A Very Merry Nanny (Very Merry #2)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

EMMA

“ Y ou want me to join you? And do what exactly?” Claire asks, her voice laced with confusion.

“Look. You're the scariest person I know, and I'd like moral support. Please?” I lean against her bedroom doorway, wearing my favorite black heels and a dress that hugs my body like a second skin. I can still feel the remnants of last night with Hudson coursing through my veins. Today's bullshit quickly overshadows my hungover haze.

She huffs, her arms crossing over her chest as her piercing gaze assesses me. Deep down, she knows that I'm a softie. “Pretty, pretty, please?” I add, my tone thick with desperation.

“Fuck. Fine. Let me change. Five minutes?”

“Make it three,” I counter, the urgency in my voice creeping up. “If we're late, it will ruin everything.”

She groans dramatically. “This is my day off, you know.”

“Thank you. I'll owe you big time.” I turn and make my way into the living room, where the soft morning light spills through the half-drawn curtains, painting everything in muted gold. My father is seated at the bar, coffee steaming in front of him. The faint scratch of a marker against paper echoes in the stillness as he works on a crossword puzzle. Dressed in plaid pajamas that have seen better days, he looks oddly at home here, his demeanor calm in a way that feels foreign.

“How are you?” he asks, glancing up with mild curiosity. Since he arrived in Merryville, I can count how many times I've seen him on one hand. To say I've avoided him has been an understatement, but I've also been busy having fun with Colby daily. Still, my sister says responsibilities aren't an excuse.

“I'll be better in a few hours.” My face is a mask, set in stone, my mind racing with the choices ahead. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Love does that,” he mutters, returning to the puzzle.

I don’t deny it. I can’t.

Standing beside him, I notice a word he hasn’t circled yet. I reach over, my fingers brushing the paper as I point at it. “Cashmere.”

He circles it absently, then glances back at me. “Do you love him?”

The weight of his question settles heavily in the air. I meet my dad’s eyes, and the steady rhythm of my heartbeat pounds in my ears. We’ve never discussed anything like this before. “Yes,” I say, knowing it's the truth.

“It’s mutual, Em.” He smiles, as if what he said is merely a fact, an everyday truth.

Is it?

I study my father, searching for answers. “How do you know that?”

“Hudson and I have coffee once a week. And have since I arrived,” he says nonchalantly, as though it’s the most normal thing in the world.

My mouth falls open. “What?”

“Wait, you didn’t know?” he asks, bewilderment flaring in his eyes.

“No,” I whisper, my heart racing as I process this. Hudson's seen my father more than I have.

“Hm. Well. He just moved up a rank on my respect list. I asked him to keep it between us. He did. Good on him.”

My mind races, and I struggle to grasp the idea of them meeting up. When would he have had time for that?

“What do you talk about?”

Dad grins, his tone taking on a reflective air. “Life. Being a father. How hard it is to raise kids without a mother present.”

My heart lurches, a combination of sadness and guilt flooding through me.

I realize I never gave my father the same grace I’ve extended to Hudson. I’ve watched Colby struggle to understand his mother’s absence and have seen what it's done to Hudson. I've never paused to consider my own father and how he navigated losing his true love while raising a pre-teen.

Tears well in the corners of my eyes as the weight of shared grief settles between us.

“Oh, Emma,” Dad says, setting down the marker. He opens his arms, and I hug him, inhaling the comforting scent of his familiar aftershave, which carries the faint traces of sandalwood and something distinctly him. “I know I was a shitty dad after losing your mom, and I'll forever regret not being there for you when you needed me the most. There aren’t many things in my past that I wish I could change, but that's one of them. There's no way you can begin to understand what it feels like to lose the love of your life, and I hope you never do. It changes you.” His voice falters slightly, revealing the raw emotion that he rarely lets surface.

I squeeze him tighter, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. Understanding what real love feels like floods my senses and losing that would destroy me. What he and my mom had wasn't fake. “I'm so sorry.”

“Uhh,” I hear from behind me.

I turn to see Claire, who's dressed in a sharply tailored black pencil skirt and a crisp white shirt that accentuates her figure. Her heels, high and fierce, echo against the wooden floor. She struts forward with a mixture of attitude and urgency.

