A Very Merry Nanny (Very Merry #2)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

EMMA

T he historic City Hall, once an old bank, was remodeled into a local government building in the 1980s, or so the historical marker claims. Next door stands the courthouse, and the lawn is adorned with glittery ornaments larger than I am.

At exactly eight o'clock, the door unlocks, and I step inside with determination.

“Good morning. I'd like to get the application for the Christmas Cookie Contest, please,” I tell the man at the counter.

“Good mornin'. Sure, just give me a second,” he replies politely as he flicks on the overhead lights. He looks around my age, maybe a year or two younger. He pulls a stapled stack of papers from a drawer and slides it across the counter to me.

“You'll need a sponsor,” he adds, his southern twang thickening his words. “I can tell you're not from 'round here.

“A sponsor?” I echo, taken aback by this new information. Jake hadn’t mentioned it yesterday.

“It's a new requirement. You have to be a resident of Merryville or have an immediate family member who is a resident and can sign on your behalf. However, if they do that, they can’t enter the contest themselves.”

“Is it that serious?” Concern creeps in as I wonder if Jake's hesitation about my entry was justified. But no matter what, I am still committed to entering.

The guy narrows his eyes, intrigued. “Are you one of those celebrity bakers or somethin'?”

I try to suppress a laugh, but I fail. “Nope. I’m just a girl who can follow a recipe. Since I'm in Merryville for the holidays, I thought it would be a fun challenge. Kinda hoping for some beginner's luck.”

“You'll need it, considering how competitive it is. But miracles happen every day. So, who are you related to?”

“Claire Manchester. She's engaged to Jake Jolly. Oh, sorry, most people call him JJ.”

“Ah, Claire. Should've guessed.” He swallows hard. “She's very... intimidating.”

“I'll have to tell her you said that,” I chuckle, knowing well the effect she has on people. Being a CEO is more than just a title; it runs deep in her veins.

With just one glare, my sister can make anyone cower.

Growing up with Claire was both a curse and a blessing. She taught me how to rise after being knocked down.

Watching her navigate a man's world without fear made me realize that I wasn’t cut out for the family business. It was too cutthroat for me. I’d rather drift through life like a butterfly than climb the corporate ladder. I have no regrets.

He clears his throat and subtly glances at my left hand. No ring—definitely not married.

“It's really nice to meet you,” he says.

“Emma,” I reply.

He smiles wide. “I'm Brent. Maybe I’ll see you around town.”

I laugh. “I'm sure you will, especially after I win that cookie trophy,” I say confidently as I take the application.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks! I'm gonna need it, right?”

“You will,” he assures me.

I push open the door, and the jingle bell above rattles lightly. With one hand in my pocket, I hold my Hall of Fame golden ticket in the other.

The more I think about it, the more I crave that cookie trophy. I just need to perfect my recipe in three and a half weeks—definitely doable, right?

Tourists pass me on the sidewalk, wearing Santa hats, ugly sweaters, and jeans. Carolers sing as I stroll toward the heart of the town square. It’s the second of November, and Merryville is already in full holiday mode. I can’t wait to see how it will transform as December approaches.

As I enter Glenda's Café, the enticing aromas of bacon and freshly brewed coffee fill the air. “Jingle Bell Rock” plays on an old radio at the counter, where a glass case displays an array of pies—pumpkin, chocolate, lemon meringue, and strawberry cream. My mouth waters at the sight, and I realize how hungry I am.

A stack of yesterday's newspapers spreads across the table next to the counter. While I wait to be seated, I catch the bold headline of one.

MERRYVILLE POST

Season's Greetings: Jolly Christmas Tree Farm Seasonal Celebration on Nov. 2nd

The front page features a large picture of Jake, Lucas, and Hudson smiling widely with their perfectly straight teeth and dimpled cheeks. Men like the Jolly brothers aren't part of my social circle.

Ashton Banks certainly wouldn't get his hands dirty, nor would his brother Dyson. The men who have tried to date me over the past two years lack adventure—they're just wealthy. But I already have more money than I could ever spend, so that doesn’t impress me. Money has never bought my happiness; my father learned that long ago.

I glance back at the photo of the Jolly brothers. With their solid muscles, they work and play hard.

I can almost picture myself as a regular here, greeting those I know by name. The thought makes me smile, but it also scares the shit out of me. Settling down isn’t something I’ve considered much, but my sister loves it here. She would say it’s the magic of Merryville.

“Hi, honey. Good mornin’. Just one?” A friendly older woman asks, jolting me from my thoughts. She has strands of silver-gray in her hair.

