A Very Merry Nanny (Very Merry #2)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

EMMA

I reread his text.

Lumberjack Daddy

You know where I live.

It feels like an invitation, like he wants me to come over.

My heart flutters, and I place my hand against my chest, savoring the sensation. It may be a flicker in the dark, but it’s there. And it scares me because he has made it very clear that he’s emotionally unavailable.

I don’t want to set myself up for heartbreak.

I’ve barely recovered from the last one.

Sitting at the edge of my bed, I revisit our brief conversation. Is he flirting? Do I want him to be? I could be at his house in ten minutes flat.

Before I can talk myself out of going, I change into warmer clothes and slip on my shoes. When I open the door to my room, the hinges squeak. I freeze, almost laughing at myself, then take a step forward.

The house is dark except for the warm glow of a lamp in the living room. As I move toward it, excitement courses through me. The thrill of being with Hudson again is almost overwhelming.

“Howdy,” Jake says, looking up from the couch, his black-framed glasses perched on his nose and a book in his hand.

I cover my mouth to stifle a scream, but the surge of adrenaline still races through my veins.

“You goin’ somewhere?” he asks.

“Uh, yes,” I stammer, aware of my bright red cheeks.

“Have fun,” he replies, returning to his book. I head toward the back door. “Oh, Emma?”

“Yeah?” I ask, reaching for the doorknob.

“Tell Hudson I said hi.”

A flutter spreads in my chest.

I could ignore Jake's words, but I don't. I turn back toward the couch. “Do you think I'm making a mistake?”

Claire says Hudson is a green flag, and I want to believe that. But Jake knows his brother.

His expression softens. “Sometimes mistakes turn into miracles. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Hudson's a Grinch with a huge heart.”

“Do you think I can make it grow three sizes too big?”

His brows lift. “I think you already have.”

A grin spreads across my lips. “Can you keep this between us, please?”

“Secret’s safe with me. But tell me this...” Jake sits up and drops his voice to a whisper. “You and Lucas, that's fake as hell, right? Because?—“

“It's fake,” I admit. “And it wasn't my idea.”

“Got it. Carry on, then. Looks like Lucas and I are on the same team.” He chuckles. “Just making sure my brothers won't be fighting over the holidays.”

“Lucas isn't my type. And apparently, I'm not his.”

“And Hudson?” he presses.

A wide smile blooms on my face. “That's still to be determined. See you later?”

He nods and returns to his book as I leave.

Tonight is colder, and I'm looking forward to some cozy fireplace weather this weekend. The wind rustles the leaves along the dirt path as I shove my hands into my hoodie pockets, but my body is on fire.

Thoughts of what I'll say to Hudson swirl in my mind.

When I finally reach the clearing, his large house looms in the field like a fortress. Some lights shine, but the cabin remains mostly dark.

As I ascend the porch steps, anxiety creeps in, and I question my decision. A part of me considers turning back. But just then, the door swings open slowly.

Golden light spills from inside, revealing him looking at me like an archangel.

Our eyes meet, and I can't help but drink him in. As my gaze travels down his body, I memorize every rigid curve. Tree tattoos adorn his arms and chest, and I can't help wishing to trace them with the tip of my finger—or perhaps my tongue.

This man is stunning, an utter temptation. The fact that he’s a father makes him even more alluring.

“You came,” he says, almost as if he doubted I would.

“Not yet,” I reply with a hint of sass.

He keeps a straight face.

“Okay, tough crowd. Anyone else would have enjoyed that joke.”

“Hm. I'm not just anybody ,” he says.

He's absolutely right about that.

Hudson steps aside, allowing me to enter.

As I pause in the living room, I notice the fire roaring in the fireplace. The wood isn’t fully charred, which means he just started it. On the coffee table lies a face-down book—the same one Jake was reading. It’s cute that they’re buddy-reading.

An oversized fluffy rug covers the floor, and I imagine how it feels beneath my bare feet. The L-shaped couch faces the fireplace.

His home feels cozy, and I can sense the love within these walls. Colby is a lucky kid.

My eyes wander to the kitchen, and then I take in the hand-carved staircase leading to the second story.

“This is a big house for the two of you,” I comment.

Hudson moves to the counter, ignoring my remark. Muscles ripple down his back, and his joggers hang low on his hips. That cocky Jolly attitude is on full display. It’s my kryptonite that I both love and hate.

“Whiskey?” he asks.

“Sure.” I want to relax, but my temperature rises each time I look at him.

“You need a shooter?” Hudson glances at me, and I swallow hard. Can he sense the heat beneath the surface?

“No, I can handle it straight.” I move closer to him, running my fingers through my hair. Does he notice the effect he has on me? He has to.

Hudson pours double shots for both of us and pushes one across the counter toward me. Our fingers brush, and I swear the spot where he touches me feels like it's on fire.

“Thanks,” I whisper, wishing I knew what he was thinking. A million unspoken words pass between us when our eyes meet. I down the whiskey, welcoming the burn as it slides down my throat.

“Well?” he finally asks.

