I could stop there, couldn’t I? I’m already a cliché. The single dad who’s hot for the nanny. But it gets worse.
3. She’s my sister-in-law.
My wife died when our daughter was a baby, and Linnea was just a quiet teenager. I barely knew her. When my in-laws insist she move to Seattle to be my live-in nanny—after a string of caregivers who didn’t work out—I reluctantly agree.
I wasn’t counting on the smoking hot blonde with sinful curves, kissable lips, and shy smile.
Linnea is perfect for my daughter—fun, patient, and kind. She might be perfect for me too, but I can’t think that way. She needs to live her own life, not be saddled with my insta-family.
Being around her is a special kind of torture, but I have to keep this infatuation to myself. I can’t fall for my daughter’s nanny.
I could stop there, couldn’t I? I’m already a cliché. The single dad who’s hot for the nanny. But it gets worse.
3. She’s my sister-in-law.
My wife died when our daughter was a baby, and Linnea was just a quiet teenager. I barely knew her. When my in-laws insist she move to Seattle to be my live-in nanny—after a string of caregivers who didn’t work out—I reluctantly agree.
I wasn’t counting on the smoking hot blonde with sinful curves, kissable lips, and shy smile.
Linnea is perfect for my daughter—fun, patient, and kind. She might be perfect for me too, but I can’t think that way. She needs to live her own life, not be saddled with my insta-family.
Being around her is a special kind of torture, but I have to keep this infatuation to myself. I can’t fall for my daughter’s nanny.