“Too much?” she asks.

“Perfect. Boss bitch outfit.” I smile wide, reveling in her confidence. “You can take the girl out of corporate but...”

Claire flips her hair over her shoulder and grabs her phone. “Dad, watch Tinsel. And please do not let her outside again.” Claire’s tone suggests there is no room for argument.

He sheepishly smiles at me, a flicker of remorse in his eyes. “Maybe we can have dinner soon?”

I grin back, warmth spreading over me. “I'd like that.”

Claire grows impatient. “I don’t have all day. You said nine sharp.”

“Okay, okay, let's go.” Sometimes, I forget that my sister is a psycho about being on time.

As we step outside, my sister stops dead in her tracks when she sees the minivan parked on the pavement. “We aren't driving that.”

“Why not? It's cool. It has a TV that flips down,” I explain, waving my hand toward the vehicle, hoping to sway her. Colby loves it.

“No. One second.” She rushes back inside and returns a moment later, keys jingling with purpose in her hand. Inside the garage sits her sparkling white Mercedes, sunlight glinting off the immaculate surface. The only reason it's so clean is because she hardly ever drives it.

“Aw, it has a full tank of gas,” she exclaims, her face lighting up as we climb in. “Jake keeps it full for me.”

“I wonder why,” I mutter under my breath, a smirk creeping onto my lips, knowing full well she's run out of fuel more times than I can count, leaving her stranded in some inconvenient location, usually on the side of the road outside of Merryville.

“Do you have a plan?” Claire glances at me, her brow arched.

“No,” I tell her, my voice steady. “Mawmaw told me to do what I had to do.”

Claire makes a face at the mention of Hudson's grandmother. “Mawmaw is unhinged sometimes.”

I burst into laughter, the tension of the morning almost dissipates. “I think we might become besties.”

We drive to town and park at a cozy little antique shop. The streetlamps are decorated with lit wreaths. They're all wrapped like candy canes, too.

Claire radiates confidence as we get out of the car, and I follow her into the Snowflake Salon. We pass the deli, the air is scented with sweet vanilla and freshly brewed coffee, and if we had time I'd stop.

“Are you sure about this?” Claire asks, her voice tinged with curiosity as we approach the salon.

“Mawmaw told me to be here at nine sharp. I'm trusting her,” I explain.

Claire pushes open the door, and I follow behind her. As we step inside, a woman with jet-black hair and bright red lipstick greets us, handing us magazines while gesturing to the waiting area. “Hide your faces.”

We do as she says, instinctively lifting the Southern Living magazines, shielding ourselves from whatever may come. Claire leans in, whispering with a hint of alarm, “What the fuck?”

“I don't know what's going on,” I reply, a mix of anxiety and excitement bubbling within me, grateful for the barrier.

Two minutes later, the high-pitched bells jingle above the door shakes the air. I lower the magazine, my breath hitching as I see her . Meredith, a vision from my nightmare, steps into the shop.

“Is Hilary here? I have an appointment at nine,” she says, her tone dripping with a condescending edge that cuts through the air like a knife. Instantly, the happy energy that filled the room evaporates, leaving a charged silence in its wake. The chatter and laughter stop.

My mouth slightly falls open. She’s an energy vampire who drains joy and replaces it with an oppressive gloom wherever she goes. How did Hudson handle this and come out sane on the other side?

Her heels tap sharply against the polished floor, their sound echoing in the hushed salon. I lower the magazine, helplessly caught in the dark cloud of her presence. Her complaints come relentless and loud, and as the woman who handed out the magazines leads her to the hair washing station, I can only guess she's Hilary.

“Please tell me you thought of a plan,” Claire whispers beside me, her voice threaded with impatience. I can sense her annoyance bubbling under the surface—she’s a meticulous planner, the type who sketches out her weeks in detail. I, on the other hand, tend to drift through life, embracing spontaneity.

While Hilary washes Meredith's hair, the woman continues to grumble about the traffic, the incessant tourists, and the strange smells she’s encountered on the way here. Her complaints fill the air of the salon like an unwelcome fog, thick, heavy, and suffocating. No one is listening to her. I'm afraid Hilary's eyes might get stuck in the back of her head from rolling them so much.

