Page 37 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
I look down at my desk, at the papers covered in red pen marks where I've critiqued every minor flaw. The irritation that's been driving me all morning suddenly deflates, leaving me feeling hollow.
"You're right," I admit quietly. "I'll apologize to the team."
Cole nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. And whatever's really bothering you—maybe try dealing with that too."
“That’s none of your business,” I mutter, sharper than I mean to.
He rises to leave, pausing at the door. "The offer stands, by the way. Anytime you want to grab a beer, just say the word."
After he's gone, I sit back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. The real problem isn't something I can fix with an apology or a night out. It's the memory of Ivy's lips against mine, the startled look in her blue eyes afterward, and the immediate regret that followed—not because it wasn't good, but because it was too good. Because for a moment, I forgot about being a widower, a single father, a business owner with responsibilities. I just felt like a man again.
And that terrifies me.
I reach for my phone, thumb hovering over Ivy's contact information. I should check in, make sure everything's going well with Emily. That would be the responsible thing to do. Instead, I set the phone down and turn back to my computer. There are invoices to review, emails to answer, a business to run.
Everything else—everything complicated—can wait.
13
IVY
While Emily builds a lopsided zoo out of wooden blocks and narrates a story about a giraffe who wants to be a ballerina, I sit on the rug nearby, legs folded under me, sipping lukewarm coffee. I keep catching myself glancing at the door, half expecting Grant to walk back in. He hasn’t lingered once since I started—just quick greetings, brief instructions, then off to work.
Professional. Distant. I should be glad. It’s exactly what I wanted, right? No confusing signals, no more unexpected moments in the kitchen. And yet… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. But I shake the thought off. This is how itshouldbe. Boundaries. Clarity. I’m here to take care of his daughter, not daydream about the way his voice sounds first thing in the morning.
At three o’clock sharp, I buckle Emily into her booster seat in the back of my Subaru and slide into the driver’s seat. She’s clutching a homemade paper crown she’d insisted on wearing out of the house, her little fingers adjusting it with all the seriousness of royalty.
“Ready to go to the library, Princess?” I ask, grinning at her in the rearview mirror.
She nods solemnly. “I want a dragon book. With sparkles.”
“Are you sure you don’t want fox books instead?”
She considers. “Yeah. That too.”
“Got it. Sparkly dragons and clever foxes or bust.”
The Silvercreek Library isn’t big, but it’s warm and inviting, with tall windows and shelves that smell like memory. The rec class is set up in the kids’ corner—beanbags, picture books, a box of toy instruments, and a colorful carpet that looks like it’s hosted every toddler in town. I spot the instructor arranging supplies near the low table. Blonde ponytail. Athletic build. Familiar curve of the shoulders.
Lindsey Raines.
She turns just as I do a double take. Her eyes widen. “Oh my God, Ivy Walker?”
I smile. “Hey, Linds.”
She abandons her basket of glue sticks and comes in for a hug. It’s warm and genuine, and a little surreal.
“I didn’t know you were back,” she says. “What are you doing in town?”
“Just started working for Grant Carter, actually. Nannying.”
“No way. Mr. Grump himself?” She gives a mock shiver. “Brave soul.”
I laugh. “It’s… an adjustment.”
She glances down at Emily, who is already halfway through a pile of books. “She’s adorable. You’ve got your hands full, huh?”
“Not in a bad way,” I say. “She’s sweet.”
