Page 24 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
I make my way back to the living room and sink onto the couch, the silence pressing in like a weighted blanket.
I should check my phone. Text Caleb. Maybe scroll through job listings, like I do every night.
Instead, I lean back and let my eyes drift across the room—at the blanket on the couch, the neat row of books, the framed photo of Grant, Liz, and baby Emily on the mantle. Grant’s eyes crinkled in laughter, Liz's hand on his chest, proud and tender.
He was different back then. Everyone said so.
I remember hearing it around town—how Grant Carter had been a surly, hard-ass type who never had time for anyone except his work and his brothers. But then he met Liz, a much older woman, at a cider festival in Gunnison, and something in him shifted. People started saying things like"He’s softer now,”or"That woman straightened him out."I didn’t know him well, but even I noticed the change. He smiled more. Lingered longer at the grocery store checkout. Waved at people.
And then, out of nowhere, Liz got sick. Ovarian cancer—swift and merciless.
I found out during my visit home two Christmases ago, and by the following summer, Liz was gone, and Grant was… the man you see now.
Closed off. Blunt. Made of stone.
I rub my arms and glance out the window. The orchard hills shimmer in the distance under the early autumn sun.
It’s strange being here. Stranger still working in this house.
But it’s not the first time Grant Carter has surprised me.
I remember once—back in middle school, maybe 8thgrade. I was walking home from school because Ben forgot to pick me up. It started pouring, that kind of cold mountain rain that turns your backpack into a soggy brick. I didn’t have a jacket, just a hoodie that clung to me like a wet rag.
I got turned around trying to take a shortcut through the trail behind Carter Ridge. My phone was dead, I was freezing, and I sat down on a rock under a pine tree and started crying—not loudly, just the kind of quiet, angry cry you do when you know no one’s coming.
Except someone did.
Grant.
He must’ve been on his way to town, but he stopped when he saw me—did a double take through the wipers, then pulled over.
“You lost, kid?” he asked through the window.
I sniffled and nodded.
He didn’t say much. Just tossed me a towel from the backseat and told me to get in.
He cranked up the heat and didn’t even yell when I dripped water all over his truck. Just handed me a granola bar and drove me straight home.
He never mentioned it again. Neither did I. But for weeks after, I found myself glancing at the Carter truck when it passed, wondering if he remembered. Wondering why he’d stopped at all.
I guess that’s what I’m still wondering now.
Why he came to the barn.
Why he changed his mind.
And why that flicker in his eyes—when our hands brushed in the hallway—felt like something more than a simple change of heart.
I shift on the couch, suddenly restless. It doesn’t matter. He’s my boss. My very grumpy, very broody boss. And I have a job to do.
Still, I can’t help the way my heart pinches when I glance at that picture on the mantle again. Grant, Liz, and baby Emily—back when life looked like it made sense.
Back when he smiled with his whole face.
I’m helpingEmily line up her crayons by color when I hear the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. My heart jumps. Grant?
I glance at the clock—only four. He said he’d be back closer to six. Maybe something came up?