“Can you hurry up today?” Meredith says as she's guided to the stylist’s chair after her wash. She crosses her legs as Hilary prepares to cut her hair.

Claire groans beside me, and I set the magazine down and stand.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, her wide eyes.

“Improvising,” I reply, a spark of mischief igniting within me as I lock the salon door. Meredith is engrossed in an article, oblivious to the brewing storm around her. I move beside Hilary and take the scissors from her hand. The cold metal glints under the fluorescent lights. Hilary moves toward the front of the shop, pulling the large blinds closed against the world outside.

Two older women with foil in their hair occupy chairs nearby, along with a few stylists, but no one intervenes. Silent spectators to my surprising rebellion.

With a rough grip, I seize a handful of Meredith’s blonde hair, jerking her head backward, and she yells in surprise.

“That hurt!” Her eyes dart to meet mine in the mirror, shock etching her features. “You? What the fuck?”

“Hi. It’s so nice to see you again,” I say, my voice laced with unspoken challenges as I open the scissors, steadying my grip on her hair. “I think it’s time for you and me to talk.”

Claire strides over, arms crossed tight against her chest, a silent beacon of fury. My sister's gaze could pierce steel.

“Who the fuck are you?” Meredith snaps at her.

“We...” Claire’s voice is unwavering. “Are your worst fucking nightmare.”

The smirk curling Claire’s lips is charged with wickedness.

Meredith shifts, unease swallows her.

“What do you want?” Meredith glares at me through the reflection, her gaze icy and unyielding.

I clutch her hair tighter, drawing her into this moment. “What do you want?”

She swallows hard, her mask slipping for just a heartbeat, revealing a flicker of vulnerability—an admission that she's a coward beneath her fierce facade.

“Are you going to answer? We don’t have all damn day,” Claire states impatiently, her voice steady and firm.

“Well, since you can’t seem to find your words, I'm going to settle this bullshit for you right now. You're going to leave Merryville and never show your bitch face in town ever again. You won't fight Hudson for Colby because you were nothing more than a surrogate.”

“I’m his mother ,” she hisses, a desperate defiance creeping into her tone.

“Really? What did he want for his birthday? What's his favorite color? Animal? Who's his best friend at school?” I tighten my grip on her hair, the sharpness of it catching my breath in my throat. Thoughts swirl in my mind as blood pulses in my ears. “Do you know he cries himself to sleep because he doesn't have a mom? You do not deserve that title. Also, you do realize if you fight for custody and actually get it, you'll have to act like you give a fuck?”

“You're hurting me,” she hisses, yet her body remains frozen, a testament to her fear—or perhaps her stubbornness.

“It's not comparable to what you've done to that little boy. And you're not going to continue to do that.”

In a fractured moment, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror: wild eyes, exuding a volatile energy that rivals the chaos surrounding us. I look just as unhinged as Claire.

“Or what? I'm not afraid of you.” She crosses her arms defiantly, a vestige of bravado masking the tremor in her voice.

“I will make every day a living hell for you for the rest of your life.” I chuckle dryly, feeling the weight of my words, meaning every single one.

She scoffs, a thin veneer of confidence painted across her face. “I'll tell everyone.”

“Hmm.” I glance at Claire, who stands resolutely beside me, and then at the older ladies in the room, absorbed in their magazines, acting blissfully unaware. “Who's your witness?”

Claire seizes a hair clipper from its dock, the sleek device humming to life with a menacing buzz. Meredith's eyes widen in horror as the realization dawns. “You wouldn't.”

“Try me,” Claire retorts, taking a defiant step forward, her gaze locked onto Meredith.

Before my sister gets too close, I clear my throat. “You're going to call your lawyer right now and tell them you agree with the terms Hudson laid out for you.”

“No,” she barks back.

“Okay.” I shrug nonchalantly, then snip a small section of her hair, the delicate blonde strands cascading to the floor.

“You're fucking crazy!” she screams, her voice rising with panic as she picks up her phone. Her fingers fly over the screen, dialing a nine and a one.

