Mack Daddy Read online

  First Edition, February 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by

  Penelope Ward

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced nor used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Model: Anthony Gomez/anthonygomez.net

  Cover Photographer: Duc Nguyen/ducphotography.com

  Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Proofreading & Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Mister Moneybags Preview

  Acknowledgements

  For More Titles

  Other Standalones by Penelope Ward

  About the Author

  “You should get a look at the DILF at the registration desk,” Lorelai whispered as she entered my classroom. “Hottest dad I’ve ever seen in my five years here.”

  I loved her to death, but my teaching assistant was a total bimbo. She threw around the “DILF” term a lot. Daddy I’d Like to Fuck. I sometimes had to wonder whether she was here to shape children’s lives by teaching them or to influence their lives by stealing one of their fathers. Not to mention, this was supposed to be an uptight, religious institution. Priests and nuns were always lurking around these halls, and she couldn’t have cared less.

  “I have better things to do than fawn over married men today, Lor. None of these tables are even configured right. We have ten minutes till doors open.”

  It was the first day of classes at the private Catholic school where I worked as a first-grade teacher. Located on the outskirts of Boston, St. Matthew’s was an exclusive educational institution that welcomed boys and girls from all over the state if their parents could afford the twenty-thousand dollars per year tuition. Unlike a certain co-worker, I took my job very seriously.

  Whereas most of my friends who were teachers dreaded the end of summer, I loved everything about the first day of school: the crisp fall air, the smell of new clothes, getting into a routine again.

  “Seriously, this dad was a different level of hot,” Lorelai said, pushing one of the chairs into its rightful position. “You know that perfect hair that some movie stars have? Thick, lush, shiny hair you want to run your fingers through? Like the guy from White Collar? What’s his name?”

  Sliding a chair into place, I answered, “Matt Bomer.”

  “Yes! That kind of hair. This guy didn’t look like him per se, but he was just that kind of handsome. Tall, muscular, smelled good. And he has the cutest little boy, too. Kid had glasses and curly hair. He might even be in this class, because he looks pretty young.”

  I hadn’t met any of my new students yet. There was an orientation I had to miss due to a prescheduled trip for my mother’s destination wedding in Antigua. Another colleague had filled in for me. So, I felt even more out of the loop than usual.

  I tried to get Lorelai to focus on the task at hand. “Wanna put these welcome packets on each table, please?”

  Nothing seemed to be going my way today. I’d spilled some white paint on my black skirt as I placed the individual containers at each station. I had the bright idea that we would start the day by having the kids try their hands at painting a portrait of a new friend. I figured it would be a good way for them to break the ice and get to know one another. All of this would happen after the morning prayer of course, which was mandated to be the very first order of business before the day started.

  Once I opened the doors, parents started trickling in with their children. I spent more time than usual on introductions, since I hadn’t had the opportunity to meet anyone at the orientation.

  Getting to know each student’s individual needs and personalities would take some time, but I was always eager to familiarize myself with each and every one as fast as possible.

  When I finally had my first chance to breathe after the parents and children dispersed, I was just about to head over to my desk for a quick sip of water when a familiar voice seemed to vibrate against my back.

  “Frankie.”

  The hairs behind my neck stiffened, and my body stilled. That familiar, baritone voice shook me to my core. There was only one person in the entire world who called me by that nickname—a name that hadn’t been uttered in years.

  There was no possible explanation for why he could have been here. He lived in D.C., or maybe it was Virginia now.

  He couldn’t be here.

  I braced for the worst, forcing myself to turn and face him.

  A sudden onslaught of heat permeated my face, and it felt like my legs were going to collapse out from under me.

  Mack.

  Not only was Mackenzie Morrison standing right in front of me, but he looked even more amazing than I could recall. He was everything I remembered, just magnified. His muscles were even more defined, and gritty stubble peppered his angular jaw.

  His sparkling eyes were searing into mine with a determined look that made me a bit uneasy. Clearly, this reunion wasn’t having the same effect on him as it was on me. While my mouth felt numb, unable to form words, he appeared ready for this moment.

  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “You might as well be one,” I muttered under my breath.

  “I expected this reaction.”

  I whispered, “Jesus.”

  We weren’t supposed to use the Lord’s name in vain here. I couldn’t remember my own name right now let alone a single one of the Ten Commandments.

  Opting not to look him in the eyes any longer, my gaze travelled down to his large hands and the veins protruding from them. The recollection of what it had felt like to wrap my fingers in his was clear as day.

  It suddenly hit me that Mack was the DILF Lorelai had been referring to. For the first and only time, she hadn’t been exaggerating about how incredibly good-looking someone was.