“Bring it with you. They’re complimentary,” she adds, picking up a menu along with napkin-rolled silverware.

“Thanks. And yes, it’s just me.” I grab one, tucking the pages under my arm as I follow her. The ruby-red slippers she’s wearing scatter bits of light against the wall like a disco ball as she leads me through the busy diner.

This must be Glenda, the owner of the café.

She glides between tables and chairs, setting a menu at a booth surrounded by windows. The warm morning sunlight spills in, and I feel like I have the best seat in the house, overlooking the town square.

“Would you like coffee, orange juice, apple juice, chocolate milk, or regular milk?” she asks.

“Coffee with cream, please.”

With a nod, she turns on her heels and strolls away.

The sounds of clinking plates and lively chatter fill the room. I overhear someone mention the Jolly Tree Farm.

As I eavesdrop on the conversation at the table behind me, I realize it’s the morning’s hot topic.

Glenda returns. “Sugar’s on the table. Ready to order?”

I nod. “I’ve been told the pumpkin pancakes are a must. And I’ll have some sausage, too.”

“Excellent choice. Links or patties?”

“Surprise me,” I reply. “Either is fine.”

She smiles and glances down at the newspaper that has captivated me for the past few minutes. “Have you visited the farm yet?”

“Sort of.” It’s not a lie, but I haven’t taken an official tour.

“You should go today. It’s a lot of fun, but it’ll be busy, so get there early. Bring a sweater—it’s the first big event of the season and a really big deal for the locals. Also, two of the Jolly boys are single,” she adds playfully.

I chuckle. “Thanks for the tip.”

Everyone seems to know I’m from out of town. I promised Claire I would visit the farm today.

Another table catches Glenda’s attention, and she excuses herself to refill their coffee. Steam rises from my mug as I add a spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream. I snap a photo of it next to the newspaper; a big, fluffy cloud casts a shadow across half the page.

As I zoom in on the picture, I make sure nothing in it reveals my location. Most people know my sister lives here now. However, I’ve only told my close friends that I’m in Texas and want to keep this visit private for as long as possible.

The last thing I need is for the paparazzi to follow me around Merryville. This town is too small to hide in. I want to blend in for one season and not be Emma Manchester. Is that too much to ask?

The upcoming week’s weather forecast is at the bottom of the paper. Before I flip the page, a gigantic plate of orange, fluffy pancakes with white, gooey icing is set in front of me. I gasp—it’s beautiful.

Glenda beams at my reaction. “If you need anything else, just let me know. Enjoy, honey.”

“Thank you so much.” I grab my fork and cut into the moist pancakes. Steam rises from the middle, and the icing oozes down the sides. The sweet bite nearly melts in my mouth, and I’m in heaven as a delighted moan escapes me. Jake was right; these are amazing.

My attention drifts back to the newspaper and then to Hudson. Though his eyes are kind, I can see the hurt behind them. I look forward to the day he shares what happened with his ex. Slowly, I’ve pieced together fragments of his story, but it remains unclear. His past looms like an elephant in every room and conversation, and I want to understand why.

Curiously, I type his name into Instagram, and one account appears.

This is unmistakably him:

The only person who matters calls me Dad.

Manager of @jollychristmastreefarm.

Heartbreaker is my middle name.

Did you find what you were looking for?

“He follows me,” I whisper, wondering how long he's been watching my posts.

Does he read them? Does he comment? He must know I’m usually just posting and ghosting, ignoring most messages.

I scroll through his feed and notice he posts several times a week. Today, he shared a picture of himself smiling at the front gate.

There are countless photos of him shirtless while chopping wood, riding four-wheelers on the farm, and enjoying moments with his brothers. It’s evident that he’s a dad who shares private glimpses of scattered dinosaurs on the floor and crayon scribbles, but Colby is never shown directly. Only his tiny fingers, toes, or the back of his head appear.

I continue scrolling, fascinated by the curated glimpse into his life. He’s maintained this account for years, accumulating over a thousand posts.

I rush to the beginning, eager to see the first picture he shared—newborn baby feet, taken on December first, five years ago. That must be Colby’s birthday.

The caption reads:

Today is the happiest day of my life: the day my son was born. I love you, Bee. Forever grateful for you. Thank you for changing my life for the better. Always your dad.

A bee emoji follows the heartfelt words, stirring unexpected emotions within me. I can feel the depth of his love and care for his son.

As I read, I feel like I’m intruding on his intimate thoughts, as if I’m rifling through his diary. Each post reveals his adoration for Colby, shining through every word.

