Page 5 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar (Uncle Uzzi’s Date to Mate #3)

Dane

A s I drive off toward the Supernatural Summit, I glance in the rearview mirror just in time to see Alex getting mobbed by his cousins with delighted shrieks.

Laughter, mud, and shrieking—just what a five-year-old needs.

As for me? I’ve got work to do.

But her words echo in my chest long after I leave. “Don’t worry, Dane. You’ll find your happily ever after someday.”

Yeah. Someday.

Maybe.

But probably not today.

I should be relieved.

I am, mostly.

But as I slide into my car and head toward the East Coast Supernatural Summit, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off.

Not with Alex. He’s in good hands or paws .

In fact, my phone buzzes right then, and I look down to see a slew of pictures sent to me by Lena of Alex and his cousins making s’mores outside.

I grin and my chest feels tight as I take in my son’s sparkling hazel eyes and crooked smile. Everything I do is for him.

And with that thought, I send a thumbs up and happy face emoji back.

This feeling of discontent I’m struggling with— it’s me.

Lately, single life has started to feel less like freedom and more like a really quiet echo chamber.

Just me and my kid.

No one to talk to after bedtime.

No one to laugh at my terrible jokes—or to share a naughty one with.

No one to share a meal with who doesn’t think ketchup belongs on everything.

It wasn’t always like this.

I used to like being alone.

Hell, I was damn good at it.

But now?

Now, it feels like I’m not just single. I’m disconnected.

Which is ridiculous.

I’ve got purpose.

Today I’m pitching Legalese For Not So Dummies —my supernatural-legal-hybrid app that helps Shifters, Witches, and other paranormals navigate both the human and magical justice systems without getting hexed or handcuffed.

It’s smart. Useful. My brainchild. The culmination of years of work.

And yet, five minutes after I set up my booth, I’m already distracted by an older man floating three inches off the floor in a white linen suit with a matching hat, and sparkling blue eyes, gliding toward me with a big grin like he owns the damn building.

Which, knowing this summit? He probably does.

“There you are,” the man crows. “I knew I’d find you, eventually.”

“Uh,” I blink, watching him hover in front of my table. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet! But you will. Uzzi Stregovich. Witch. Widow. Wanderer. And developer of the most powerful matchmaking app in the modern magical age— Date to Mate .”

He flourishes his hands, and I swear sparkles follow.

Literal blue sparkles.

I squint. “You built a dating app?”

He hums.

“Well, I crafted it. With moonlight code, stardust encryption, and a sprinkle of destiny. Also, with the help of some of the most brilliant tech minds in all accessible realms. The best of the best, truly.”

“Um, congrats?”

“Thank you, dear boy! You know, Date to Mate is designed to match fated mates— paranormals and humans alike .”

“Right,” I say, glancing down at my app’s modest little brochure with bullet points about landlord-tenant disputes and magical contract loopholes.

Not as sexy as the app this guy is peddling, but hey, it serves a purpose.

“Well, uh, the name’s Dane Alistair,” I mumble, “It’s, um, nice to meet you.”

“And what brings you here, dear boy? Looking for that old magical spark, are we?”

“No. Actually, I’m here to introduce my app, Legalese For Not So Dummies . It’s not nearly as sparkly, but it keeps people out of prison. Or worse.”

“Well, that is important work,” he nods solemnly, then smirks. “But tell me, Dane. You wouldn't happen to also be looking for something , or rather, someone to help with your, um , personal needs?”

“Oh, sorry, uh, I’m not interested in exploring a, um, relationship right now,” I tell him, feeling a little shocked by his inquiry.

And here I thought he was like someone’s grandpa or something.

“Good gods, man, I’m not asking you out. You should be so lucky. But rather, I was speaking about your need of a nanny. You wouldn’t be searching for one, would you?”

My spine stiffens. “How do you?—?”

“Please. I’m a Witch. Also, I eavesdropped. That firecracker of a child of yours? He deserves someone special. And so do you.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship. I just need help with Alex.”

“Ah,” Uzzi says, twirling a crystal ring. “But sometimes help comes in unexpected packages. Or in this case, a woman with a heart bigger than her thighs and enough sunshine in her smile to thaw even a stubborn Cougar like you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the infuriating Witch lifts a finger in the universal hold that thought gesture.

“Come on, now. No hidden fees. Not asking for your firstborn or anything, I promise. I’ve already got the profile set up,” Uncle Uzzi says cheerfully. “Just one swipe. One match. No pressure.”

“What? Absolutely not,” I snap.

“Come now, if you don’t believe in fate, what do you believe in?”

“I believe in the law,” I say firmly. “It has rules. Boundaries. All of them spelled out. Even when legislators try to muck it up, it can be interpreted, applied. Understood. And when people can’t understand it? That’s what my app is for.”

Uzzi makes a dramatic yawn, then flicks an imaginary speck off his immaculate white suit.

“Fascinating. Truly. But what about love?”

“I love my kid,” I answer automatically.

He smirks like he saw that one coming a mile away.

“Obviously, I mean romantic love. You know, sweaty palms, racing hearts, inappropriate dreams, preferably about a mate you can’t stop thinking about .”

“Hard pass.”

“Stubborn Cougar,” he tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t make me enchant your phone to give me all your details, messages, and emails. My tech guy, Horace, is still upset about the last time I tinkered with his coding.”

I huff an annoyed sigh.

“You wouldn't. It’s illegal and immoral.”

His eyes glint with mischief.

“I would. And I already have.”

“What?”

He gestures. I look down.

