Page 4 of Nanny for Grumpy Grant (Shared by the Carter Brothers #1)

GRANT

I don't follow her.

The front door slams, and I just stand there, arms crossed, jaw clenched, staring at the empty space where Ivy had been seconds ago.

Good, I tell myself. That’s probably for the best. She’s not cut out for this. I don’t know how I got the idea, but I just believe so.

But the silence in the room buzzes, and my stomach twists in a way that doesn’t feel like relief.

I run a hand through my hair and exhale hard, still standing near the archway between the kitchen and living room. The mug of coffee I poured for her sits untouched on the counter behind me. I don’t even like coffee in the afternoon, but I made it. Out of… what? Courtesy? Obligation?

Guilt ?

Hell if I know.

I didn’t mean to tear into her like that. Not really. But something about Ivy Walker gets under my skin. Always has. She’s too sharp around the edges, too quick to walk away. The kind of girl who leaves town with big dreams and only comes back when the shine wears off.

She wouldn't have lasted anyway.

She’s not used to kids like Emily. Not the messy parts. Not the grief, the sensitivity, the routine you build like scaffolding just to get through the week. Ivy’s used to mood boards and Wi-Fi and oat milk. Not this.

I convince myself of that as I go upstairs.

Emily’s room is at the far end of the hallway, past the laundry nook and the linen closet Liz always meant to reorganize. I pause outside the door and knock lightly.

No answer.

I open it slowly. Emily’s sitting on the rug in front of her bookshelf, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs. Her fox nightlight is on even though it’s still daylight.

“Hey, Em,” I say gently.

She doesn’t look at me.

“You okay?”

Nothing.

I step in and crouch beside her, resting my elbows on my knees.

“She left,” I say. “Ivy.”

Still nothing.

I study her face—how her lips are pressed tight, how she won’t meet my eyes. The silence between us isn’t new, but it still stings every time it stretches this long.

“Emily…” I sigh. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Finally, she says, very quietly, “I hate you.”

It doesn’t come with drama or yelling. Just a flat, quiet truth. And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else could have.

I blink. “You hate me?”

She turns her face away.

I sit back on my heels. “I didn’t know you liked her.”

Still no response.

“I mean… you didn’t like any of the other ones,” I add, trying to keep my voice calm. “The nannies. You always cried or ran or hid.”

“I liked some of them,” she mutters.

I blink again, slow. “You did?”

She nods, eyes still downcast. “But the nice ones didn’t like you.”

That one lands like a slap. I sit with it, trying to decide whether to laugh or be offended.

I rub my thumb over the side of my hand. “I didn’t know that.”

“You never ask,” she says.

I clear my throat. “Okay… well. Do you think Ivy is nice?”

Emily shrugs, but it’s softer now. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I just like her.”

I sit in the quiet with her for a while, nodding slowly.

And for the first time in a long while, I feel completely unsure of what to do next.

I leave Emily’s room with a dull ache in my chest and head back down the stairs. I’m halfway to my office when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Cole .

I answer with a grunt. “Yeah?”

“Hey, just checking—you planning to show your face around here today or are we pretending you’ve retired?”

“I can’t leave,” I say. “No sitter.”

A beat of silence. Then: “Still can’t find the perfect nanny, huh?”

“Go to hell,” I snap.

Cole chuckles, unbothered as ever. “Look, I just need to know if you’re handling the Prescott group check-in this afternoon or if I should rearrange the schedule.”

“You should rearrange it,” I say flatly. “I’ve been patching busted pipes and running payroll all week while you played hooky with the Marianne Situation. It’s your turn.”

“Damn, man. I was just asking.” His voice loses its edge. “I’ll handle it. Chill.”

I close my eyes, exhale slowly. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Just wanted to make sure you were good. You don’t have to bite my head off.”

He hangs up without waiting for a reply.

I feel like a jerk.

Again.

I finally make it into my office and sit at the desk—bare wood, scarred edges, drawers that stick—and wake the monitor. I log into the Carter Ridge booking system to check reservations, but the screen’s barely loaded when the phone buzzes again.

Caleb.

I consider ignoring it. I don’t.

“Yeah?” I answer.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

I don’t need to ask what he means.

“It didn’t,” I say.

“What does that mean?”

“It means she’s not the right fit.”

“Why?” His tone sharpens.

“She doesn’t have experience with grieving kids. She’s not local. She’s temporary.”

A pause. “That’s a lot of assumptions.”

I shift in my chair. “I have my reasons.”

“No, Grant. You have your excuses.”

That hits harder than I expect.

Caleb doesn’t raise his voice. He never does. But there’s something in the way he says it—low, disappointed—that makes my jaw tighten.

He exhales. “You’re never going to find the right nanny. Because you don’t want to.”

“That’s not true.”

“You want control. You want predictability. You want someone who doesn’t exist.”

“I’m doing my best?—”

“Maybe you should be the nanny,” Caleb says. “Stay home with Emily full-time, and we’ll hire someone to do your job at Carter Ridge.”

“That’s nonsense,” I snap. “I can work from home.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

The silence that follows is heavier than anything he’s said. Then, without another word, Caleb hangs up.

I sit in stunned silence as I chew on the fact: Caleb, the peacemaker, the even-tempered one, hangs up on me.

I stare at the screen in front of me, but I don’t see it. I don’t even blink. I just sit there, feeling something twist in my chest.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

The problem isn’t Ivy.

It’s me.

I’m the one who can’t let go. I’m the one who sees someone trying—and pushes them away before they can walk out on their own.

Because that moment—when I stepped into the living room and saw her on the floor with Emily, using that ridiculous fox puppet, both of them giggling—I felt something I haven’t felt in years.

Hope.

A tiny spark of relief. Like maybe… maybe we found someone who could make Emily smile again. Who could bring life back into the house.

And then it hit me—what if Ivy leaves?

What if she gets a job back in Portland next week? What if she realizes this town is too small, or the pay too low, or Emily too much?

What if Emily gets attached and Ivy disappears?

Like Liz did.

Shit.

I didn’t reject Ivy because she wasn’t good enough.

I rejected her because I was afraid to lose her.

Which is insane. She’s not Liz. She’s nothing like Liz.

Well… okay. They both have blonde hair. And blue eyes. But that’s where it ends.

Liz was twenty years older than Ivy, but aside from their age difference, she was soft-spoken and gentle—the kind of person who made people feel warm just by walking into a room.

Ivy’s sharp and skeptical and doesn’t even try to hide her opinions.

She challenges everything. She drives me up the damn wall.

And still…

She sat on that floor with my daughter and made her laugh.

I run a hand through my hair and mutter, “You’re looking for a nanny, not a wife.”

So what if Ivy’s not gentle and sweet? What does any of that matter, if she’s the first person in two years who got Emily to light up like that?

I stand, suddenly, and head out of my office.

Emily is lying on the couch in the living room, curled up with her fox toy, legs tucked under her. She looks up as I approach, eyes wary.

“Where are you going?” she asks softly.

I grab my keys from the hook by the door and glance back at her. “To find Ivy.”

She sits up straighter, the fox toy still clutched in her hands. “Can I come?”

“I was counting on it,” I say.

Her whole face lifts—bright, hopeful. She slides off the couch and into her shoes without me even having to ask.

And God help me, when she smiles, I smile back.