Page 59 of The Nanny and the Heartthrob

She needed to pull herself together. She could not allow her grandmother to learn what she’d done.

“I’m just talking to myself,” she answered and glared at the box. “Chocolatey traitors,” she whispered, scolding the sweets like a lunatic.

Babs removed her purse from the hook on the wall, checked the contents, then set it on the counter before tossing her a knowing look. “Harper,” the woman repeated with an edge to the syllables.

She’d known this tone since she was a little girl.

“Fine, yes, I’m yelling at candy,” she confessed.

She’d been yelling at chocolates all week since she’d returned from Las Vegas.

Over the last seven days, she’d blown almost every dollar she had on the treats. Like clockwork, she’d slip out of the house while Babs was napping or when the woman was playing her harp. Clad in fuzzy slippers, ratty sweats, and Landon’s T-shirt—yes, she still had that T-shirt—she’d haul ass to the Baxter Park Bakery, which had recently changed its name to Cupid Bakery. She didn’t care what the name was, as long as they kept a steady supply of the sweets.

She’d probably consumed her body weight in sugar and cocoa by now.

Was she eating her feelings? You bet your ass she was.

She’d only bathed once since she’d returned from Vegas, and that was five days ago. She’d caught her reflection in the mirror a couple of times. Rocking a Frankenstein’s bride meets walk-of-shame sorority sister vibe, she was lucky the bakery’s owner, Mr. Sweet, a man she’d known since she was a girl, hadn’t called the cops the last time she’d stepped foot inside the store.

He had, however, cautioned her to ease back on her cocoa consumption.

And she’d wanted to—she honestly had.

But in a moment of weakness a few hours after the man had warned her to take a bonbon break, she’d paid a couple of teenagers to go in and buy her two boxes of sea salt butterscotch bonbons. With the decadent filling and a savory dash of salt, she’d hoovered one of the boxes in under a minute to the absolute shock of her teenage accomplices.

That little stunt had gotten her banned.

So, yeah, she’d been a hot mess since she’d been double-dog dared.

She sighed and cradled her head in her hands.

“Enough is enough, little miss,” her grandmother chided, bopping her on the head.

“Ow, Babs, what was that for?”

“I’m leaving for the musicians’ retreat in an hour, and you’re starting to worry me. Will you be all right on your own?”

The annual trip to New Mexico.

How could she have forgotten?

Actually, quite easily.

Between stuffing her face with bonbons and bribing teens to buy her more chocolate contraband, she’d been a cocoa-infused zombie.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked as Babs dropped a granola bar into her bag.

“Same as last year. We’ve got the house for six weeks. Just me and a couple of old symphony widows, playing music and reconnecting. No TV and no internet. Only the fresh air and good friends,” the woman answered with a grin. “If you need me, I’ve left the caretaker’s phone number on the fridge. She can get a message to me.”

“Are you sure you should be going with your ankle? I wouldn’t want you to fall and break it this time.”

Babs steadied herself on the counter by the coffee pot, then kicked and wiggled her ankle like the appendage was possessed. “My ankle is fine. And may I remind you, I’ve been taking this trip for the last eight years. I can take care of myself, missy.”

“I know.” She slumped in her chair.

“Did you get everything worked out with the bank?” the woman asked over her shoulder.

She plastered on a grin. “Yeah, there are a few details to work out, but I’m on top of it.”

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