The Summer Of Sunshine And Margot. Susan Mallery

a lusty sixteen-year-old. He was as hard as one, too, he thought, shifting uncomfortably, grateful his suit jacket would cover his inappropriate response to her.

      It was the lack of sex thing, he told himself. He wasn’t disgusting enough to lust after the woman who took care of his son. It was women in general and his not getting laid that had him wanting to set her on the counter and—

      Sunshine saw him and screamed. She pressed a flour-covered hand to her chest. “You scared me! Don’t do that.”

      “Sorry.” He set down his briefcase while making sure he stayed safely behind the counter where she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of his inappropriately hard dick. “Opening a bakery?”

      “What?” She dropped her arms to her side, leaving a white handprint on her dress, then reached for her phone and silenced the music. She smiled at him. “It was kind of loud, huh? Sorry. Connor’s fine with the volume as long as he gets to pick what I’m playing. He’s in his room reading.”

      “I didn’t know he still liked Frozen.”

      She smiled. “Everyone likes Frozen although last week it was the soundtrack from Hamilton. One of our favorites.”

      She’d been working for him for less than a month and already she and Connor had favorites. That was a good sign, he thought, letting a little of the ever-present worry about his son fade. As far as he could tell, Sunshine was an excellent nanny—even if she did have surprising hobbies.

      “What’s with all this?” he asked.

      “Oh.” Her smile faded and her expression turned guilty. “Yes, well, I stress bake.” Her chin came up. “I stopped at the grocery store after class and I paid for the supplies myself.”

      “Sunshine, I’m not worried you’re overbuying flour and baking soda. I was wondering what brought it on. And what we’re going to do with it all.”

      Her smile returned. “Most of it freezes. There’s a bake sale coming up at Connor’s school so some of it can go there. Maybe you’d like to take cookies to work.”

      “Mostly I’d like to quit and go live on an island.”

      “Bad day?”

      “The worst. Tell you what. Let me go say hi to Connor and get changed, then we’ll compare notes on our day.”

      A timer dinged. Sunshine reached for hot pads.

      “That’s the banana bread.”

      “Of course it is. I’ll be right back.”

      He grabbed his briefcase and positioned it strategically. Things had mostly calmed down but with her bending over the oven, well, he was a disgusting human being. That was for sure.

      He went into his bedroom and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, all the while thinking about how many billions of people didn’t have access to safe drinking water. A few minutes later, he was back to normal, so to speak. He went in to check on Connor.

      When his son saw him, Connor jumped to his feet and raced toward him. “Dad! Sunshine is baking everything. I think we should have pie for dessert. It’s mixed berry and I got to taste the filling and it’s delicious.”

      “Then pie it is.”

      He swept Connor up in his arms and hugged him. Thin boy arms tightened around his neck. This was right, he thought fiercely. These moments with his child. As long as Connor was happy and healthy, then the rest of it didn’t matter all that much. Work would figure itself out.

      “What are you reading?” he asked as he set Connor on the floor.

      “Another book on ants. It’s really good. I can’t wait for the farm to get here.”

      “Me, too. I’m going to go back to the kitchen and talk to Sunshine. Want to come hang out with us?”

      Connor’s gaze slid toward his book. “I’ll wait until dinner.”

      Declan grinned. “No interest in talking with the old people?”

      “Sunshine’s not old.”

      Declan clutched his chest. “Hey, I’m not old, either.”

      Connor giggled. “You’re my dad.”

      As if that explained everything. Declan supposed it did.

      He returned to the kitchen. Sunshine had changed the music to a classical station. She’d also cleared off a spot at the island where he could pull up a stool, and set out all the fixings for a martini.

      “You read my mind,” he said. “Thanks, but I can make it.”

      “I’ll do it. I need the practice.”

      “Not a martini drinker?”

      “I’m more of a wine with dinner girl.”

      “Then feel free to pick out a bottle.”

      “That bad a day?”

      He reached for a cooling cookie and took a bite. “My business partner and I have a contract with a new hotel on the north end of Malibu. They’ve started construction so now we’re talking about the grounds. They’re extensive, both in the front and back, with several acres heading up into the hills.”

      She measured vodka and vermouth, then added ice. “Sounds like a challenge.”

      “It is. We’re going to build a walking path through the hills, which is easy enough. It’s the rest of it that’s the problem.”

      Sunshine poured the drink into a martini glass, then added three olives on a plastic toothpick and handed him the drink.

      He took a sip. “Perfect. Thank you.”

      “Pie and martinis. I am a miracle. So what about the rest of the grounds?”

      “They won’t make a decision. No, I take that back. We can’t get to the point where they have to make a decision. They want something different. Something special, but so far they hate everything we’ve suggested. I’m to the point of offering dolphins and elephants.”

      “I’m not sure they’d get along although they are both intelligent species. They might figure it out.”

      She poured herself a glass of ice water, then sat across from him at the island.

      “They’re leaning toward breaking up the space into different gardens. They might want a maze of some kind and that’s all we’ve got. At some point they’re going to have to pick a direction or kill us. I’m used to clients needing time and hand-holding but nothing like this.”

      “The Huntington gardens are all different. I wonder if that would inspire them or make it worse.”

      “I don’t think I could get through a field trip,” he admitted. “Not without bloodshed.”

      “Yours or theirs?”

      “I have no idea.”

      She laughed. “So you connect different gardens with a thing, right? The material used to construct it or the same planters or a type of plant?”

      “Exactly. Feel free to suggest something. I’m running out of ideas. Last week they wanted all organic. This week they’re wondering about sand because we’re close to the beach. I could work with sand. Sand is great. Until I got an email this afternoon saying sand was too obvious.”

      “Yikes. That’s not easy.”

      “We’ll get there. Like I said, I’m used to hand-holding, but sometimes it’s wearing. Now tell me about your day. Why are you stress baking?”

      Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily. “It’s dumb.”

      “No, it’s not. It’s important. Talk.”

      “I started my math class today.”

      “And?”