A Very Merry Nanny (Very Merry #2)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

HUDSON

“ N ext to me,” Emma says it like she means it, and it's music to my fucking ears.

No woman has been in my bed in five years because I didn’t allow it. But her?

“Not sure you can handle it, sweetheart.” Doubt doesn’t exist in my words, just confidence, a challenge lingering in the air between us.

“We'll see,” she says, moving gracefully to the closet. “I'd love to see you in some of these suits.”

She holds up a sleek tuxedo, the fabric gleaming under the soft light of the room. She tilts her head, a playful spark in her eyes, as if she’s imagining how it would enhance the lines of my body.

I lean against the door jamb, unable to take my eyes off her. “You weren't kidding when you said you were trying to figure me out.”

“Good luck, babe. You'll need it. Isn’t that what you told me?” She digs into the coat pocket of the tuxedo, her fingers brushing against the fabric as if searching for hidden treasures. In her hand, she pulls out an ivory piece of folded paper.

I take a step forward and snatch it from her before she can peel it open. “I doubt you want to read the vows I wrote to another woman.”

“It doesn’t bother me. You belong to no one, Hudson.” Her voice is unwavering, laced with a strength that both intrigues and unnerves me. “You may have meant those words when you wrote them, but they're kinda meaningless now, aren’t they? Words are cheap. Action is everything. It's the only thing that really matters. It's a hard lesson I’ve learned.”

My heart lurches, aching at the thought of her pain, wishing she didn’t have to experience such heartbreak. Emma walks past me, wrenching the paper from my hand. I follow, caught in her wake as she skips down the stairs, a whirlwind of energy. At the bottom, her two enormous suitcases and a pink duffle bag sit like sentinels, patiently waiting.

She grabs a pair of tongs, her movements fluid and confident, and lights the stovetop. We both stare at the flames, mesmerized. “I can make it disappear.”

“Do it,” I whisper, my voice barely breaking the silence. The fire consumes the edge of the page until it shudders and morphs into a ball of flames. Emma screams when it breaks off and tumbles to the floor. I grab the tongs from her hand, adrenaline surging through me, and fling the burning remnants into the sink. The faucet is flicked on, water cascades down and washes away the ashes of a past I’m desperate to forget.

“It’s like it never happened.” She laughs, a light, airy sound that dances in the air and pulls my gaze to her mouth.

My smile grows, want bubbling within me. “What were Jake’s rules?”

Her brow quirks upward, a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “I knew you’d ask, eventually. Edging questions. I love that game. No strings attached and no falling in love.”

“Because he knew what he was getting himself into and was trying to avoid it.” But I can feel it—I'm falling faster and harder than he did. It took him and Claire a month. A playful smirk spreads across her lips; as if she can read my mind.

This is happening too fast.

Emma leads me deeper into the intricate web she’s slowly weaving. Eventually, I’ll be ensnared, captured in a way that I can’t escape, even when she leaves at the beginning of the year. The very thought of her leaving town constricts around my chest, panic rising like bile.

Her lips transform into a straight line, her expression shifting as she senses my unease. “What is it?”

“I just realized how fucked I am.” I force myself to walk away, needing space, air, and time to think.

“Hudson,” she says, following behind me. Emma grips my shirt, spinning me around and standing in front of me. I grow stiff as she leans in, her ear against my chest, listening to my rapidly beating heart. Part of me yearns to run my fingers through her silky hair, to lose myself in the comforting familiarity of her presence.

“I've got you.” She clasps my hands, peeling my clenched fists open, and then gently hugs me. My breath is shallow, and I remind myself that the unease is temporary. The wave of panic sometimes throws me off balance, but it's usually random, an invisible tempest that I can’t quite predict.

This time, though, it was triggered.

I rest my chin on her head, closing my eyes as I wrap my arms around her, wanting to hold on to this moment forever, never willing to let her go. How is this possible? How could I already be so attached? It’s not fucking possible.

“What color is a chicken?” she asks, breaking the silence.

Stillness hangs thick in the air, and I'm utterly confused by her random question.

“I'm sorry. What?”

“Imagine it: a chicken standing in a field. What color is it?”

“Red.” I chuckle, the sound bubbling up like a pop of carbonation. The smile forces my face to relax. “What about you?”

“Mine is red, too.” Calmness dances in her eyes. “Sometimes when life feels overwhelming, I think about my anxiety chicken. By the time it cock-a-doodle-doos in my head, the panic usually passes.”

I snort, shaking my head in disbelief. “Chickens don't cock-a-doodle do that .”

“My imaginary chickens do, and they also lay shiny golden eggs. Sometimes polka dot ones.”

“Ah, they're hen dependent.” The playful banter feels like a breath of fresh air amidst my swirling thoughts.

