Page 10 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant (Shared by the Carter Brothers #1)

CALEB

I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the windowsill.

The sun’s starting to dip low, painting the orchards in that soft, golden light that makes everything feel slower, quieter.

Ivy sits beside me, barely making a sound.

She’s messing with a loose thread on her sleeve, like it might unravel something else entirely if she pulls too hard.

I don’t ask her about Grant. Not right away.

Because I already have a damn good idea.

I’ve known my brother too long, and I know Ivy well enough to read between the lines. She looked shell-shocked when I pulled into that driveway. Wide-eyed and flushed like she’d either seen a ghost or kissed one.

Still, I try to keep it easy. “Thanks for agreeing to help out,” I say. “I know Grant can be… well, you know.”

She lets out a small laugh. That’s good. Laughter is good. Means she’s still breathing.

“Yeah,” she says. “I know.”

I glance at her—just for a second. The way she’s holding herself makes me want to pull the car over and ask point-blank what the hell my brother did. But I don’t. Ivy’s not a kid. And she’s clearly trying to process whatever went down back there.

“Still,” I say, keeping my tone light, “you stepping up like this—it means a lot. Emily needs someone she can count on. And frankly… so does Grant.”

I mean that. God knows he won’t admit it, but Grant’s been walking around like a half-man since Liz passed. Angry at everything, especially himself. I’m not saying Ivy’s the cure, but she’s the first spark I’ve seen in him in a long time.

And Ivy? She’s always been someone special.

I promised Ben I’d look after her when he left for college.

He never asked me to, not directly, but I knew that’s what he wanted.

She was sixteen then. Scrappy and sharp as hell, with this impossible mess of blonde hair and eyes that gave away more than she thought.

I remember her standing in the hallway, smirking at the senior boys who used to tease the freshmen—taunting them right back until they backed off, rattled by a girl half their size who wasn’t scared of a damn thing.

Back then, I saw her as a kid I needed to keep out of trouble.

But now… she’s not a kid anymore.

We pull into the orchard’s drive, and the place looks warm and familiar. Porch light already on, the smell of apples hanging in the air like memory. Her house always did feel like the heart of Silvercreek.

I park and turn to her. She’s still looking out the window.

“If you ever need anything—seriously, anything—you call me. Okay?”

She turns to me and nods, soft and grateful. “I will.”

I lean over and press a kiss to her cheek. Nothing romantic—just a promise, the same way I’ve done for years.

“Take care, Ivy.”

“You, too. You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

“Nah, I’ve got to get back to the lodge,” I say with a grin. “Horses don’t feed themselves.”

She hops out of the vehicle and waves. I stay a second longer, watching her walk toward the porch light, her figure framed against the dusk.

Then I pull away, knowing full well that something just shifted—and I’m not sure any of us are ready for it.