A Very Merry Nanny (Very Merry #2)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

EMMA

ONE WEEK LATER

“ N ice minivan,” Hudson says after I park in the driveway, his voice breaking the comfortable silence surrounding his house. He sets the ax down with a thud that resonates in the crisp air, then removes his leather gloves. A pile of freshly chopped wood is stacked neatly next to the storage shed like a monument. I glance at the logs, then back at him, noticing how his broad shoulders relax as he approaches me.

“Aren't you supposed to be at lunch?” I ask, almost shocked to see him here. The midday sunlight casts a warm glow on his gorgeous face.

“This is how I'm spending it today,” he explains.

“Everything okay?” I ask, my gaze narrowing, searching for signs beneath the confident exterior. He's so good at pretending everything is fine when it's not.

He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Why would you ask that?”

“Lucas told me when you get stressed, you chop a lot of wood. Actually, he said you ‘chop a fuckton .’”

Laughter erupts from his throat, rich and deep, as he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “It's cute you think that's a fuckton .”

That cocky little smirk nearly brings me to my knees, erupting something playful and rebellious within me. I hold him close, hooking my fingers in the sturdy loops of his jeans as I look up at him. His eyes glimmer, and I don’t want this moment to end.

I love how his cologne—a mix of cedar and something distinctly him—mingles with the faint scent of sweat, creating an intoxicating blend. He gazes down into my eyes, his expression earnest. “It's winter prep for when the real storm comes. I promise.”

“If you were stressed, you'd tell me?” I ask, wanting to believe him but needing reassurance.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice low as he slides his lips across mine, leaving me breathless, the world around us fading into a blur.

I scoff, regaining a sliver of composure. “Why maybe?”

“Because I could be stressed about you and me.”

“Are you?” I press, a weight settling in my chest.

“I'm living in the moment, Emma. I'm trying not to think about that. I'll worry about it when the time comes,” he replies, his eyes searching mine as if looking for something that might anchor him.

My smile fades the truth of my own uncertainty hitting hard. “You're right; because I'm here now. If I thought there was nothing worth staying for, I'd be out in the world searching for love like I was Indiana Jones.”

Laughter erupts from him, bright and infectious. “So, you think I'm the Holy Grail?”

“Babe, I know you are,” I say, my tone a mix of flirtation and sincerity, but the gravity of my words lingers. “Just waiting to find out if I'm yours.”

He playfully lifts my chin, his thumb brushing against my skin, and slides his perfect lips against mine, igniting every nerve in my body. “I'm counting down the days.”

I reach forward, grabbing his side, and he squirms away, laughter spilling from him like music. “I knew you were ticklish.”

When I take off running after him, a burst of adrenaline propels me forward. He's fast, and I love hearing his laughter trailing behind him like a melody. “You'll never catch me, Emma.”

“I hate it when people doubt me,” I growl playfully, putting more oomph into my stride. When he turns around this time, I'm right behind him reaching for the back of his shirt. I grab on, but I stumble and the two of us fall forward. Hudson takes the brunt, his body under me as I land on his chest. Laughter bubbles uncontrollably between us.

Time feels like it freezes when I meet his eyes, and everything around us fades away. I'm lost in his gaze, captured in the love haze surrounding us.

Nothing else matters. Has it ever?

“You're my Holy Grail, Em,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch a gentle promise. His smile is sincere, illuminating the space between us. My breath hitches, and Hudson rolls me over onto my back. His fingertips trace the outside of my cheek before gliding down my side. Then he tickles the shit out of me, forcing laughter from me. With a quick movement, I try to squirm away rolling away from him, but he has a firm hold on me. There is no escaping this man. I don't want to.

“Don't you ever tell anyone I'm ticklish because you are too!” he exclaims between my fits of laughter as I try to tickle him back.

“ Please! ” I yell between giggles, holding my thighs together. “I'm going to piss myself!”

“Hudson!” I hear a voice call from behind him, cutting through our playful moment.

