Page 43 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant
Then—Lindsey and Jason’s laughter breaks through as they come back, glowing from whatever ridiculous game they just won.
I let go reluctantly as Ivy pulls back with a small, apologetic smile.
“They’re heading out,” she says softly.
I nod, pushing out of the booth. “Yeah. We should too.”
A second later, Lindsey leans over the booth. “We’re gonna take off,” she says, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “You two staying longer?”
Ivy shakes her head. “I think we’re heading out too.”
Jason claps me on the shoulder as he passes. “Drive safe, man.”
“Always,” I say, standing.
We all shuffle toward the door together, that familiar, reluctant end-of-the-night energy hanging in the air. Lindsey suggests a next time, and Ivy agrees.
Outside in the parking lot, the air’s crisp. Ivy waves goodbye to Lindsey and Jason, and I offer a chin-lift to Jason, who gives me a knowing smirk.
Ivy’s parked in the private lot on the side of the building, away from the streetlights and bar glow. I walk her there, steps falling into rhythm beside hers.
When we reach her car, she doesn’t open the door right away.
She lingers.
So do I.
Her hair catches in the breeze, and I tuck a strand behind her ear. She tilts her head up, lips parted, eyes searching mine.
And then I kiss her.
Her breath hitches as I pull her in, arms sliding around her waist. Her hands fist into my shirt, her body soft against mine. The kiss is slow at first, like we’re tasting something we didn’t know we were starving for. Then it deepens—urgent, heady, real.
When we finally come up for air, her eyes are glassy with something wild and new.
I lean in close to her ear. “Come home with me?”
She hesitates for only a heartbeat.
Then she nods. “Yes.”
“Let’s use my car. I’ll drive you back later.”
“Okay.”
We make a beeline for my Jeep.
I open the passenger door and help her in, hand lingering just a second too long at her back before I circle to the driver’s side.
Tonight, the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about is in my Jeep. And I don’t plan on letting her go.
15
IVY
The Jeep’s engine hums beneath us as Cole drives through the quiet streets of Silvercreek. Streetlights flash across his face at regular intervals, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth. I watch him from the passenger seat, the alcohol from the Antler warming my blood, making my thoughts drift and swirl. Am I really doing this? Am I really going home with Cocky Cole Carter?
My mother's voice echoes in my head: "Stay away from that boy, Ivy. He's nothing but trouble. A heartbreaker through and through." The warning feels ancient now, from when I was fifteen and Cole was the town's golden boy who made girls swoon with a glance. I'm twenty-five now, not some naive teenager. I make my own decisions.
