Page 33 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
There’s a silence that settles for a beat. Then Mom lifts her spoon again. “I’ve always thought Caleb was the nicest of the three,” she adds. “I wonder why he hasn’t settled down yet.”
Something in her tone makes me glance up sharply. “You think Caleb should get married?”
“Why not?” she says. “He’s kind, good with animals, owns land. That boy would make a great husband.”
My curiosity gets the better of me. “Do you think he’s seeing someone?”
She shakes her head. “Not that I know of. I’ve only ever seen him with a girl once, and that was years ago.”
My dad snorts. “He’s probably too busy. And besides, most of the girls his age have left town. Present company included.”
Mom eyes me for a second. Then, with a sudden brightness in her voice, she says, “You should invite Caleb to dinner one night.”
I nearly choke on my stew. “What? No. He’s just a friend. And Ben’s best friend, remember?”
“So?” my dad says. “Ben only comes home once a year. He’s not your chaperone.”
I press my lips together, cheeks burning. “I’m not asking Caleb out. That would be weird.”
My mom gives me a knowing look and pats my hand. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to be nice.”
I nod and bury my face in my bowl, pretending to focus on my food while my mind drifts somewhere else entirely.
A flicker of my high school self rears up, remembering the dumb little crush I used to nurse for Caleb Carter. Tall, sweet, protective. The kind of boy who made you feel safe just by sitting near you on the school bus. But that’s all it ever was—a harmless crush. Caleb has always seen me as Ben’s kid sister. And nothing more.
Except… in the car earlier, there’d been something in the way he looked at me. A softness. And the way he spoke—calm, protective, steady. “If you ever need anything—seriously, anything—you call me.”
I blink, my spoon hovering midair.
No. I shake the thought away. I’m reading too much into it. Caleb’s just being Caleb. Warm, loyal, kind. That’s who he’s always been. It doesn’t mean he’s seeing me any differently.
Still, the memory lingers longer than I want it to. I shove a bite of stew into my mouth and try to push it all back where it belongs—into the past.
Caleb Carter is off-limits. Just like his brother.
And I’m not about to start falling for another Carter man.
After dinner,I help my mom clear the table and wash the dishes. We don’t talk much—just the usual passing of clean plates and folded dish towels. She hums quietly under her breath, like everything’s normal. Like she didn’t just suggest I give Caleb a chance five minutes ago.
Once the last dish is stacked and the counter wiped clean, my parents settle into the living room, the soft murmur of the TV trailing down the hallway as I retreat to my bedroom.
I close the door and lean back against it, letting out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Dinner went as expected—Mom’s not-so-subtle matchmaking, Dad’s quiet approval of me working for Grant. But all through the stew and warm cornbread, I could barely taste a thing. My thoughts kept circling back to Grant. The press of his lips against mine. The way his hands curled around my waist like he was afraid to let go. And the worst part—the part I can’t shake—is how fast I pulled away from the one thing I wanted most.
My cheeks flush hot at the memory. It was just this afternoon—my first day as Emily's nanny—and I've already crossed a line that shouldn't be crossed. I push away from the door and grab my towel from the hook on the back. A shower. That's what I need to clear my head.
The bathroom is just as I left it years ago when I went off to college—pale blue tiles, the shower curtain with little seahorses that Mom refuses to replace, the mirror with a slight crack in the top right corner from when I accidentally threw a hairbrush at it during a teenage tantrum. I turn on the shower, letting steam fill the room while I begin to undress.
I pull my sweatshirt over my head, tousling my blonde hair. As I unbutton my jeans, I catch myself in the mirror—blue eyesstaring back, questioning. What are you doing, Ivy? First day on the job and you're kissing your boss? But it wasn't just me. He kissed me back. No, he kissed me first.
The jeans fall to the floor, and I step out of them, left in just my bra and underwear. My skin prickles with goosebumps despite the growing warmth in the bathroom. I unclasp my bra, letting it drop to the floor, and hook my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear, sliding them down my legs.
Now I stand naked before the mirror, and I can't help but wonder—what did Grant see when he looked at me? My body is familiar to me, the slight curve of my hips, the small, firm breasts. But suddenly I'm seeing myself through new eyes. His eyes.
I close my own eyes, and it happens so naturally—Grant is behind me, his presence so vivid in my imagination that I swear I can feel the heat of him. I imagine his hands sliding around my waist, larger than mine, rougher. In my mind, he presses his lips to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, and I tilt my head to give him better access.
"You're beautiful," I imagine him whispering, his breath hot against my ear. His hands move upward, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they harden beneath his touch. I mirror the fantasy with my own hands, touching myself as I imagine he would—confident, assured, knowing exactly what I want without me having to say a word.
My breath quickens. I open my eyes and see my reflection—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes dark with desire. The girl in the mirror looks like someone else, someone bolder than the Ivy who fled from Grant's kitchen in panic.
