Page 13 of Falling for Cocky Cole (Shared by the Carter Brothers #2)

IVY

" B ut you promised!" Emily's voice rises to a pitch that could shatter Grant's kitchen windows.

She clutches the phone in her small hand like it's personally betrayed her, and in her mind, I suppose it has.

Her father's tinny voice apologizes from the speaker, explaining about a last-minute emergency with an important guest's request. Friday Family Hours at the diner—sacred tradition since before Liz died—officially canceled.

"I'm sorry, princess. I'll make it up to you tomorrow," Grant says, his exhaustion evident even through the phone.

"Tomorrow isn't Friday! It won't be Friday milkshakes if it's not Friday!" Emily's logic is flawless in that uncompromising way only children can manage.

I hover awkwardly near the kitchen counter, feeling about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Grant asked me to stay until he got home, probably expecting I'd be reading books with Emily or watching a movie—not navigating the emotional minefield of broken traditions.

"Ivy will make you dinner, and I'll be home as soon as I can," Grant continues, his voice strained with the particular guilt of single parenthood.

Emily's lower lip trembles as she looks at me, then back at the phone. "But Mommy always said Friday shakes were special. You said we'd always do them."

The line goes quiet for a beat too long, and I wince. Liz has been gone just over a year, but for Emily, time is still measured in the absence of her mother—by all the traditions that might slip away, one broken promise at a time.

"I know, sweetheart. I'm trying?—"

Emily hangs up. Just pushes the red button with a decisive little thumb and throws the phone onto the couch. Her face crumples, not gradually but all at once, like a paper bag in a downpour.

"Hey, it's okay," I start, taking a step toward her. "We can do something fun here instead. Maybe bake cookies? Or?—"

Her wail cuts through my suggestions like a chainsaw. "I don't want cookies! I want my milkshake with Daddy!"

Before I can offer another alternative, she bolts to the toy chest in the corner and upends it with surprising strength. Stuffed animals rain across the floor. She grabs her favorite fox—a russet-colored plush with a fluffy tail—and hurls it across the room.

"Emily!" I rush over, but she's already grabbed a second fox toy and sends it flying in the opposite direction.

"It's not fair! Daddy promised!" Each word punctuates another projectile fox.

I kneel beside her, ducking as a small plastic fox figurine whizzes past my ear. "I know you're disappointed. What if I take you for milkshakes instead?"

She fixes me with a withering look that would make her uncle Grant proud. "You're not my daddy. Or my mommy."

The words aren't meant to hurt, but they land with precision anyway. I'm not family—not really. I'm just the girl who watches her sometimes, who happens to be her uncles' friend.

"What if we build a fort? Or..." I'm running out of ideas when a knock at the door interrupts my failing negotiation.

Emily's sobs hiccup to a pause as we both turn toward the sound.

"I'll be right back," I tell her, grateful for the momentary reprieve.

When I open the door, Cole Carter stands on the porch, one hand casually propped against the frame, wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes brighten when he sees me.

"Ivy Walker," he says, my name rolling off his tongue like he enjoys the taste of it. "I was hoping?—"

A particularly theatrical sob from Emily cuts him off. He peers over my shoulder, eyebrows rising. "Bad time?"

"Grant canceled their Friday Milkshake tradition to have dinner with a potential investor. She's..." I gesture helplessly toward the living room, where Emily has resumed her fox-throwing with renewed vigor.

Cole steps inside without waiting for an invitation, moving past me with the confidence of someone who knows he's welcome anywhere. "Hey, Miss Emily," he calls, navigating the minefield of scattered toys. "What's all this about?"

Emily's tear-streaked face turns toward him. "Uncle Cole!" She runs to him, arms outstretched, and he scoops her up with practiced ease.

"I hear there's a milkshake emergency," he says, voice serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

She nods miserably against his shoulder. "Daddy can't take me for Friday shakes. He promised, but now he’s having dinner with someone else!”

Cole makes a thoughtful humming sound. "That is a problem. Friday shakes are important." He sets her down and crouches to her level. "What if... what if we pretend?"

"Pretend what?" Emily sniffles, curiosity temporarily overriding her distress.

"Pretend we're a family," Cole says, glancing up at me with a wink that sends a treacherous warmth through my chest. "Not your real family, but a pretend one. Me and Ivy could take you for your Friday shakes."

Emily considers this, her small brow furrowed. "But it's not the same."

"No," Cole agrees, surprising me with his honesty.

