burdened this woman, but now I’d made her uncomfortable.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s a stupid idea. Of course, you wouldn’t want to leave your position.”
“No,” she agreed.
I nodded, leading her down the stairs, and she followed on my heels for a moment before jogging to walk by my side. She tripped a little over her feet in the process.
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t work for you, too.”
I paused when we hit the bottom stair, arching a brow. “Are you saying you’d be interested?”
“What are you looking for, exactly?”
I blew out a breath. “A nanny,” I said honestly. “I need someone to get her up on the mornings I can’t be here, the ones when I’m traveling with the team. She needs after-school care, sometimes weekends, sometimes weeknights.”
She chuckled. “So… like all the time?”
I grimaced, shaking my head and walking toward the front door. “It’s not possible, I know. It’s just… you’d be surprised how what you did just today and tonight has far surpassed any other nanny I’ve had.”
“You’re really bad at letting people speak for themselves.”
I turned, nearly knocking her over when I did because I didn’t realize she was following so closely. My chest knocked against hers, and she let out a surprised laugh as I steadied her with my hands on her arms. She peeked up at me through her lashes with her cheeks burning pink.
From this angle, those curves that were already haunting me were on prominent display — especially that heavy bust of hers. She was soft in a way nothing else in my life was, and without meaning to, I stroked her arm with my thumb.
Then, I promptly cleared my throat and stepped back, scowling.
“I doubt you’d have time for everything I just listed.”
“You’d be surprised to know just how much time I have,” she said on a chuckle, tucking her copper hair behind one ear. She folded her arms across her chest then. “Let’s give it a try. One week — starting tomorrow. Whatever you usually ask of your other nannies, I’ll do. As long as you’re okay with her coming to my house?” She smirked. “I do have three asshole cats.”
“Three? Good God.” I shook my head, but then studied her, looking for red flags or warning signs. I already knew she was competent and good with kids. She did still look a bit flushed from me touching her, but she wasn’t trying to seduce me — which was a pleasant change.
And at this point, what other choice did I have?
“Are you allowed to do this? With her being your student.”
“Absolutely. I’ve nannied for many of my students.”
“Really?” That honestly surprised me.
“It’s a private school,” she reminded me. “The parents can be quite…”
She didn’t have to finish that sentence for me to understand. Just in the times I’d dropped Ava off, I’d witnessed the overbearing mothers who wanted to have a whole parent-teacher conference there in the car line. I’d also witnessed the fathers dropping their kids with barely a glance as they yacked away to someone on their cell phones, already doing business before eight AM.
“Let’s just say it’s not a problem,” she assured me. “I’ll let the principal know, of course, just so all the information is on the table. She’ll want to be aware. Other than that, Ava might have to hang around with me a little bit after school sometimes, or go in early with me, but she’s easy to handle. I’ll give her a job to do and she’ll be happy.”
There was that damned knot in my throat again because she already knew more about my daughter than any other nanny I’d had.
Ava didn’t want attention. She didn’t want you to watch her play or entertain her. She wanted something to do with her hands and to be left the hell alone.
No idea where she got that from.
“One week,” I agreed. “But you have to be honest and tell me if it doesn’t work out. I don’t want to take you from your boyfriend or anything.”
At that, her lips curled, eyes searching mine. “No boyfriend, Mr. Perry.”
The words were soft and timid.
And for some reason, they sent a jolt straight to my cock, just like hearing her say yes, sir had earlier.
I ignored the sensation, nodding as I opened the door for her while surmising that I needed to get laid soon so I didn’t keep having fantasies about my kid’s teacher and now, possible nanny. It wasn’t hard to find a woman to warm my bed, but I didn’t do it often — not until my agitation got to a point where I had no choice but to find a release that wasn’t my fucking hand.
Apparently, that time had come.
We walked to Chloe’s car, and once we reached it, I asked, “How much?”
“To nanny the easiest child in the world?” She tapped her chin. “Oh, I don’t know. Five grand a week.”
I considered the price for only a split second before I held out my hand. “Fair.”
Chloe gaped at me, laughing at my hand before she swatted it away. “I was joking.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s… ridiculous. That’s far too much.”
“To know my daughter is safe and cared for, I’d pay four times that price.”
She softened, her brows sliding together, and I hated the way she looked at me in that moment so much that I opened her car door and ushered her inside.
“I can take her to school in the morning, but I’ll need you to care for her after. I’ll send you an email with the gate and house codes, but I have to get everything changed since I fired my previous nanny today. It might take a couple days, so if you don’t mind taking her to your place until then?”
“Not a problem at all,” she assured me.
“I’ll make sure she has extra clothes. I have a friend who can come get her and bring her to the game.”
“I could take her,” she offered. “I mean, if you want. We need to test out every scenario, right?”
I nodded. “Fair point. I’ll have a ticket for both of you at the box office.”
She rolled down her window when I shut her door, the old car firing to life.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Turkey,” Chloe said with a wink.
And then she reversed out of the driveway, giving me a headache while simultaneously saving my ass.
