Page 2 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar (Uncle Uzzi’s Date to Mate #3)
Tamare
I t’s not that I mind eating alone.
I mean, sure, it’s a little weird when the server keeps giving me those pitying smiles like I just got stood up, but hey, pizza is pizza. And Pizza Girls is quickly becoming my favorite place in the city.
I scroll absently through the want ads on my tablet, taking a bite of my margherita slice as I skim past nanny listings, part-time teaching gigs, and one very suspicious:
Live-In Companion Needed for Elderly Cat Enthusiast—Must Love Tuna.
Hard pass.
“Nope,” I mutter around a sip of iced tea, wiping my fingers on a napkin before swiping again.
Most of the listings are the usual desperation-in-disguise. You know the ones. They’re asking for underpaid, overworked, family values required, compensation optional kind of deals.
Another hard pass. I mean, who works for free?
But it’s not all terrible. I mean, I do keep circling back to one:
LIVE-IN NANNY NEEDED FOR RAMBUNCTIOUS FIVE-YEAR-OLD.
MUST HAVE EARLY CHILDHOOD DEGREE.
MUST BE PROFESSIONAL.
MUST BE WILLING TO FOLLOW RULES.
The ad is all bold caps and zero personality. It screams control freak. I can practically hear the guy clenching his jaw as he typed it.
I mean, rambunctious ?
That’s nanny code for demon child with a fondness for firecrackers.
And don’t get me started on the whole “ must be willing to follow rules” thing.
I mean, uh, thanks, Dad . Should I wear a chastity belt and report to you for inspection at dawn?
But still, I sigh, rereading it again because, unfortunately, Mr. Dane Alistair, probable robot or emotionally constipated single father, has something I need.
Namely, a paying job.
And also, potentially, a place to live.
Because right now, my living situation is one long, cringey sitcom episode waiting to happen.
Picture it.
Me. A chubby, single thirty year old, sleeping on the world’s lumpiest couch in my older brother Kyle’s living room.
I’m surrounded by half-packed boxes, a cranky rescue pug named Sophie, and the endless PDA of Kyle and his boyfriend, Jeff.
They are both lovely, don’t get me wrong—but there’s only so many times a girl can pretend to be asleep while two grown men reenact a Nicholas Sparks movie on top of the throw blanket she’s currently using.
So yeah.
A nanny job with live-in perks doesn’t sound entirely awful.
Especially if it means I get to shower without tripping over a minefield of bath bombs and beard oil—and I won’t even mention the toy I accidentally knocked off the shelf and screamed at like it was a cursed artifact from an ancient temple.
There are just some things a girl never needs to know about her brother and his boyfriend.
Never. Ever. Ever.
And no, it’s not because I’m jealous that Kyle’s getting more action than me.
Okay.
Maybe it’s a little that.
But mostly, it’s the trauma.
But back to the nanny job.
I mean, I do have a degree in early childhood education, even if the only thing I’ve been teaching lately is my brother on how to not blow milk out of his nose at the breakfast table.
Seriously, he still does this at thirty-six.
Maybe this job is worth a reply.
Maybe I just need to stop overthinking it.
I hover my finger over the contact button, and before I can talk myself out of it, I send my resume with one clickity click.
Then a flicker of light catches my eye.
Not from the ad I’m still looking at—but the one right beneath it.
Date to Mate: where destiny is just one swipe away.
Oh no.
Not this weird crap again.
It’s this weirdly glowing ad, wedged between two more boring listings.
The text shimmers slightly, and I blink twice to be sure it’s not just grease on the screen.
Looking for something more than a job? Maybe your destiny? Date to Mate—where magic meets the algorithm.
There’s a little heart icon with wings that pulses like it has a heartbeat of its own.
I quirk my nose. “Okay, weird.”
“You thinking about signing up?”
The voice comes from behind me, and I look up to see my server—a petite, curvy woman with long brown curls, a cheeky grin, and eyes that practically sparkle.
Her name tag reads Carina.
I laugh.
“What, that app? I don’t really do dating apps. Those things never work.”
Carina gasps like I just cursed at her cat.
“Excuse you! That’s how I found my man! I met my Horace through Date to Mate, and trust me, it works.”
“Horace?” I arch an eyebrow, trying not to smile.
“Big, broody computer programmer. Total cinnamon roll on the inside. I mean, don’t tell him I said that. But seriously, the app is magic. Literally.”
I blink. “Magic, huh?”
Carina waves it off with a mischievous grin.
“Figure of speech. Kind of. Just give it a try. Beats eating alone forever, right?”
I glance down at my tablet again.
The ad is still glowing. Still pulsing.
Still calling to something a little bit lonely inside of me.
“Well,” I say slowly, tapping the edge of the screen, “maybe I’ll give it a peek.”
Carina winks. “That’s the spirit. Who knows? Your mate, er , I mean, match might just be one swipe away.”