Page 27 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
His fingers are wrapped around mine, both our hands wet and warm, bracing the cup. We’re too close. I can feel the heat of him, his breath just a little uneven.
I laugh—nervously, trying to break the moment. “Nice save.”
He doesn’t laugh.
When I look up, he’s watching me like he’s seeing me for the first time. His brows are slightly drawn, his gaze flicking between my eyes, my lips. My breath catches.
He moves before I can think.
His free hand slides to my waist, the slightest tug, and I don’t resist. I can’t.
Then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is firm and sure—no hesitation, just heat and hunger and the kind of honesty that doesn’t ask permission. His lips are warm, his stubble rough against my skin. My heart leaps, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between us. The scent of soap and sawdust. The steady grip of his hands. The wild, unexpected rush in my chest.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
We stare at each other like we’ve just stepped off a cliff.
Then a voice from the living room—Emily calling for Daddy.
The moment cracks.
Grant steps back. His hands drop to his sides.
“I—” he starts, but I beat him to it.
“I should go.”
He nods once, jaw tight.
I dry my hands, still trembling slightly, and walk toward the door. I say goodbye to Emily without lingering.
“Wait,” Grant calls from the back. “I’ll drive.”
“No, I’m fine,” I say quickly, forcing a tight smile before rushing out the front door.
The moment the cool air hits my face, I realize I’m trembling—not from the temperature, but from the aftermath of the kiss still tingling on my lips. God. What just happened?
I hurry down the steps and across the gravel path, needing space, air, anything to break the tension thrumming under my skin.
But then I stop dead in my tracks.
Damn it.
I don’t have my car. Grant drove me here. And the orchard isn’t exactly around the corner. Although I can see it from where I stand, and the drive takes ten minutes. Walking back in these boots would take at least an hour, and most of it would be uphill through dust and potholes.
Panic flutters in my chest for a second. I don’t want to go back inside to take him up on the offer to drive me home. Not yet. Not like this.
I pull out my phone, my fingers slightly unsteady. I scroll to Dad’s name and am just about to tap it when I hear the low rumble of a car engine behind me.
I glance back—and my breath releases in relief as a familiar blue SUV pulls up the drive.
Caleb. He and Cole live right next to Grant. He must be on his way home.
He pulls up beside me and lowers the window, one arm draped over the wheel, eyebrows raised. “Hey,” he says. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say too fast, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “I was just about to call my dad for a ride.”