We abruptly stop and turn to see a dark-haired woman striding toward us with purpose. As she approaches, I can’t help but note the familial resemblance; she has the same striking green eyes as the rest of the Jolly family. I instinctively try to push my hair down, hoping to regain some semblance of composure, as Hudson stands, extending his hand to help me up.

“You’re rude!” she scolds him, her tone playful yet stern, before her gaze softens as she turns to me. “Hi! I’m BJ. Nice to finally meet you, Emma. I've been hoping my asshole cousin would introduce us.”

“Oh, BJ, yes. Great to meet you,” I say, pulling her into a warm hug that feels welcoming and genuine. “Claire mentioned you worked at the coffee shop. You wrote ‘Hudson Jolly Wants to Fuck You’ on the bottom of my cocoa. Hilarious, by the way!”

Hudson’s eyes widen in shock as he looks at me, disbelief painted on his face. “Wait, you saw it?”

“You didn’t give it to Pastor John?” she accuses him. “You lied ! Bastard!” Her brows furrow in mock disappointment. “I apologized for writing awful things on the bottom of his cocoa!”

Hudson howls with laughter, his hands patting his thighs as he points at her. “Now that.” He gestures with mock seriousness. “Is fucking hilarious. Stop pranking me!”

“No,” she replies stubbornly, an impish smile on her face. “What were you two doing over there? Ready to admit you’re dating yet?”

Hudson and I share a fleeting glance filled with unspoken thoughts and nervous laughter.

“What do you want?” he asks her, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone.

She turns her attention back to me, her expression shifting to one of earnestness. “Promise this conversation goes nowhere? Do you verbally agree? It’s confidential.”

“Yes, of course,” I reply, my curiosity piqued by her sudden seriousness. She seems to be floating on cloud nine, radiating excitement but is also all business.

“In Texas, a verbal agreement is legally binding, and I have a witness.” She points to Hudson, who looks torn between being supportive and slightly embarrassed.

“You're feisty! I can keep secrets,” I say, extending my hand. We shake on it, sealing our newfound bond of secrecy with a smile.

“Okay.” She squeals in delight. “You know the building on Main Street that’s been vacant for a bazillion years?”

“The old bike shop?” Hudson asks, recognition dawning in his eyes.

I have no idea what they're talking about, but my interest is piqued.

“I put a down payment on it,” she announces proudly. “I'm buying it.”

Hudson’s eyes widen in shock. “How did you afford that?”

“I’ve saved nearly every penny I’ve made since I turned sixteen. I finally saved enough to put down twenty percent, so I bought it.”

I glance between them, trying to process the enormity of the news. “How much was the building?”

“Close to two million dollars,” he replies, glaring at her with a protective undertone. “How will you pay the monthly payments?”

“I've been selling my drawings online,” she explains with a hint of defiance.

Silence lingers for a moment.

“Bella, I’m so fucking proud of you!” Hudson exclaims, pulling her into a tight hug. I can feel the excitement radiating between them, a palpable energy that lights up the air around us. They pull away, and he looks at her with earnestness in his eyes. “What do you need? How can I help?”

She laughs. “Thank you! You're the only person who has been happy for me. The problem with everyone is that most aren't betting on my success. We're the only ones who know what I'm capable of, and I can't wait to give them all a big fat stinky 'I told you so.' I can’t wait!”

“Congratulations,” I say sweetly. “I'll invest.”

Her mouth falls open in disbelief. “What?”

“Pitch your idea to me.”

Hudson holds back a smile as he glances at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Half bookstore, half coffee shop. Right now, we have a coffee shop in town, and it's not hip. The bookstore sucks, too. Neither are fun. It's boring and as bland as the gray paint on the walls. I want to create a cool hangout where friends can gather to play board games or hold book club meetings. I envision bright colors—pinks, teals—with an abundance of flowers inside. I’ll have a detailed menu that’s completely book-related. And the name? Sugar & Spine. And yes, we will feature all the dirty romance novels that make the Purple Hairs blush because we believe in love around here. And raunchy sex.” She looks between me and Hudson, her grin widening as excitement dances in her eyes.