I click on one of his shirtless wood-chopping photos, noticing it has a few thousand likes, with several comments calling him “lumberjack daddy.” This man knows how to be a professional thirst trap online, playing into his emotional unavailability.

As I scroll further, my finger slips, and I accidentally like a video he posted two years ago.

“Shit,” I whisper-hiss, annoyed with myself for being so clumsy. “Shit.”

I set down my fork and chew the bite of food in my mouth, washing it down with coffee, wishing I hadn’t been so careless. But it’s too late; the notification was sent to his phone.

I could pretend it didn’t happen, but he doesn’t seem like the type of man who would let me live that down. I could blame Claire, but why would she have stalked him so long ago?

I stare out the window, searching for another solution.

I could follow him back.

The superfans who stalk me would notice my follower count increase. I could follow him from my secret, private account, but that would make me an even bigger stalker. I have to own this.

Hudson is popular with the ladies, so maybe he won’t even notice.

My heart races as I read the caption of the photo I stupidly liked. Most comments focus on the muscular V leading to the impressive bulge in his khaki shorts. His tanned, sweaty skin and messy hair, combined with that smirk, are too much to handle.

Seeing him makes my heart palpitate; the attraction is almost overwhelming, even through the screen.

The caption reads: What you see is what you get…

Typical. But I see the real him—the king of playing hard to get, the man struggling with demons that I want to help him conquer.

I was tricked into believing that love exists, too. Now, I’m like Indiana Jones, searching for it as if it were the Holy Grail. I know I’m worthy of true love—even if I haven’t found it yet—and I’ll keep searching until my last breath. That’s the difference between me and Hudson; he isn’t even trying. Liking that image was reckless, and I’m annoyed with myself.

Before I stress too much, I text my best friends because they provide sound advice when my thoughts spiral. Plus, they’re honest, even when I don’t want them to be.

Emma

Let’s hypothetically say you were stalking someone and accidentally liked a photo from two years ago… What would you do?

Billie

As long as it wasn’t Maddox, I’d pretend it didn’t happen.

Emma

It wasn't Maddox.

Maddox was the man the entire world thought I’d marry. Our relationship was private, which I didn’t mind. I loved staying out of the spotlight with him. Rumors about rings and secret pregnancies circulated, but that’s all they were. Maddox never proposed, even though we had discussed it several times.

One night, lying naked and alone in Paris, watching the glittering Eiffel Tower, it struck me that nothing would change between us. He was content with his extravagant but quiet life. I felt like nothing more than an ornament on his tree, and I craved more.

We were always on opposite sides of the same coin. It took me years to realize that it wouldn’t have worked out. Discovering that I wasn’t wife material for the man I loved nearly destroyed me. But I rose from the ashes and found myself again.

Now, I know my worth, and I won’t settle. I want to be with a man who can match my obsession.

Harper

Is it someone who would start drama? We can create a cover-up story. Blame me for anything. I’m so loved by the public right now that they’d devour a silly rumor like this. But you have to tell me who it was first.

My friends always have my back; I’d do the same for them.

Emma

It was Hudson.

Harper

Jake's brother?

Billie

I laugh at Billie’s heart-eyed emojis.

Emma

YES! Ugh.

Harper

What’s the issue?

Billie’s chat bubble appears and then disappears.

Billie

Why were you looking at photos from two years ago?

Emma

I was curious.

Billie

Right! So believable. You're already crushing on this guy. Let me look him up.

I take a bite of my delicious pancakes.

Billie

Damn. He's... wow.

Emma

Look, things are really awkward between us.

I share what happened last night and how he was standoffish.

Harper

It does sound like you're crushing. HARD AF!

They won’t let me escape it.

Emma

I just want to get to know him better. That's all. He's so quiet.

Billie

You're trying to piece him together like a puzzle. You always loved those.

Emma

UGH! I'M DOOMED.

Harper

Just follow him back. Your sister is marrying his brother. That’s a perfect reason.

My finger hovers over the follow button. Glenda walks by, and I stop her.

“Do you have a quarter?”

She digs into her apron pocket and loose change jingles. She hands me one.

“Heads or tails?” I ask.

Whatever she calls will decide my next move.

I flip the coin as “Run, Rudolf, Run” plays on the radio.

“Heads,” she calls as it spins. Heads means I follow Hudson; tails means I block him. One extreme or the other.

I catch the coin and slam it down on the table. Glenda leans over my shoulder, eager to see the result. I take a quick breath and glance down.

Heads.

“Hope it was the right call,” she says.

“I guess we’ll see,” I reply, returning the quarter.

I click the button, and it changes to FOLLOWING.