Page 29 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
I rake a hand through my hair and blow out a slow breath. I want to go after her. Not to explain—hell, I don’t even know what I’d say—but just to make sure she’s okay. Her family’s place isn’t exactly around the corner. And she didn’t drive. I brought her here myself.
I step out onto the porch, scanning the gravel path. She’s already halfway down the drive, phone in hand. I call her name—once,softly, too quietly for her to hear. My throat’s dry. I take a step forward.
“Em?” I glance back into the house. Emily’s in the living room, arranging blocks into some kind of elaborate tower. I can’t leave her alone. Not for even five minutes.
I shift my weight toward the steps anyway.
That’s when I see headlights.
Caleb’s SUV.
Figures.
The tires crunch over the gravel as he pulls up beside her, window already rolling down. Ivy doesn’t even hesitate. She climbs in without a second thought, tossing her hair over one shoulder like she’s glad to see him. She’s smiling.
Relief. That’s the first emotion that hits. A gut-deep kind. She’s safe. She’s not walking home or stranded or pissed and alone.
But the second?
Envy. Cold and sharp. And stupid.
Caleb leans across the cab and says something I can’t hear. Ivy laughs—soft and real. The SUV backs up, turns around, and rolls down the drive without so much as a glance my way.
I let the door swing shut behind me and press my back to it.
Shit.
Why the hell did I kiss her?
I know better. I’ve been telling myself every hour of every day that Ivy Walker is off-limits. She’s young. She’s my employee. She’s Emily’s nanny.
And she’s not just anyone. I remember her as that soaked eighth grader I spotted on the trail road one afternoon, sitting on a rock under a pine like she’d given up on the world. A hard mountain rain soaked through, her hoodie clinging heavy and limp against her.
She wasn’t supposed to grow up like this—sharp, kind, gorgeous. Not in a way that knocks the air out of me every time she smiles at my daughter.
I close my eyes.
This is exactly what I didn’t want.
Ivy’s good with Emily. No, more than good—she’s the first person who’s made Emily laugh like that in… God, maybe a year. Since Liz. And now I’ve ruined everything by making it weird. Complicated. Risky.
What if she doesn’t come back?
What if I just destroyed the one good thing Emily’s had in a long time?
I push off the door and pace the living room, every step heavy with guilt. I swore I’d keep things professional. I swore I wouldn’t let anyone get close—not to Emily, not to me. Not like this.
And yet here I am. Acting like some hormone-drunk teenager with no impulse control.
I glance toward the kitchen. The place where it happened. The way her lips parted, the look in her eyes right before mine closed.
I shake my head hard and scrub a hand down my face.
I can’t do this.
I won’t.
Not again.