I quickly move the scissors to her chin, the point digging in ever so slightly. Instantly, she freezes, the fear palpable in her expression.

“Call you lawyer,” I say, my patience waning.

“Okay,” she whispers, reluctantly conceding. She opens her contact list, her fingers trembling as she selects the number.

“Speakerphone,” I urge. The shiny scissors glint menacingly under the overhead light, amplifying the stakes. I won't hurt her, but I want to. “I need to hear the conversation.”

“Stone and Wolfe legal group,” a woman states.

Meredith clears her throat. “Yes, I need to speak to Morgan.”

An agonizing moment of silence stretches, and then a man’s voice breaks through, tinged with disinterest.

“Hey Morgan. This is Meredith Jolly.”

The moment I hear her use Hudson's last name, a wave of rage washes over me, and I grip the scissors tighter, almost as if I could physically drive the point home.

“Yes, Mrs. Jolly.” His tone is flat, lacking enthusiasm. “Please tell me you had a come-to-Jesus moment and decided to end this custody battle before it starts?”

My eyes narrow at her, waiting.

“Wow,” Claire states flatly, her incredulity echoing my own.

“Actually,” Meredith responds, her voice softer and edged with uncertainty. “Yes. I am.”

He exhales a breath of relief that sounds overly dramatic. “It's a Christmas miracle.”

“More like a Christmas maniac,” she mutters, the tip of the scissors still in place, her hair entwined in an unforgiving grip.

“I'll get the paperwork filed. Expect finalization soon.”

“Great,” she mutters through clenched teeth, her pride hanging by a thread.

“Anything else?”

“No,” she states, and the call ends abruptly, leaving an unsettling silence in the air.

I stare her down, an intensity in my gaze that feels electrifying. “Why would you move forward with that, when your lawyer advised against it?”

“The truth?” Her tone is laced with skepticism.

“Are you even capable of that?” Claire asks, piercing the moment with her incredulity.

“Because I hated seeing him happy with you .”

My teeth clench, and Claire notices my shift. I've never wanted to physically hurt anyone in my life, except her. Colby and Hudson deserved so much more.

Meredith continues, knowing she got under my skin, and smirks like it gives her energy. “And I need money. Hudson is refusing to give me what's rightfully mine. Half of the house. The property. The bank account. His savings. I was miserable with him for five fucking years of my life. Then he knocked me up, and I resent him for it. I always will.”

My anger bubbles just beneath the surface, and I remove the scissors from her chin before I do something I regret. She lets out an easy breath, but we stare one another down.

“I will give you enough money to live a comfortable life. But I never want to see your face in this town again unless Colby asks to see you directly. Then, you'll drop everything to meet him.” My words hang in the air, heavy with consequences.

She doesn’t break eye contact, a flicker of defiance sparking in her gaze. “How much?”

“You do realize a verbal agreement is legally binding in Texas, right?” I state, my voice steady, looking for any chink in her armor.

“ How much ?” she urges between her teeth, revealing her desperation.

I glance at Claire, her negotiating prowess well known. She shoots me a knowing look, ready to take charge.

“Half a million,” my sister declares firmly.

“Fuck no. What Hudson owes me is more than that.” Frustration clouds my thoughts as I cross my arms, posture tightening.

“How much does he owe you?” Claire asks, unamused.

“Two million.”

“Consider it done,” I say, not realizing Hudson was worth so much.

An evil smirk spreads across her lips, momentarily disarming me.

I jerk her head back, eliciting a grunt of surprise. I force her to look into my eyes, unwavering and fierce. “Do you agree to my terms?”

“Yes,” she whispers, the word escaping her lips like a reluctant agreement. “Yes. I agree.”

“You leave town today, and you never speak about this to anyone,” Claire tells her, her voice brokering no argument. “And you'll ensure our lawyer knows where you are at all times just in case you need to be found.”

“Fine,” she says, the fight seemingly drained from her. “When do I get my money?”

“I'll request a wire transfer today,” I reply.

“Call this number. Give them your information,” Claire says, businesslike, as Meredith captures the details.