“Okay, that was a good one.” She laughs.

I break away from her, creating space, even though I know the damage to my heart is already done. “Thank you.”

“You've given me too many glimpses of the parts of you that you won't share with everyone. I've seen beyond the mask and the walls you put up,” Emma whispers, her voice a tender melody that resonates within me.

I gently lift her chin to better meet her gaze. “Why didn't I meet you sooner? Before I was...”

“Don't you dare say broken. Unless your junk doesn't function properly...”

She raises an eyebrow, teasing, and I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

“Rest assured, it works perfectly fine.”

“Good.” She crosses her arms over her chest, a satisfied look on her face. “This was a great talk. But I have to unpack and get settled.”

As she moves toward her suitcases, I can’t shake the gravity of our conversation. “Do you have plans for dinner? Will you be hungry around seven?”

“No plans.” Her smirk deepens, her eyes flicking from my mouth down to my cock. “And I'm starved.”

“Great. Should I add thirsty to the list, too?” I ask, enjoying the playful energy between us.

She claps her hands together, her laughter brightening the room. “Hilarious. And the answer's yes.”

“Knew it,” I reply, shaking my head as I begin to move toward the front door. “I'll have dinner ready around seven.”

“Can't wait,” she tells me.

I turn and catch a glimpse of her watching me, her expression a mix of anticipation and something deeper I can't quite place. She chews on the corner of her lip, an unconscious gesture that makes my heart race just a little faster.

“I'm so fucked,” I mutter as I shut the door behind me, the sudden sound echoing back at me. I don’t even remember why I came home.

I lead Colby into the kitchen with his backpack in tow. He's just returned from spending time with my mother, and excitement radiates off him. “Come on. I've got a surprise for you.”

As soon as he sees Emma, he runs to hug her, his face lighting up with pure joy. “Oh my gosh! I've missed you!”

“Aww, I've missed you, too,” she replies, warm and genuine, a broad smile stretching across her pretty face.

“Can I sit beside Emma, please?” Colby interlocks his fingers together and pleads, his big, round eyes wide with hope. “Please, please, please.”

“If she says it's okay,” I state, watching the two of them with a smile.

“It's fine,” Emma responds, giving him a playful high-five as I move his plate across the table to make room for him.

He plops down in the chair, his anticipation palpable as he gazes at the giant plate of spaghetti piled high with gigantic meatballs.

“Yay! My favorite!” Colby exclaims, picking up his fork with glee and stabbing into the meat. “Thanks, Dad!”

“You're welcome. Now, I want to talk to you about something,” I say, trying to maintain a serious tone amidst the cheerful chaos.

Emma, meanwhile, grabs a breadstick and takes a bite, savoring the warm, buttery texture.

Colby nods, curious. “Okay.”

“I invited Emma to stay with us for a few weeks. Her dad is in town, and she had to give her bed to him,” I explain, watching the realization dawn on Colby’s face.

His eyes widen, and he gasps audibly. “Really? You can sleep in my room. You can have my bed!” he offers eagerly, his youthful generosity shining through.

Emma laughs at his outburst. “That sounds super cool, but you have an extra bed upstairs, so I don’t have to use yours. That was really sweet of you, though. I'm sure your bed is comfy.”

“It is! The best bed and pillow you'll ever find,” he declares proudly, puffing out his chest as if he were personally responsible for its comfort.

“Mmhm.” Emma twirls the noodles on her fork and takes a bite, covering her mouth delicately as she speaks. “Wow. I completely understand why this is your favorite.”

“Can you be my real aunt? Like CeCe?” Colby asks, his eyes full of hope.

Emma smiles, the corners of her mouth tugging joyfully. “Actually, I got all the details about that. So, it turns out, the only way to make that happen is to marry your Uncle Lucas.”

I grip my fork a little tighter when Emma glances at me, a sudden rush of protectiveness flooding my veins. “But that would never happen,” I interject hastily, my heart racing slightly.

“Who knows what could happen?” Emma shrugs, a playful glint in her. She’s enjoying this.

“You should marry Uncle Lucas and be my aunt,” Colby insists, as though it were the most logical suggestion in the world. His enthusiasm is infectiously naive.

“After dinner, it's bath time,” I assert, trying to steer the conversation away from Emma marrying my brother.

He shakes his head vehemently. “No!” he barks, his voice rising in protest.

I know better than to argue with him at the dinner table.

“Okay. What’s one thing you're grateful for today?” I prompt, a staple of our nightly tradition.

His eyelids droop; I can see the exhaustion creeping in.

“Today, Evie gave me a sticker and I put it on my folder. It was a heart,” he recounts, the memory causing a smile.

“Who's Evie?” Emma asks.

