Page 18 of Nanny for the SEAL

With that we hang up, but the mention of Ivy has my mind churning a little. She’s due for another shift soon, and as we’ve gotten to know each other, I’ve noticed that she’s on edge a lot.

Considering that’s my constant state of being, it intrigues me. I can see a lot of my own mannerisms reflected in her.

It’s like she’s got her own trauma she’s trying to work through, and I’ll admit to being curious.

But it’s just that. It’s not like I’m about to sleep with my nanny, who’s ten years younger than me.

Still, as I try to distract myself with Daisy and her game—playing along with her as best I can when the rules to her games are always made up on the spot—my mind keeps returning to Ivy.

What is her deal? Why is she always so skittish about random text messages?

I see her wide, green eyes in my head, remembering the way her strawberry blonde locks consistently seem to be falling out of her ponytail, bun, or braid.

She’s got this effortlessness about her, and it all disappears into poorly concealed fear when her phone goes off.

I’m not sure why, but I’m desperate to know what’s going on there. I always like to solve a puzzle or riddle, and Ivy is the most fascinating one I’ve come across to date.

Ivy’s enticing, a little enigma I want to unravel. One I want to explore, whose grace I want to study up close.

Leave it be, Xaden. No good can come from getting that interested in the nanny.

SIX

Ivy

I’m needed at Xaden’s in about an hour or so, but I need coffee before I do anything else. I slept terribly last night, and if I don’t imbibe caffeine at nearly heart-stopping levels, I’m going to fall asleep on my feet.

I drove into town in my POS car, which is as likely to kick the bucket as I am without a cold brew, but thankfully, I’ve made it to the local coffee shop without falling asleep behind the wheel.

And no, I will not be acknowledging why I couldn’t sleep, and it certainly had nothing to do with me freaking out over every car on the highway and creak of my new house.

It’s packed in here, with customers plopped into every chair and couch and a quaint little musician up in the corner playing acoustic guitar.

The songs are folky, with some renditions of pop culture classics mixed in, and the vibe in this place is spot on for autumn.

There are fake orange and yellow leaves strung up on garlands everywhere, and the smell of maple and pumpkin spice is so strong that my mouth is already watering.

To the left of the door is the counter, pressed up against a wall of dark wood and set a foot or so higher than the restaurant.

Three baristas scramble about behind it, each taking turns mixing drinks or taking orders. There’s even a full case of delectable-looking pastries to the right of the register.

Four people stand in line before me, and I’m not sure where we’re all going to sit, considering how many patrons are crammed in here.

There’s a bar with some stools along the front window that looks out over Main Street, but it’s only got four chairs.

Looks like I’ll be standing. Whatever.

Studying the menu, I wait until it’s my turn to order. There are almost too many options, but I settle on an old classic for me—pumpkin spice cold brew with a cream cap and an extra shot of maple syrup.

Hmm, yes. Need the coffee. Give me the magical bean juice.

As I step up to the counter, one of the baristas hands out a drink and then regards me with a smile.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

She looks about my age, and her name tag says, “Sam.”

“Hello, could I please do a pumpkin spice cold brew with a shot of maple in there, too?”

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