  His tone was demanding. “Look at me, Frankie.” When I didn’t listen, he repeated, “Look at me.”

  I lifted my head. To look him in the face was truly painful, triggering an onslaught of memories I preferred to keep at bay. One thing was for certain: the grown man standing before me was far more confident than the guy whom I’d last seen with tears in his eyes.

  “I don’t understand. How is this possible? What are you doing here at my school?”

  He slowly approached me, causing my skin to heat. “We live here now—in Massachusetts.”

  We live here.

  Who was ‘we’ exactly?

  My heart was thumping out of my chest in a mix of fear and an oddly disconcerting excitement that I didn’t quite understand.

  The wheels were turning in my head. I remembered looking at the class list and noticing a Jonah Morrison. The last name freaked me out a little, but I never could have imagined in a million years that it was Mack’s son.

  “Moses never to
ld me you were living here in Boston.”

  “I know. I told him I wanted to be the one to tell you about the move.”

  I stepped back a bit, too overwhelmed by the closeness of his body and the realization that he smelled the same, that his earthy scent still caused my body to have the same reaction it always had.

  My eyes wandered to the corner of the room, where out of process of elimination I identified Mack’s little boy.

  His son.

  Oh, my God.

  Mack seemed to notice where I was looking and allowed me a moment to take it all in. I could feel him watching me watching his kid.

  Jonah was a bit scrawny. Through his thick glasses, I could see that he had his father’s hazel eyes but otherwise looked more like his mother. His head full of kinky curls was a darker shade of brown than Mack’s.

  My eyes returned to meet his when I asked, “How did your son end up in my class?”

  “If I told you it was a coincidence, would you believe me?”

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s not,” he was quick to admit.

  “Why? Why are you doing this? Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Would it have made it any easier?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “We came to the orientation. You weren’t there. I was hoping to have this happen then, not on the first day of school.”

  I wasn’t sure if by ‘we’ he meant him and Jonah or him and his wife. Or was it his girlfriend? Were they even still together? I had no clue.

  My heart was pounding even harder at the thought of having to meet Jonah’s mother, Torrie. “Where’s his mother?”

  “She has to be at work early in the morning. I’ll be picking him up to take him to school every day since I work from home.”

  It was all too much. I started to walk away. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have to attend to my students.”

  The kids were talking among themselves, making a racket, and oblivious to what was going on with Mack and me.

  He followed close behind. “I know this is a shock.”

  “You think?” I quipped, before turning around to face him again.

  “Let me just introduce you to Jonah. Then I’ll leave.” He walked over to the boy, who was seated and messing with his lunch box. Although I’d never met Torrie in person, I’d seen pictures and knew she was multi-racial, a beautiful mix of black and white. Jonah’s skin was olive-toned, somewhere in between Torrie and Mack’s complexions.

  “Jonah, this is your teacher, Frankie.”

  “Miss O’Hara,” I quickly corrected. “Francesca O’Hara. It’s nice to meet you, Jonah.”

  The boy wouldn’t look me in the eye and began to fidget.

  Seemingly embarrassed by his son’s behavior, Mack raised his voice. “Jonah! Frankie is talking to you,” he said, clearly ignoring my request to be addressed more formally.

  The kid’s face turned beet red. “Hi,” he finally said while reluctantly lifting his head to look at me.

  “It’s great to meet you. Welcome to St. Matthew’s.”

  Actually, I’m terrified to meet you.

  Mack was the only parent left in the room, and we were already behind schedule.

  Lorelai’s eyes were glued to the two of us. A smug grin spread across her face when she mouthed “DILF” as if I didn’t know it was Mack she’d been referring to earlier. Then, her eyes landed on Mack’s ass before she gave me a thumbs-up. His back was facing her, so he had no clue.

  I addressed her, “Miss Brown, will you lead the class in the morning prayer, please, while I walk Mr. Morrison out?”

  “Sure.” She winked then mouthed, “Holy fucking shit.”

  My heart was pounding as Mack followed me out the door.

  When I turned to him, I noticed that a look of worry on his face had replaced the confidence from earlier.

  “So…my son…he gets… anxious—really nervous very easily. I worry about him.”

  I let him continue.

  “You’re the only one I trust with him, Frankie. His mother works all of the time. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, in general. I know it may seem like eons ago that we were close, and I know you’re confused right now. I know I fucked everything up between us, but I’ve never forgotten you. Not a single day. When Torrie was transferred to Boston, I knew it was a sign. Moses told me where you were teaching, and when I found out it was first grade, I took that as the biggest sign. I did everything I could to get him into this class.”

  Letting out a long, shaky breath, I just continued to look at him but said nothing.