I gasp, my excitement taking over because I can picture what she's described. “Oh my God! That sounds like an actual dream. For you to launch something like this in Merryville is genius considering the tourist traffic. Wow. It's a billion-dollar idea.”

“Right? I thought so, too.”

“That’s what I’ll invest in. You could open locations in every tourist town and major city, and they’d do incredibly well. It's going to be worldwide . Who wouldn’t want to hang out at Sugar & Spine?”

Her legs tremble and she loses her balance, nearly falling. Thankfully Hudson catches her. I move closer, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Is this a dream?” BJ asks, glancing between us.

“Feels like it, doesn't it?” Hudson studies me, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I have a lot of money.” I shrug casually. “And it's a great concept. You have the fire to make it succeed, and most people are missing that. You're going to be huge,” I say. “Also, you should talk to Claire. She navigates the business world like a shark. She could probably help you bust some balls.”

BJ wraps her arm around me, wiping away her tears of joy. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I'll contact my lawyers this week,” I say confidently.

Suddenly, her phone rings, and she answers it on speaker.

“Where are you? You're late,” a woman’s voice chastises. “If you get another write-up, that’s it.”

“I'm on my way,” she replies, her voice a mix of urgency and embarrassment, as the woman continues her lecture. With a quick wave, she says goodbye and hurries to her vehicle.

Hudson remains silent, his gaze fixated on me.

“Cat got your tongue? Is that how the saying goes?” I quip, walking toward him with a playful smile. “What’s up?”

“You just gave away a billion dollars,” he mutters, astonished.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Money doesn’t make me happy. Besides, I can’t take it with me, so I invest in people and businesses. And I thought you did your research,” I tell him, winking mischievously.

Last year, Claire saved the Christmas tree farm from foreclosure. Every penny came from her own pocket—a true testament to her determination and kind heart. It runs in the family.

“I'm still paying you to be my nanny,” he confirms, his voice steady.

“Can you pay me in orgasms instead? Life experiences are worth more to me,” I tease, arching an eyebrow.

His brow quirks up, intrigued. “How does this currency work?”

“Hm,” I say, my brow furrowing in thought. “I think every three hours of helping with Colby should equal one orgasm. These are big O’s that I can cash in whenever I want—at any hour, even if it’s three in the morning and I’m feeling particularly horny or a bit tipsy. No exceptions.”

Hudson licks his lips, a playful glint in his eye. “But I already paid you for last week, though.”

I laugh against his lips, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. “No, you bought your kid an insane LEGO shopping spree.” I can’t help but smirk because we did a lot of online shopping yesterday.

Hudson is still quiet.

“Does it bother you that I have a lot of money?” I ask, a hint of worry creeping into my tone.

“No, honestly, I forgot about it,” he replies, his gaze steady and reassuring. “You’re down to earth, Emma. Your authenticity is what I love about you the most. You're not afraid to be you regardless of the company you keep,” he whispers, pulling me closer as he devours my mouth with his.

I smile inwardly at his words. “You're the only person who's ever appreciated me for me,” I say, feeling validated in a way that’s as rare as profound.

Before we get too lost in the moment, the alarm on my phone blares, cutting through the moment.

“Shit. I have to pick up Colby,” I say, reluctant to break the spell.

“I can go and be a little late returning to work,” Hudson offers, his eyes sparkling with desire.

“No. I promised him this morning we were going on a date to the diner after school. Sorry, I’ve got plans with mini you,” I say with a casual shrug, though my heart twinges at the thought of leaving him.

He pulls me back into his embrace, kissing me deeply, and in that moment, I feel the weight of those three words I’m terrified to ever say again.

“I'll see you at dinner. Be careful,” he says, his large hand grabbing my ass, sending a delightful rush of excitement through me.