Somehow, a glittery blue business card is already in my hand.

Date to Mate: Let Magic Help You Find What You Didn’t Know You Needed.

I scoff. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it? Or is it exactly what you need?” he asks, already floating backwards on a breeze that smells faintly like enchanted sandalwood and smug satisfaction.

I should crumple the card.

I should toss it.

Instead, I slide it into my pocket with a muttered, “Fine. I’ll take a look.”

Uzzi’s laughter echoes like wind chimes. “That’s all I ask.”

“And if all it gets me is spammy emails,” I shout after him, “I’m blaming you !”

“Oh, darling,” he calls over his shoulder, “you’re welcome in advance.”

The Next Day

The summit ends early.

Not just we got through the final panel with five minutes to spare early —no, I mean a full day early .

Apparently, the Werewolf delegation from Quebec challenged the Norse revenants to a drinking contest last night and everyone agreed to call it a wrap when the hotel pool turned into a naked mud-wrestling pit of diplomatic shame.

So now I’m standing in my living room after quickly packing up my things from the Red Roof Inn (the one off exit 92) and driving back home in record time.

Now, I’m staring down at the saddest display table materials known to man: half a stack of glossy Legalese for Not-So-Dummies brochures (slightly rumpled), three branded pens, and a mug I definitely didn’t bring with me but now inexplicably says #1 Magical Litigator .

I sigh and begin to unpack what’s left of the sad little spread.

A couple of books of matches—didn’t know that was still a thing.

Buttons—who needs more of these?

And a headband with a flashing light—wtf?

Was it a failure?

Actually, no. Weirdly enough, the app got attention .

An entire Vampire coven from the Eastern Realm was all over it—they’ve apparently been suing a rival blood bank over misbranded O-negative.

Big problem with legalese when you’re several centuries behind on modern vernacular.

Luckily, my app comes equipped with translation services in six hundred and thirty-two languages and dialects, including archaic Vampire shorthand and something called Ancient Dryad Click-Speak , which I didn’t even know was real until yesterday.

So yeah. Not a waste.

I should be heading back to Keeton’s place, the quiet mountain cabin with the wraparound porch and the creaky stairs that Alex loves pretending are part of a pirate ship.

But when I texted him, my kid sent back a voice memo that said—and I quote— “Dad, pleeease let me stay till Sunday. Aunt Lena said she’s making the bacon that tastes like candy. You love candied bacon. Don’t be a bacon thief.”

He’s not wrong.

Lena’s French toast is legendary.

The bacon? Illegal levels of good.

So how could I say no?

I texted back:

Dad/Dane

Fine, pal. But don’t start a forest fire, and if Keeton says you pounced on a wild bear cub again, I’m revoking your sugar privileges.

Now it’s 7:04 PM, and I’m bored.

Too early for bed.

Too late to go for a walk without getting propositioned by whatever Unseelie creature is lurking near the pool and hot tub on the thirteenth level— it’s happened before.

The condo I own is in a building mostly occupied by supernaturals. I was as surprised by it as anyone, and initially, I thought it would be good for Alex.

But like with everything else, it has its ups and downs— and no, that was not a bad Dad joke about elevators.

I flop onto the mattress. The ceiling fan wobbles ominously overhead. I reach for my phone.

And of course , there it is.

Glowing like a beacon from the digital void.

Date to Mate.

Still installed. Still sparkly. Still smug.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Why does it glow like that? Apps aren’t supposed to glow.”

Magic. Freaking Witch-coded apps.

I’m about to close it when I spot the tiny notification badge : One New Update.

Great. Now it’s taunting me.

I tap it.

The screen flickers, then opens with the annoying chime that sounds suspiciously like a wedding bell crossed with a wolf howl.

A button appears:

PAIR ME UP.

I stare.

Then mutter the two most dangerous words in any single dad’s vocabulary.

“Fuck it.”

I press the button.

The screen shimmers. A swirl of colors. Some glitter.

And for some reason, a floating cartoon of Uncle Uzzi doing jazz hands.

“Okay, now that’s just—” I stop.

MATCH FOUND.

Holy shit.

Wait. Wait.

That was fast .

Did it even?—?

It didn’t even ask me for preferences. Or a location. Or if I have allergies.

What if she has a dog? What if she is a dog or Wolf, I mean?

The screen flashes again and reveals a profile picture.

Curvy. Smiling. Pretty. She looks like she’s in a pizzeria.

Profile ID: TW743

Age 29.

Likes: kids, cheese, quirky puns, and loyalty.

Location: less than a mile away.

My mouth goes dry.

What in the actual supernatural fuckery ?

She looks adorable.

Bright mossy hazel eyes.

Sunflower cheer in her smile.

And something in her expression makes my Cougar rumble low in my chest.

That’s when it hits me.

Desire. Hot and heavy.

Even my cock stands up and takes notice, and just from a profile pic!

This doesn’t feel like the usual attraction.

The app pings. A message appears.

TW743

Hi there! You look like you live close by and it’s such a nice night. Wanna meet me at 6th Avenue Park?

I blink at the message.

Wait.

She wants to meet me?

Tonight?

In public ?

I reread it three times like it might vanish if I blink too hard.

My Cougar surges inside me, practically shaking my bones.

He’s not just roaring.

He’s howling , pacing, tail lashing like we’ve been given a golden ticket to the mate lottery.

Holy shit .

This isn’t just a swipe-right and forget about it situation.

This is happening.

And I’m absolutely, positively— screwed.

And if I’m lucky, I will be. In the best possible way.

Grrr.