“It tastes great,” I say, setting the empty glass down.

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What did you want to discuss?” Hudson cuts straight to the point, skipping any warm-up.

“I think we should start over,” I say, sliding my glass back toward him.

He shakes his head. “You're not the first woman who's tried to fix me.”

I smile. “But I'll be the last.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you always like this?”

“Yes. But for some reason, you're playing the part that I’m usually cast in relationships. It kind of sucks for you because I know the script already. I'm a broken toy. Stay away from me. It's me and not you .” I roll my eyes. “I'm not convinced you want me to stay away, given your contradictory actions.”

He lifts the bottle and pours shots into our glasses. Hudson doesn’t respond to what I’ve said, but he absorbs every word.

He remains silent, and I don’t urge him to speak.

“I push people away because it’s easier,” he finally admits.

A tender expression meets my face. He didn’t have to tell me that; I’ve witnessed it myself.

“You can try, but my sister is madly in love with your brother, and they're getting married. Eventually, they want to have kids. We're locked in as long as they are,” I say, blinking up at him.

Hudson shakes his head. “Don't make this difficult.”

I scoff. “Do you need a mirror to repeat that?”

This finally earns me a smile. I take a moment to gather my thoughts because the whiskey has made my brain foggy.

“You didn't have to deactivate your account,” he mutters. I'm sure Lucas told him; he mentioned he would.

“I did it to protect you.”

His expression twists in response.

“You're Mr. November,” I say. “I don’t have a choice in that. So, I disappeared with you, Hudson. I’m not afraid to risk it all.”

I glance at the whiskey bottle, noticing its label—Devil's Tongue, one-hundred proof. Typical.

Hudson's gaze fixes on me, and I can tell something is on his mind.

“Just ask,” I prompt. “You want to ask me something.”

There are a million things he could ask, none of them I can predict.

“Tell me what happened with your ex,” he says.

Every thought in my head is thrown off course.

“Why do you care?”

My heart pounds in my chest.

“You haven't really moved on since the breakup. Why?”

I take a deep breath. “Have you been keeping up with me?”

This revelation sends my mind spinning.

This time, he forgoes pouring the whiskey and drinks straight from the bottle. He slides it to me when he's finished.

“I’ll share my deep, dark secrets if you share yours,” I whisper. “Do you trust me?”

“No,” he replies without hesitation. “Not yet.”

His words give me hope that maybe one day he will. I drink more whiskey, watching the pulse at his neck throb rapidly.

Hudson moves to the couch where I imagine he was before I arrived. I grab the bottle and sit next to him, leaving enough space so we don't touch. I sink into the cushions and lay my head back, staring at the high vaulted ceilings.

He watches me. It's often the quiet ones who are the most observant. I can see the gears in his head turning as if he's deciding whether to trust me. If given a chance, I’d ensure he didn’t regret it.

Hudson shifts his attention to the fire, and I glance at him.

“This is dangerous,” he mutters, and his eyes almost darken.

“We meet in the middle.”

“And you'll keep my secrets?” Hudson asks.

“Until the day I die. But you have to keep mine, too.” I mean every word. My heart flutters for him, and I try to ignore it. “I usually have NDAs ready for occasions like this.”

“That’s protocol, then?”

“Everyone in my inner circle has signed one. It’s for my protection because people try to get close to me for personal gain.”

His brows furrow. “I would never do that. You have my word. The time we’ve spent together won't be shared with anyone. It stays between us,” Hudson promises.

I chew on my bottom lip. The only way out is through.

We both drink, and his original question resurfaces in my mind. “Why do you want to know about my ex?”

“Patterns tend to repeat themselves.”

I look back on that relationship, wishing I had recognized the signs before I got in too deep.

“Maddox loved the idea of me and what I could do for his reputation, but he didn’t truly love me. Sometimes, I felt like a checkmark on a to-do list or an afterthought. I was tired of being put last.”

As I stare at the flames, I realize this is the first time I’ve voiced those feelings out loud. My best friends and sister know a summarized version but not the raw truth.

“In our final year together, he forgot my birthday. We were supposed to meet in Paris, but I spent the whole week alone. When I came back to New York, I ended it.”

“Fuck. Him,” Hudson growls, clenching his jaw.

“I'll drink to that.” I bring the bottle to my lips. “A month later, he replaced me. We were together for years, and he moved on as if I meant nothing. And she's so pretty—blonde, tall—nothing like me. I’m convinced I wasn’t even his type. It sucks, considering how much of myself I gave to him.”

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, his jaw tightly clenched.

“I am, too. But I ignored the red flags.” I offer him a small smile. “I've healed, though. Now I know what I want and don’t want in my next relationship.”

We sit in comfortable silence as more whiskey disappears from the bottle, the wood crackling in the fire.

