Page 21 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
I brush past him. “Don’t jinx it.”
Inside, the lodge smells like wood polish, trail dust, and coffee. Lisa, the front desk assistant, waves nervously as I pass. I nod once and head for the back office, flipping open my laptop as I sit.
Spreadsheets. Bookings. Maintenance logs.
I try to focus.
But instead of payroll numbers. But instead of payroll numbers, I find myself remembering the way Ivy sits on the rug, playing with Emily. The way Emily lit up around her. The way Ivy didn’t rush or fake a smile—like she actually enjoyed it.
I shake it off. Refocus.
I pull up the guest roster. Three cabins turning over today. One new couple arriving from Boulder, and the Prescott group. I send a quick text to housekeeping.
Then I glance at the time.
Is Emily eating lunch yet? Should I text Ivy to remind her?
God. This is ridiculous.
I close the screen and stand, pacing to the window that overlooks the trailhead. Caleb is helping a kid onto a pony, his easy smile in full effect. I know that look. It’s the one that wins over guests and gets him free baked goods from every café in town.
He doesn’t push people away. Not like I do.
I wonder—just for a second—what he sees when he looks at Ivy. Probably what Emily sees too.
I rub the back of my neck and exhale hard. There’s no use obsessing over what’s already done. Ivy’s there. I made the call. Now I just have to stay out of her way and do my job.
Easier said than done.
Because no matter how many tasks I tick off the list, no matter how many guests I smile at or pipes I fix—I can’t stop wondering what’s happening back at the house.
And why the hell part of me wants to get back in the truck and drive home.
The lodge’skitchen is too quiet, save for the rhythmic clinking of silverware and the distant whinny of horses outside. I’m halfway through a plate of reheated brisket and potatoes when Cole finally shows up, looking like he just strolled off a photoshoot forRustic Chic—worn-in jeans that somehow look intentional, a Henley shirt with the sleeves rolled just so, and that perfectly tousled hair like he’s been out riding all morning but still managed to make it look good.
He slides into the chair across from me and takes one look at my face.
“What happened?” he asks. “You win the lottery or just remember a really good steak?”
I blink up at him. “What?”
“You’re smiling at your lunch like it complimented your beard.”
“I’m not smiling.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Right. So the relaxed shoulders and general lack of grump aren’t symptoms of… anything?”
I stab a chunk of potato. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”
He leans back, sipping from his coffee. “Let me guess. It’s a woman.”
I look up sharply. “It’s not.”
His grin widens. “Uh-huh. So… who’s the new nanny? Must be smoky hot if she cracked that fortress you call a personality.”
I drop my fork. “It’s not about the nanny.”
He leans in, elbows on the table. “Okay, then whoisthe nanny?”
