Relatable Romance that’s racy between the sheets.
Front of the House
Shattered Hearts of Carolina Single Parent Romance
A Workplace Single Mother Romantic Short Story
I fought my attraction to Madigan Robeson since the moment I hired her. After asking my best waitress to stay late to discuss a promotion, I guess my name was on her list of daily specials to sample, too.
As the boss, I should have known better than to indulge in a one-night stand with an employee. When two pink lines appeared, I took responsibility. Although I can’t say I was sorry when the pregnancy ended in an emergency room visit. What do I regret? Missing out on the way my relationship with the single mom was changing.
So, when she and her two boys need a temporary place to stay, I offer to put them up at my house. It doesn’t take long for things to steam up between me and Maddie again. But having never wanted kids, do I have what it takes to help her create a stable home and be the man they need?
CONTENT CONSIDERATIONS This book includes but is not limited to the following: pregnancy loss, divorce, drug use, financial instability, incarceration, child neglect
Enjoy this Excerpt from Front of the House...
“What’s with the waitress?” Park asks as soon as my best employee is out of earshot and we’re alone.
I’d call him an asshole. But my tongue has rolled out of my mouth and has landed on the floor.
Madigan Garner saunters toward the kitchen. Both her blonde ponytail and her heart-shaped ass, clad in tight black capris, swing like the tick-tock of a clock. It revs my engine. Which says a lot about how goddamn sexy Maddie is because she’s carrying the dirty dishes from Park’s lunch.
Maddie turns the corner without glancing back. That’s how I know I’m in the doghouse. Maddie always looks back—at customers, at her tables, at me.
I brush a hand over my trimmed beard, and give my friend my full attention.
“Smooth move. You had some drool there.” Park wiggles a finger to the side of his mouth, holding in a laugh.
“Asshole.” I widen my stance, folding my arms over my chest. “Nothing is going on with Madigan.”
Park raises a brow. “Either something already has and you’re pissed it’s over, or you’re a terrible liar.”
He’s got me there, but I won’t bite. What happened between me and Maddie a few months ago is nobody’s business but our own. I made a mistake. A big fucking mistake. Following that, I acted like a colossal douche.
That should be my name, Douche, not Dutch. Only maybe classy, with one of those accents over the “e” that’s printed on a fine dining menu.
Douché Dutch Bakker, restaurateur and proprietor of Brighton’s Mark-39.
I’m lucky Maddie didn’t quit. Luckier still she didn’t lawyer up, slap me with a sexual harassment suit, and report me to the North Carolina Department of Labor. Instead, she serves me the cold shoulder daily.
“Nope.” I deny my buddy’s accusation. “Madigan is good people. I care about my workers. Leave her cash, Dr. Moneybags.”
Maddie’s got kids to feed and a deadbeat ex in love with get-rich-quick schemes. More than one has landed him in the slammer.
Taking out his wallet, Park asks me something about tipping out; a standard restaurant practice, where the server shares a portion of their twenty percent with the kitchen staff and bussers.
I tell my staff that’s the policy at Mark-39 when I hire them.
The problem is, whenever some asshole doesn’t leave a tip, the server gets stuck paying everyone else out of their wages. More often than not, when I tally the day’s receipts, I make up the difference out of my pocket. If there’s one thing I’d change about being a restaurant owner, it’s US tipping culture. This business has chewed up more hard workers than I can count.
Park tosses enough bills onto the table to cover what the meals cost if I’d charged him for them.
I let go of the resentment I felt getting called out about Madigan. After all, it was everything I could do to keep a straight face when Park arrived at my establishment with his youngest, Kaci, along with her new roommate at Pinewood University, Chandler, and Jennica, Chandler’s mother.
In June, while Kaci was on vacation with Park’s ex, he had let it slip that there was a chance the freshmen girls would live in the same dorm. Whenever we’ve gotten together for beers, and Park’s gotten into a maudlin mood, Jennica’s name has come up in conversation as “the one that got away.” Except this summer, Park downright sucked at holding back his enthusiasm over the potential of seeing Jennica again. So, when the three women got up to use the ladies’ room, I totally busted his balls about how Chandler mentioned she had a pediatrician and that her mother said the guy was relentless. If Jennica’s daughter only knew the lengths Park, the poor romantic sap, will go to win her mother over.
The three ladies return, ready to go back to campus. I wave goodbye to my friend, wishing the teenage girls the best of luck with their freshman year at Pinewood, and telling Jennica I hope to see her again. Which is pretty much guaranteed.
As I collect the rest of the dishes from the table to bring to the dishwasher, Madigan reappears.
“Grab your tip.” I toss my chin at the money.
Maddie’s eyes widen as she counts the bills. She separates them evenly and folds each half, stuffing one into her apron. The rest of the money she pushes at me.
“What’s that for?” I balk.
F⊘cking A, take the cash.
“I know you fixed their tab, Dutch. Be fair. The back of the house deserves their cut.”
“Why? You earned it.”
“I’m not the only one with bills to pay.” She snags the used napkins and wrinkled straw wrappers, clutching them in her fist.
“They’ll get paid.” I mean my workers, and I’m not stupid. I knew Madigan was strapped when I paid her hospital bill. It’s why I settled the account with her OB-GYN for the appointments she had, too.
That, and I’d like to be able to look myself in the mirror.
Maddie brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and sighs. “This doesn’t…Never mind.” She doesn’t storm off, just spins slowly on her heel.
She leaves a wake of nostalgia as she retreats. Madigan smells like birthday cake; a sweet combination of vanilla cake batter and buttercream frosting.
I walk behind her, stopping at the sink with a stack of cups I cleared. Then, I wash my hands. On the way out of the kitchen, I touch her elbow.
“I want to see you in my office.”
“I have customers.”
“Carla!” I wave another server down. “Take care of Madigan’s tables for the next ten.”
“Yeah, because seeing me in your office worked so well for us before,” Maddie growls low when Carla agrees.
I stop breathing, surprised she alluded to the incident we’d initially agreed to keep to ourselves. Afterward, it was only supposed to be until Madigan was ready to tell everyone she was pregnant. However, since that’s no longer a factor, she prefers to pretend nothing happened between us. I know that’s my doing and I want to make it right.
When I’ve picked my chin up off the floor a second time, I make a ladies first gesture. Once again, I trail her, feeling like I’m a stray dog that’s become attached to someone who doesn’t want me around. What Maddie doesn’t realize is I’m not trying to bark up her heels. Since the first time I closed us into my office, I’ve become as devoted to her as the family pooch.
Hell, I didn’t realize it.
With her back to me, I don’t bother offering Maddie a seat. She’s been on her feet all day, and sitting will make getting through her shift ten times worse. She’s also hopping to get back out there, and won’t sit, anyway.
I have a million things I want to say to her; starting with I’m sorry and ending in the original reason I called her in, both a few months ago and right now.
“Mad, Maddie… Don’t do this.” Her freezing me out is killing me, even if it is my fault.
Her ponytail flies out as she spins to face me. “Don’t do what, Dutch?” Her plump lower lip trembles.
“Listen, I fucked up, alright? I should’ve been there.”
“You were there.” She juts her hip at me.
I plant my palms on my waist to stop the live wire of electricity I feel whenever she’s around from pulling me in. “Not after.”
“Without the baby, why would you stay?”
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