"It's not the same. But sometimes when we can't have exactly what we want, we find something else that's still pretty good.

" He leans in conspiratorially. "Plus, did you know Miss Ivy used to work at the diner?

She knows the secret to getting truly special milkshakes.

Extra cherries and extra whipped cream."

I open my mouth to protest this blatant lie but catch myself. Emily is looking at me with newfound respect, as if I've been holding out on her all this time.

"You did?" she asks.

"Um, yeah," I lie, shooting Cole a look that promises retribution. "Lots of... cherry secrets."

Cole grins, standing back up. "So what do you say, Emily? Pretend family milkshake night?"

She looks between us, weighing her options with the gravity of a Supreme Court justice. Finally, she nods. "Okay. But I want sprinkles too."

"Deal," Cole says, holding out his pinky for her to hook with her own.

Twenty minutes later, we're seated in a red vinyl booth at Silvercreek Diner, Emily between us with a chocolate milkshake that's more whipped cream and toppings than actual ice cream.

Despite my nonexistent diner credentials, Cole managed to charm the server—Patty, who's worked here since I was Emily's age—into adding not just extra cherries but rainbow sprinkles and chocolate chips.

"Table for a family of three?" he'd asked at the door, and something about the casual way he said it made my heart twist.

Now he's showing Emily how to dip fries into her milkshake, a combination that makes my nose wrinkle but has her giggling with delight.

"It's the perfect balance of salty and sweet," he explains seriously, as if imparting crucial culinary wisdom.

I watch them, struck by how natural he is with her. This is a side of Cole I haven't seen before—patient, playful without being flirtatious, genuinely invested in making a little girl's ruined evening better. It softens something in me, a resistance I didn't fully realize I was maintaining.

When Emily excuses herself to visit the restroom, proudly announcing she doesn't need help because she's five now, Cole slides into her side of the booth, his knee brushing mine under the table.

"Thanks for this," I say quietly. "You really saved the day."

He shrugs, but I can tell he's pleased. "I'm a fan of milkshakes and pretty girls. It's a win-win."

"I meant with Emily," I clarify, though my cheeks warm at the compliment.

"I know what you meant." His smile turns more genuine, less practiced. "She's a good kid. Been through a lot."

The way home is filled with Emily's chatter about her milkshake adventure, her earlier meltdown apparently forgotten. When she’s dozing in her booster seat in the back of the Jeep, I glance over at Cole.

"So, what brought you to Grant's house anyway?" I ask. "Before you got drafted into family milkshake duty."

He keeps his eyes on the road, but a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Came to invite you to dinner at my place. I made you your favorite mushroom ravioli."

I blink in surprise. "How did you know that's my favorite?"

"Caleb told me." He glances at me quickly, gauging my reaction to his brother's name.

My stomach tightens. "How is he?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"He's fine. We had a... discussion that night after you left the barn. But we're good now." Cole's hand adjusts on the steering wheel. "Actually, it was his idea that I ask you over. He even showed me how to make the ravioli. It's all ready—just needs to be tasted."

I fall silent, processing this information. Caleb suggested Cole invite me to dinner? After what happened? My brain tries to make sense of this as we pull into Grant's driveway, where his truck is already parked.

Cole parks the Jeep beside his brother’s truck. He carries Emily in his arms while I grab the booster seat, and together we walk toward the house. Grant opens the front door before we even reach it.

"Everything's under control," Cole tells Grant as we hand over a sleepy but content Emily. "Milkshake emergency averted."

Grant looks between us, his gray-blue eyes lingering on me for a moment. "Thanks for staying late. And for handling... all this."

"Cole gets all the credit," I admit. "I couldn't have managed without him."

Grant turns to his brother. "Thanks, Cole. Seriously."

Cole flashes a grin. “Anytime. Especially when it means spending the evening with your charming nanny.”

Grant’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

I glare at Cole, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he turns to me. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” I say, aware of Grant’s curious eyes.

As Cole heads to his Jeep, Grant and I step into the house. “You’ve got somewhere to go?” he asks.

I stammer a little. “Just a dinner at Cole’s house. He invited me.”

“Oh,” he says tersely. “I didn’t know he cooks.”

“Me neither,” I reply with an apologetic shrug.

He doesn’t say another word but carries Emily to her bedroom. I put the booster seat back in its usual place and quickly tidy the living room. When Grant comes out again, I say goodbye to him and head for the door.