“Sexy,” I mutter playfully, moving away with flushed cheeks. My entire body is on fire.

I spend the drive to Colby's elementary school daydreaming about Hudson, focusing on the warmth that man leaves in my chest. I park the van curbside and walk through the double doors, where I have seen countless little feet trotting in and out. The ceilings are low, but the bright overhead lights keep the space cheerful.

Standing outside the classroom with a few other parents, I note the tight-knit community around me. Many of the moms smile in my direction, but no one approaches to start a conversation—perhaps they’re intimidated by me or maybe they're shy. Everyone in Merryville seems to know who I am now.

The decorated door swings open suddenly, and out runs Colby, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree when he sees me. I bend down, pulling him into a hug. “Ready for lunch?”

“Yes! Are we going to the diner?” His excitement bubbles over, making my heart swell.

“Yep,” I tell him as we walk to the van. I press a button on the remote, and the side door slides open automatically with a whoosh, showcasing the interior.

“Wow!” he exclaims, his eyes wide. “This is just like Davidson's mom's van! Ooh, it has a TV too!” He points up, marveling at the shiny black box fixed to the ceiling.

I climb in, making sure he’s buckled correctly, then look up at the TV. I press a button, and the screen flips down.

“I don't know how to use this,” I admit sheepishly.

“Daaaammmnnn,” he exclaims, awe dripping from his voice.

“Sir, that's a bad word,” I remind him gently, suppressing a laugh. “We’ll figure it out when we get home, okay?”

He nods vigorously and gives me a thumbs up, his enthusiasm infectious. I close the door, and as we drive to the diner, we chat excitedly about school, his stories spilling out in a rush.

As soon as we enter the diner, Colby races toward Glenda, who stands behind the counter. He throws his arms around her in a tight hug. “Glenda!”

“Colby!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with delight as she clicks her ruby-red slippers together in amusement. She pulls a colorful sucker from her pocket, and he beams at her, his gratitude overflowing.

“Thank you, ma'am!” he offers. His manners are top-notch.

We settle into the same booth I sat in the first time I came here, the familiar surroundings wrapping me in a cozy embrace. Colby immediately dives into the kids’ activity sheet placed on the table, a green crayon firmly in hand. He tucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his concentration palpable.

“Do you know what you'd like to eat?” I ask him, my eyes sliding over the menu spread before us. The vibrancy of the diner, with its vintage wallpaper and the enticing aroma of coffee wafting through the air, makes it hard to concentrate. There are so many options—fluffy omelets, sizzling bacon, and golden-brown waffles, all capture my attention.

“Can I get pancakes? With lots of butter. When I say lots, I mean lots ,” he confirms, excitedly.

I try not to laugh at his earnestness, but it's hard to resist the charm of his enthusiasm. “Sure. Want strawberries with it?” I suggest, and his eyes widen like he's picturing the sweet, juicy fruit piled high next to his breakfast.

A server walks up wearing a kind smile on his face. “Drinks?”

“Coffee with cream, please,” I say, glancing over at Colby, who is bouncing in his seat, full of anticipation.

“Chocolate milk, please,” he pipes up, his small voice filled with delight.

“Am I going to regret all this sugar?” I ask, half-teasing.

“Nope!” he replies confidently, making me chuckle.

“That's fine,” I tell him, and the server walks away.

A minute later, a hot coffee is slid in front of me with steam curling from the top. I add cream and sugar and savor the rich aroma. After we order food, the two of us are left to ourselves.

Colby grins wide as he picks up a crayon and colors intensely, the bright hues reflect his excitement. He stops and looks up at me with curiosity. “Do you like my daddy?”

“Yeah. I like you, too. And Jake. And Lucas. Your grandma and grandpa. And great grandma. BJ,” I list, appreciating the bonds I've created with so many since I've arrived. Part of me wishes I hadn’t left back in July, but...I wasn't ready .

“No. Like him,” he clarifies, his little brows furrowing in concentration.