Hudson inhales deeply. “After my wife gave birth and came home from the hospital, she told me she’d made a mistake. She didn’t want to be a mom or build a life with me anymore. Colby was just a week old when she left, eighteen days before our son’s first Christmas. I tried to convince her we could figure it out together—go to therapy, rebuild our relationship. I told her I loved her and would do anything to keep our family together. I wanted to help her. But she calmly explained it wasn’t postpartum or depression; she felt like she had been cosplaying a life with me. She wasn’t in love with me anymore. She thought having a baby would change her mind. I realized I had been living a fucking lie.” His voice trails off, and I watch as he mentally puts a wall between us.

“Hudson. I’m...” I swallow hard, wishing there was something I could do, realizing his trauma in his last relationship stems from being left. My heart breaks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. So when I say you should stay away from me, I mean it. I’ve learned, and it’s been reiterated several times, that I don’t need anyone.” He speaks bluntly without sugarcoating it.

“I wish I could help heal that pain,” I reply, understanding that he’s trying to push me away again. It’s a protective mechanism, one I completely understand now. “Where is she now?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. She moves around a lot.”

I hand him the bottle, and this time, he pulls so hard that bubbles trickle from the bottom.

“Are you still in love with her?” I don’t know if I want the answer

“No.” He meets my gaze. “And I’ll never forgive her for what she did.”

Hudson stands to add more wood to the fire. The tattoos on his biceps depict conifers, the very types that grow on the farm. He glances my way and my heart races. This time, when he returns, Hudson sits closer to me.

I crisscross my legs, turning toward him for a better look at the ink on his arms and shoulders. He smells like a fresh winter day in the mountains.

Hudson's jaw tightens. “Would you take him back?”

“I don't do second chances,” I reply, avoiding his gaze. “It’s one of my rules.”

He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really? And I suppose there are other rules, too?”

“I won’t lead anyone on if I know it won't work between us. I don't do flings.”

This makes him scoff.

“There also needs to be a possibility of a future. And the final rule: every man I'm interested in is told the rules.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Anything else I need to know, considering we’re starting over?”

“Nope, that’s pretty much it,” I say, focusing on the fire. It flickers, casting our shadows on the wall, and I realize how tired I am. Part of me wants to stay up with him all night, asking every question I can now that the door is wide open. But my eyes grow heavy.

“One more question, then I'm going to head home,” I say, thinking back to the first time we met in July. “And make it good.”

Hudson takes a deep breath. “Did you want to kiss me on the porch?”

I nod, looking up into his captivating eyes and feeling the warmth of his breath against my cheek. Butterflies erupt in full force as the air around us thickens.

“Did you want to kiss me?” I ask, desperately hoping he feels the same way.

“Fuck yes. And now?” His gravelly tone sends goosebumps racing up my arms. He wears the same expression now as he did days ago.

“Please,” I breathlessly beg.

This time, he doesn't hesitate.

His palm rests on my face, and his whiskey-scented lips slide gently against mine. We're a tangle of tongues and lips, enveloped in desperate passion. I feel like I'm falling into oblivion as his fingers move roughly through my hair. Nothing else matters in this moment— just us, just his mouth on mine.

A desperate moan escapes as our tongues intertwine. Hudson lays me back onto the couch, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I want and need more of him. His hard, thick cock presses between my thighs.

The mere pressure of him against me makes my eyes nearly roll back in my head. It’s been too long since I've been with a man. He nibbles on my lip, and then his mouth trails around the shell of my ear. I gasp. The fire he ignited inside me threatens to consume me.

“I won't make you break your rules,” he whispers in my ear, his teeth grazing my skin, his fingers tangled in my hair. My rules don’t stand a chance with him. “But I could.”

He briefly nuzzles into my neck, inhaling my hair before pulling away.

Dread follows my elation as we break apart, my vision blurring before the world comes back into focus.

Hudson has swollen lips and a noticeable bulge in his joggers. My hair is messy, and I quickly push it down as I sit up straight.

“I should go,” I say finally, fully aware that I need to leave.

“Let me walk you home,” he offers.

“No, it's okay. You should be here if Colby wakes up.”

“Emma,” he says my name like a prayer.

The alcohol swims in my system, and I feel intoxicated by him, but I know I need fresh air to clear my head.

As I walk away, he grabs my hand and pulls me back. He tucks loose strands of my wavy, damp hair behind my ear.

“We can’t do this again,” he states.

I force a smile.

“I can't get attached to you,” he admits, desperation seeping into his voice.

“We both know it's too late for that,” I reply, knowing I’m just as guilty.

Hudson inhales deeply.

“Hope to see you tomorrow,” I say.

“Maybe,” he echoes.

As I turn to leave, he calls out, “Emma.”

“Yeah?”

He walks with me to the door. “You should spend the holidays with people who care about you.”

I want to remember the softness in his expression and the kindness in his voice as my heart flutters involuntarily.

“Ask me to stay, and I will,” I say.

Time stretches, and I wait for him to say something, but he remains silent. I understand why; every woman in his life has left. I close the door behind me, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I'm grateful for the chance to be alone to think and to replay every moment we've shared.

I gaze up at the night sky, the stars twinkling above. Excitement surges within me. This is just the beginning.

As I step off the porch, I realize that the magic of Merryville found me when Hudson Jolly kissed me.