Page 41 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
“First time I’ve worn mascara in a year,” she says with a self-deprecating smile. “Does that answer your question?”
“Loud and clear.”
She leans back, arms crossing loosely. “And what about you? You come here often, or just when you’re stalking nannies?”
I chuckle. “Guilty as charged. Nah, I swing by every so often. Grab a drink, shoot darts. Sometimes run into half my graduating class and get guilt-tripped about being single.”
She hums, eyes flicking toward the bar. “The place hasn’t changed much.”
“Nope. Same moose head. Same jukebox. Same pool table with one leg shorter than the others.”
“Exactly. I remember ding here a few times,” she says, grinning. “Back then, I thought this place was glamorous.”
“And now?”
She shrugs. “Still kind of is. In a weird, sticky-floor, don’t-look-too-closely-at-the-bathroom kind of way.”
I laugh. She’s funny, sharp. And easy to talk to, which I didn’t expect—not like this.
“So,” I say, tapping a finger against my glass. “Still surviving your stint as Emily’s nanny? Or has Grumpy Grant scared you off yet?”
She hesitates, then answers carefully. “It’s fine. Emily’s sweet.”
“And Grant?”
“Grant is… professional.”
I raise a brow. “That’s a hell of a word choice.”
She gives a tight smile. “It’s not a complaint. Just an observation.”
I don’t press her, even though I’m itching to. I know Grant—he’s a good guy under the concrete exterior, but damn if he doesn’tmake people work to see it. Especially someone like Ivy, who clearly doesn’t fall for bullshit.
And what the hell happened between the two of them? I think back to how extra-grumpy Grant was at work today and nearly blurt out the question.
The waitress returns with my food, and I dig in, the conversation meandering from old high school stories to her time in Portland.
She tells me about her job—how it was a mess of too many responsibilities, fake clients, and unpaid invoices. How she burned out and left.
“I just needed to breathe,” she says, chewing slowly. “Coming home was supposed to be temporary, but… I don’t know. Maybe I needed this more than I thought.”
I nod. “Silvercreek has a way of anchoring people.”
She glances at me. “Is that what happened to you?”
I grin. “Something like that.”
Before I can say more, Lindsey and Jason return from the dance floor, flushed and smiling.
“Hey, Cole!” Jason claps my back. “How’s it going?”
I nod. “Good to see you.”
We exchange hellos, small talk starts to bubble up, and soon enough we’re all laughing over stories from high school. Lindsey drags Jason toward the dartboard, and with a surprisingly firm grip, she pulls Ivy along too.
We play a couple of rounds—Jason’s hopeless, Lindsey’s a menace, Ivy’s surprisingly good, and I mostly just enjoy the wayher eyes light up when she hits the bullseye. The game and the drinks loosen her up. Her laugh rings out, free and unguarded, and when we wander back to our table, she’s all warmth and energy.
“I haven’t laughed this much in ages,” she says, breathless as she settles into her seat.