I let her go, reluctantly releasing her hair, my fingers brushing the wisp of damp strands that fell at the back of her scalp. Hilary walks over to us, and I hand her the sharp scissors.

“You and Hudson are meant for each other. You're fucking crazy,” Meredith remarks, shaking her head.

“At least I'm not a selfish bitch,” I retort, grabbing the strand of hair from the floor. “I don't ever want to see you again.”

“Feeling is mutual,” she says, and I stare her down, knowing I've made a deal with the devil. The jingle bells crash against each other, and it pulls me back to reality.

I meet Claire outside, and the sounds of laughter and chatter contrast the silence in the salon. The blinds inside flutter open, and it's like nothing happened.

My sister turns to me, her brow raised in amusement and disbelief. “Way to keep it together.”

“No fucks given,” I say, a smile breaking across my lips, the adrenaline still coursing through me. “You're still as scary as I remember.”

She scoffs, the sound light but edged with truth. “Speak for yourself. Everyone in town is going to be afraid of you. The scissors, Em?”

“I watch too much TV,” I say with a teasing glint. She grabs my hand and squeezes it.

Once we’re in the car, I let out a sigh of relief. This is over.

The familiar landscape of the farm coming into view, Claire turns to me, her expression serious. “How's everything? I guess he had a good reason as to why they were still married.”

My brows furrow as I process her question. “She was planning to fight Hudson for custody of Colby.”

Claire's face tightens with determination as she abruptly pulls over and slams on the brakes, the sudden stop jolting us both.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm going back to kick her ass,” she declares, fire igniting in her eyes.

“Claire, no. Seriously. That's a bad idea.” I plead, knowing well the potential consequences of her impulsive actions.

She’s breathing heavily, her protective instincts surging to the surface. “You're giving me some of her hair.”

I give her a dirty look. “For what?”

“To curse her!” Claire says, and I break into a fit of laughter. She does too.

My sister’s carefree demeanor contrasts with the tension that had hung in the air moments before. She pulls back onto the road, tires crunching over gravel as the scenery shifts from dusty trails to the fields of trees that surround our farm.

“I'm seriously pissed about this. And I thought you lost control. You handled it better than I ever would've.”

“Yay! We're not going to prison.”

Claire shakes her head. “She deserves nothing as Hudson intended.”

“I'm going to leave it to karma to handle her,” I say. The thought of her draining presence makes my stomach churn. “I don't know how he stayed with her that long.”

“Hudson's a pleaser,” Claire replies. “And a peacemaker.”

We turn into the farm and take the employee entrance. When we finally reach Claire's house, I marvel at how busy the farm is. Each day is busier and busier.

She parks by my van and lets me out, her eyes serious as she turns to me.

“You can never tell anyone what we did,” I say.

“Oh, I’m telling Jake. You make negotiations like that beforehand, not after,” she says, and I know there's no convincing her otherwise.

I look up at the sky, feeling the invigorating chill of the breeze brush against my cheeks. I breathe in the fresh air, closing my eyes for a moment, allowing the scents of the earth to fill my senses. A smile creeps across my face because I did it. I fixed this for Hudson.

“Oh my God. You’re in love love ,” Claire says.

The truth registers in my expression.

She squeals. “I’m so glad! When are you moving here? When are you getting married?”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, but she's too caught up in the excitement.

“Not yet. My one requirement hasn’t been met,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light, but my mind races with uncertainty.

“Not the kiss at midnight thing, Em. You’re not going back to New York for that?” Claire raises an eyebrow.

“I promised Billie I’d be at her party and I won’t ditch my friends—hoes before bros and all that. It’s a friendship promise,” I assert, recalling all the nights spent laughing and confiding in them. That’s why I’m so particular about what I agree to; things change so quickly now. I used to crave change, but now I want time to slow down to savor these precious moments.

I clear my throat. “I asked Hudson to meet me in New York if he wanted to give us a real chance.”

My sister studies me, her brow furrowed with concern. “I'm not trying to be pessimistic, but what if he doesn’t show?”

“He will.” I breathe in deeply, the air feeling heavier at the thought. “But if he doesn't, I’ll pretend he doesn’t exist until I believe it.”