“My future daughter-in-law, apparently,” I say with a chuckle, reaching for extra napkins to mop up some sauce that splattered across the table.

“She's seven,” he explains earnestly to Emma. “It's Davidson's older sister. She's nice and has pretty pink nails.”

Emma's brows lift in surprise. “Seven? Whoa. Into older women?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, not quite meeting her eyes, a hint of shyness washing over him.

“ Emma is too old for you,” I chime in, trying to defuse the sudden tension.

“One day, I'll be a grown-up,” he declares, as if it were an undeniable truth.

“Find me when you're thirty,” she jokes, and I swear I see a hint of rosy color spring to his cheeks.

It's moments like these that show how she has us both wrapped around her finger.

Eventually, our plates are cleaned, and we're all stuffed, leaning back in our chairs with satisfied sighs.

“I'll take care of the dishes,” Emma says, rising from her seat with purpose.

“I've got it,” I tell her, sliding the plates on top of one another, balancing them carefully. “Bath time, Colby.”

“No!” he screams, his voice rising again, and Emma turns to him, her brows lifted in both surprise and concern.

“Would you take a bath for me, please?” she asks sweetly, trying to coax him with her charm.

He crosses his arms tightly over his small chest, a tiny grimace forming on his face. “I don't want to!” he declares, his defiance firm.

She drops down to one knee, her big brown eyes gleam. “But I even said please. What if I told you I have some bubble bath in my suitcase that smells like blue gum?”

“No.”

“Hm. Oh, did I mention it makes the water blue, too? It's soooo cool.”

He tucks his lips inside his mouth and hooks his fingers together, a subtle sign that he's intrigued despite his initial resistance.

“Come on. Let's go try it out. I'm happy to share.”

Colby grabs her hand, and they walk up the stairs together, the sound of their playful chatter fading as they ascend.

“I'll be right up,” I tell her, rinsing the dishes in the sink. The warm water cascades over my hands, and I focus on the rhythm of cleaning. I’ll load the dishwasher once Colby is in bed, ensuring everything is in order for the night ahead.

When I make it to the bathroom, Emma is perched on the toilet, chatting animatedly with Colby. The tub is half full of water and frothy blue bubbles, just as she promised. It creates a vibrant contrast against the stark white porcelain, making the whole scene feel almost magical.

“Thanks for this,” I say, and she rises gracefully from her spot. “Happy not to argue about it.”

“You're welcome.” Emma stands and switches places with me, her playful demeanor lighting up the room. “You owe me,” she whispers.

I grab her elbow. “Add it to my tab.”

As she leaves us, Colby blows the bubbles onto the shower wall, giggling as they pop and disperse. “Emma lives with us now?”

“Just until January, and then she's going back to New York,” I say, keeping my tone calm, willing to ease his curiosity.

“New York? Why?”

I answer his questions the best I can.

Once he’s out of the tub, he dresses in pajamas, and I let him choose the book tonight. I read until his eyelids grow heavy, and he finally succumbs to sleep.

I make my way downstairs, cherishing the quiet house as I approach the living room. Emma is sprawled on the floor, her backside up in the air, focused on her workout. Carefully, she lowers herself downward in a plank, her determination evident. After a brief moment of watching her, I step into the kitchen, making noise so she knows I’m here.

When I open the fridge, I’m greeted by the sight of a spotless interior and everything neatly portioned into containers. Even the counters are wiped clean and organized. There’s nothing for me to do.

I head to the living room where Emma continues her plank, muscles flexing with concentrated effort.

“You didn't have to do that,” I explain, feeling a bit uncertain now that my nightly chores are complete. A shower and some reading sound like a nice way to unwind.

“It's the least I could do after you prepared that meal,” she replies, maintaining her focus. Her breath becomes steady, and I can see the strength it takes to hold herself up. “And, in the future, when I do something right, the only response I'll accept is ‘thank you’ or ‘good girl.’”

She steadies herself, taking in calm breaths as sweat glistens on her forehead.

“I might be MIA over the next few days. I promised my sister I'd help her unload a Black Friday shipment and prep the shop. She's short-staffed because of the storm.”

“Emma. You don't have to check in with me,” I say, my voice gentle.

She shifts down to her elbows. “’Thank you’ or ‘good girl’. Eventually, you'll learn.”

Her hair is a mess on top of her head. When I scan down her body, I realize she’s wearing tiny shorts and a fitted sports bra. The combination leaves little to the imagination, and my breath hitches.

Temptress.

“Thank you,” I mutter, my resolve wavering as I move toward the stairs. If I don't put some distance between us, I fear my lips will find hers again and we’ll lose control. And I can’t continue doing that.

“Mm. See. You're a very good boy,” she says, sultry and teasing.

It’s so fucking sexy; I think I might just adopt a praise kink.