Page 6 of Architect's Christmas Nanny

“You’ve got a lot of faith in movers,” his father replied, arching a brow.

“Nah, I’ve got a lot of faith in Jillian,” Brad said, shaking his head. “She wouldn’t leave until she watched them pack every bit of it and put it on the truck.”

“She really loves you,” his dad said, nodding and grabbing Josie’s backpack out of Brad’s hand. “Come on in. I made you a snack.”

She really loves you.

He knew what his father was trying to say—Jillian cared about the family. But the phrase made his heart squeeze anyway, most likely just because their time together was ending.

“That was so kind of her,” his mom was saying to Josie as she helped her out of her coat. “We’ll have to make sure yourone last Christmastogether is really special.”

“Christmas is always special,” Josie said, as if that were obvious.

“Go wash your hands,” her grandpa advised. “I made chicken and dumplings, and you don’t want your dad eating all of it without you.”

Brad chuckled at that suggestion. With a big family like theirs, nothing was ever made in small quantities. He was willing to bet that Dad had used the biggest pot in the house and made enough for lunch tomorrow for the whole family.

“Thank you,” he told his father, heading back to the kitchen to wash up while Josie went to the powder room in the hall.

“We’re so glad to have you home,” Dad said softly. “None of us can believe it.”

“Well, it was now or never,” Brad said. “And seeing how happy Josie was here last Christmas was good incentive to make things happen quickly, so she can have as much childhood here as possible.”

“Her cousins are all very happy about that,” Dad said. “And you know your mom and I are over the moon.”

“We sure are,” Mom said, bustling in to wrap Brad up in a big hug while he was still holding one of the Christmas towels. Annabelle Williams didn’t wait around for people to be ready for hugs.

“Hey, Ma,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

She smelled like cinnamon and soap, like always. And for a minute, Brad felt like a kid again.

“The cottage is cleaned up with fresh linens, and we stocked the fridge with just a few things,” she told him, pulling back. “Will Jillian be in the guest room here with us? It’s ready for her.”

“What do you mean?” Brad asked, frowning. Jillian had always stayed with them.

“I just thought, it might not be…” his mom pressed her lips together, though her eyes were dancing. “Never mind. If it feels right for her to stay in the cottage with you, that’s great.”

“She’s been living with us since Josie was a baby,” Brad said, still trying to understand.

But his mom was already up on her toes to grab bowls out of one of the high cupboards.

“Put the radio on, Alistair,” she said to her husband. “Josie gets a kick out of the Christmas music being on all the time.”

“WCCR,” Brad quoted automatically, glad for the distraction. “All Christmas, all the time, now through New Year’s Day.”

“You can take the boy out of Trinity Falls,” his father teased, his fingers already flicking the radio on and dialing in to the only station besides public radio Brad had ever known his parents to listen to in this kitchen.

When Elvis started in on “Blue Christmas,” Brad felt the weight of the lyrics to the upbeat song in his chest. He was going to have a blue Christmas this year evenwithJillian, because he knew it was their last.

“So, are you getting Jillian a special gift this year?” his mom asked as Josie came in, her eyes already scanning the kitchen for food.

“Here you go, Junebug,” her grandpa said, setting her up at the kitchen table with two big bowls of chicken and dumplings. “Son, come and get it.”

He headed over and took a seat beside Josie, his mind on presents for Jillian.

“We didn’t get anything yet, did we?” he asked her as he mused.

“Nope,” Josie said, taking a big bite of chicken and dumplings. “Mmm.”

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