Page 18 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
Then waits for me.
“I’ll show you around,” he says. “Make sure you know where everything is.”
I nod, a little surprised. “Okay.”
Inside, the house feels quieter than it did this morning. Less guarded, somehow. Maybe it’s Emily’s presence, padding down the hall with her fox puppet. Or maybe it’s mine.
Grant gestures toward the kitchen. “Snacks are in the bottom drawer. She knows where, but that doesn’t mean she’s allowed to help herself.”
“Of course not,” I say, already eyeing the neatly labeled canisters and stacked fruit bowls. The man is nothing if not organized.
“Lunch stuff’s in the fridge. I usually pack it ahead, but if not, she likes turkey sandwiches and cut-up apples. No crusts.”
“Noted.”
He moves through the house like he’s giving a tactical briefing—efficient, focused, all business. And I follow, because somehow thisisbusiness. But it also… isn’t.
In the living room, he points out a shelf of books. “Her current favorites are on the middle row. If you let her pick, she’ll choose the one with the talking forklift every time.”
I laugh. “I can handle that.”
We move toward the hallway, passing a doorway I hadn’t noticed earlier.
“What’s in there?” I ask.
“Reading nook,” he says. “Used to be Liz’s craft room. We turned it into a quiet space for Emily.”
I step inside without thinking—and stop.
It’s a small, narrow room with soft lighting and floor cushions, shelves of picture books and puzzles, and a rocking chair in the corner. Peaceful. Thoughtful. A little magical, actually.
Grant’s right behind me. And when he steps in, the space shrinks.
The room wasn’t made for two adults, especially not two who are both trying very hard not to notice they’re standing close enough to breathe the same air.
I shift slightly. So does he.
My arm brushes his.
His hand grazes my elbow.
We both go still.
I glance up. He’s already looking at me—eyes dark, unreadable. And for one suspended second, I forget entirely why I’m here.
Then his phone buzzes.
He jerks back a step, clearing his throat as he checks the screen. “It’s Cole,” he mutters, thumbing the call to speaker. “I should take this.”
I nod quickly, too quickly, and step out of the room before I do something stupid like forget how to speak.
Emily’s in the living room again, arranging blocks on the rug with quiet concentration.
Grant ends the call faster than I expected and turns back toward me.
“I should head out,” he says. “We’ve got guests checking in, and I’m already late.”
I nod, smoothing my hair out of habit. “Go. I’ve got this.”