  Mack looked around to make sure no one was watching us then said, “I know we can’t say everything that needs to be said right now. This is neither the time nor place. My intention certainly isn’t to get you into trouble.” His eyes trailed down to my black pencil skirt where I’d spilled the white paint earlier. He grinned. “I see you’re still spilling suspicious, white substances on yourself.”

  I looked down, remembering how he’d teased me about the same thing the first time we met. My face felt hot. “I see you’re a bit less crude in your terminology now. Must be the age.”

  “Not really. My humor is still pretty immature and crass. But this is not exactly the place to demonstrate that.”

  “No, it isn’t.“ I cracked a reluctant smile.

  He winked.

  It was amazing how one simple movement of his eyelid could do a multitude of things to my entire body. My physical reaction to him was certainly one thing that hadn’t changed a bit. I had no clue how I was going to survive this year.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  Ignoring my need to leave, he asked, “What happened to your glasses?”

  “Lasik surgery. Don’t need them anymore.”

  “Wow. I never thought you’d have the guts.”

  “Yeah. It was actually fairly seamless. I, uh, noticed Jonah’s glasses are pretty thick.”

  “He has crappy eyesight like you did, so he needs to wear them. Of course, he doesn’t wear funky turquoise or purple frames like you used to. Whenever I look at his glasses, they remind me of you, though.” He smiled. “But a lot of things remind me of you.”

  His stare was once again making me uncomfortable, so I turned to open the door, pausing when he spoke from behind me in a thick voice.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Frankie.”

  Victor spoke with his mouth full. “Tell me all about your day, darling.”

  I lived with my boyfriend, Victor, in Boston’s Beacon Hill. His two-story brownstone condo had more room than we knew what to do with.

  Vic was an anthropology professor at Boston University, my alma mater. We’d met two years ago through mutual friends at B.U. Seventeen years my senior, he was the only older man I’d ever dated. He took care of me well, made me feel safe, and provided me with anything I needed. On the outside looking in, I was truly living the perfect life.

  There was a light fall breeze coming in through the window as the sun set. The faint traffic noises from busy Cambridge Street below were the only sounds. I looked up at the dark wood molding surrounding the built-in shelves in our dining room and finally answered his question.

  “Honestly, I felt very overwhelmed today. Missing that orientation was a mistake. They’ve stuck me with twenty-six kids, and a couple of them have some really significant needs.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s really unfair of them to do.” Victor picked the cauliflower out of his vegetable medley and took another bite. He always ate his mixed vegetables one kind at a time.

  “Well, you know, each extra kid is a lot of additional revenue for the school. They just don’t pay us teachers more to compensate for the extra work.”

  “You know you don’t ever need to worry about money, right? So, don’t let that stress you out.”

  “I know. It’s not that. I just know it’s going to be a challenging year.”

  He examined my face. “Something else is botherin
g you.”

  I couldn’t tell him. I just couldn’t tell him about Mack. I’d never mentioned Mack at all to Victor. What was the point? I’d been trying to forget what happened, and it was several years ago anyway. Despite the urge to blurt out, “Oh, and the man who broke my heart showed up randomly, too,” I chose to continue to keep that quiet.

  “There’s a student who has some pretty significant anxiety. He avoids the other kids, in general, and has these minor freak outs when he gets nervous, tries to leave the classroom.”

  My entire day had been consumed by my obsessive observation of Mack’s son. Since his needs were not considered developmental, he didn’t qualify for any special services. The school didn’t specialize in anxiety disorders, and neither did I, aside from my own personal experience battling them. I understood why Mack felt that I was a good fit for Jonah. He’d seen me suffer my share of the same issues back when we knew each other.

  I spent the remainder of dinner quietly obsessing. Seeing Mack today was a shock to the system, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  Victor had gone upstairs with a glass of Cognac to relax and correct some of his students’ assignments. I planned to join him for the eleven o’clock news later. It was the same routine every night, for the most part.

  When my cell phone rang at nine-thirty, my heart dropped. No one generally called me on a weeknight at that time. Even though I didn’t recognize the number, my gut told me it was him.

  She answered, “Hello?”

  I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice, fighting the longing it triggered inside of me with every bit of energy I had left today.

  “Frankie, it’s Mack.”

  “You can’t be calling me at home like this.”

  My stomach sank.

  Great.

  She fucking hates me.

  “This is your cell phone, isn’t it? It was in the email you sent to all of the parents. You said to call you anytime if we needed you.”

  I need you.

  “I know, but…it’s late.”

  “I needed to hear your voice, to know I didn’t totally freak you out today.”

  She laughed a little. “Well, sorry, I can’t say that, because you absolutely did.”