“What do you know about liking someone?” I ask, grinning at the innocent wisdom in his question.

He raises his brows, striking a pose that is all too reminiscent of his dad. This kid is going to be a heartbreaker. “Evie told me about it,” he explains matter-of-factly.

I watch him, aware of how easy it is to navigate away from these conversations with him. If he were a little older, I think he might play matchmaker. “Aw yeah? So, how old is Evie again?”

“She's seven. Two years older than me,” he explains, puffing out his chest with pride.

“Right,” I say, adding a few cubes of ice to my coffee because it's still too hot.

“Emma. Will you tell me what this word is?” he asks, pointing excitedly to the dessert menu, which is brimming with creamy cakes, flaky pies, and shake flavors that are every color of the rainbow.

I move beside him in the booth, bringing the menu closer so we can peer at it together. “We'll sound it out. What does that say?” I encourage.

“In,” he says confidently, pointing with a small finger.

I cover the next small section of the word and prompt him, “This one?”

“Gee-ree,” he attempts.

“Gree, like Gruh and eee really fast. Gree,” I suggest, smiling at his effort.

“Gree,” he parrots back, his face lighting up with determination.

I slide my finger further along the word.

“Dee,” he states.

“Very good! You're so smart,” I encourage, feeling a swell of pride. “And this little last part...”

“e-nuts.”

“Hmm. Try again,” I coax gently.

“E-e,” he tries.

“Ents. Like hints without the H,” I clarify, watching as comprehension shines in his bright green eyes.

He nods, slowly formulating his understanding. “Ints. Ints.”

“Now we'll say the whole thing together,” I announce, my voice filled with anticipation.

“In-gree-dee-ints.”

I immediately smile when he articulates it. “Exactly. Ingredients. It's all the different items that go into recipes. Ingredients are important,” I emphasize, recalling the mess of flour and sugar from my past baking disasters.

“Like for cookies!” he exclaims, jumping in his seat with excitement.

“Yes, exactly!” I reply, matching his enthusiasm.

“Like the gingerbread cookies me and daddy make,” he says, and my eyes light up at the thought.

“You know how to make the Jolly gingerbread cookies?” I ask, savoring this delightful tidbit of information.

He nods vigorously, his curls bouncing.

“Oh, can we make some this week?” I inquire eagerly, picturing us covered in flour with laughter bubbling around us.

“Yes! I even know where Daddy keeps the recipe!” he beams. “But you have to swear you won't tell him.”

“Cross my heart,” I promise, my mind racing. No way I'd look at it knowing it's top secret. When I glance outside, I spot a man across the street with a camera and a long lens focusing on us.

My mouth falls open.

“Everything okay, Emma?” Colby asks.

“Oh yeah,” I say. Before our food is ready, I stop the server as he approaches with our order. “Can we get our food to-go, please? We'll be standing by the pie counter.”

“Sure,” he replies, nodding. “Want your drinks to-go?”

“That would be perfect,” I agree, turning to Colby to explain that we need to head home, the thrill of the day mixed with a hint of caution swirling in the atmosphere.

“Why?” he asks, his brow furrowed in confusion.

I slide out of the booth then bend down to meet his eyes, closing the distance between us. Leaning in, I whisper in his ear, “I'm going to poop my pants.”

Suddenly, he bursts into laughter, his joyful sound echoing around us.

I smile, placing my finger over my lips in a playful gesture. “Shh. You might make me do it right here.”

Straightening up, I take a moment to collect myself before we move toward the pie counter, which is bustling with activity.

“They need to hurry up! I don't want you to shit yourself,” he exclaims, glancing toward the servers delivering food to different tables in the diner.

I can't help but laugh. “Shh. And don't say that word.”

“Well!” he groans. “It's true!”

With a smile, I gently rest my hand on his shoulder, comforting him even though we do need to leave right now. “I know. You're right. Thanks for having my back, Bee. You're the best.”