Page 32 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
“Still,” I say, keeping my tone light, “you stepping up like this—it means a lot. Emily needs someone she can count on. And frankly… so does Grant.”
I mean that. God knows he won’t admit it, but Grant’s been walking around like a half-man since Liz passed. Angry at everything, especially himself. I’m not saying Ivy’s the cure, but she’s the first spark I’ve seen in him in a long time.
And Ivy? She’s always been someone special.
I promised Ben I’d look after her when he left for college. He never asked me to, not directly, but I knew that’s what he wanted. She was sixteen then. Scrappy and sharp as hell, with this impossible mess of blonde hair and eyes that gave away more than she thought. I remember her standing in the hallway, smirking at the senior boys who used to tease the freshmen—taunting them right back until they backed off, rattled by a girl half their size who wasn’t scared of a damn thing.
Back then, I saw her as a kid I needed to keep out of trouble.
But now… she’s not a kid anymore.
We pull into the orchard’s drive, and the place looks warm and familiar. Porch light already on, the smell of apples hanging in the air like memory. Her house always did feel like the heart of Silvercreek.
I park and turn to her. She’s still looking out the window.
“If you ever need anything—seriously, anything—you call me. Okay?”
She turns to me and nods, soft and grateful. “I will.”
I lean over and press a kiss to her cheek. Nothing romantic—just a promise, the same way I’ve done for years.
“Take care, Ivy.”
“You, too. You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”
“Nah, I’ve got to get back to the lodge,” I say with a grin. “Horses don’t feed themselves.”
She hops out of the vehicle and waves. I stay a second longer, watching her walk toward the porch light, her figure framed against the dusk.
Then I pull away, knowing full well that something just shifted—and I’m not sure any of us are ready for it.
11
IVY
At the dinner table, my mom ladles out stew and passes around warm cornbread like everything is exactly the same as it always was. The scent of rosemary and garlic fills the kitchen, and for a second, I can almost pretend today wasn’t weird.
My dad, still in his dusty work shirt and with sun-reddened skin from the day, glances up as I sit.
“So? First day on the job?” he asks.
I pause. “Good. Emily’s sweet. Smart. And… exhausting.”
My mom looks up from the stew pot, her brow already furrowing.
“It all went okay today? Grant didn’t change his mind again?”
“It did,” I say, reaching for a piece of cornbread. “No, he didn’t change his mind again.”
She sets the ladle down with a soft clink, still eyeing me.
“He seemed serious when he came by, but I wasn’t sure you’d actually go through with it.”
“Yeah he was,” I say, avoiding Mom’s observant eyes. “I think I’m going to stick with it for a while.”
My dad chuckles. “I’m glad to hear it. The Carter boys are good folks. Hardworking. I’ve always liked Grant. Shame about his wife.”
“Liz,” my mom says quietly. “That poor girl.”
