A Very Merry Nanny (Very Merry #2)

Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

HUDSON

I stand at the kitchen counter, munching on the cookies we made last night before I need to head back to work. I might rage if one more person tells me Meredith is back in town. I'm already tired of the whispers and the rumors that have started spreading around town.

I love Merryville, but sometimes people need to stay the fuck out of my business.

Meredith Jolly's return has already spread around town. Hearing my last name attached to her still makes me fucking sick. While in the office, I overheard a few staff members talking about it. It triggered me, just like it used to. I came home before I spiraled.

The door swings open, and Emma walks in, her presence instantly known. She shines like a beacon and shields me from my dark thoughts.

“You're home,” she says, surprised to see me.

“I was starving,” I explain, lifting the half-eaten gingerbread man cookie sandwich. It's soon to be award-winning.

With this recipe, there's no way we'll lose. It's fucking incredible—rich and decadent, with a soft, chewy texture that melts in my mouth. I'm addicted to both Emma and her icing. It's the perfect touch to a Jolly family holiday staple.

As my eyes slide down her body, I realize she's dressed in crisp business attire that hugs her curves. Since she arrived, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look this polished and professional.

“Where were you?” I ask, and I notice she’s holding something in her hand, her fingers delicately wrapped around it.

Emma lifts a lock of golden blonde hair that glimmers under the light.

It catches my breath.

I swallow down the bite in my mouth before I choke on it. Somehow, I manage to hold onto my cookie sandwich in my trembling hand. “Please, for the love of old St. Nick, tell me you don't need help burying a body.”

She bursts out laughing, the sound rich and melodic. “The fact that you'd help.”

Her heels tick across the wooden floor, contrasting sharply to the quiet I was drowning in before she arrived. Emma sets the hair on the counter casually, sending my heart racing.

“She was handled ,” she confirms, going to the pantry and grabbing a storage bag. She tucks the strands inside of it, sealing it.

I stare at her, jaw to the floor, trying to process this. My mind races, a flurry of chaotic thoughts colliding with each other like storm clouds.

“She did say I was meant for you because we're both unhinged. That's gotta count for something, right?” Her laughter dances in the air, carefree.

I shake my head, struggling to find words as if caught in a dream. Every possible scenario runs through my mind, but none makes sense. I open my mouth to say something, then close it again, the weight of her words pressing down on me.

This woman is my everything, confirmed by Satan herself.

“You cut her hair?” My voice is barely above a whisper as I stare at it in disbelief.

“Yep. Proof the conversation happened. If I ever legally need it.” Her tone is casual.

My phone rings, jolting me from my spiraling thoughts. I glance at the screen and see it’s my lawyer, Chris Frost. My brows furrow, a mix of anticipation and dread whirlpool in my stomach.

“Hudson? This is Chris Frost. I received a call from your soon-to-be ex-wife's attorney. She agreed to your terms with no changes. As soon as Judge Pine signs the divorce decree, it will be filed with the county clerk. I'm calling in a family favor so we can finish this today.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh and she's legally required to change her last name after she receives the divorce certificate from the state. I gotta say, I don’t know what made her change her mind, nor does her lawyer, but it saved us from a lengthy and expensive custody battle. Consider it a Christmas miracle. Seems you got your wish after all.”

My phone slips from my hand, crashing against the counter with a clatter that's like thunder in the stillness. Emma’s brows raise in curiosity, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.

She did handle her.

Without a second thought, I move toward her, sliding my lips across hers, tasting the sweetness of freedom and a hint of the cookie I was eating. The kiss ignites a fire within me, an electric jolt that drowns out all doubt and fear about who I'm supposed to be with.

I hear my lawyer saying something, but I’m too lost in the moment to care as the world dissolves around us. The realization that this is finally over sends a rush of exhilaration coursing through me, and I can't help but chuckle at the unexpected turn my life has taken.

“How?” I whisper between desperate kisses, cradling her cheeks in my hands, feeling the warmth of her skin.

“Threats and money go a long way,” she replies, a teasing glint in her eyes.

My eyes widen in disbelief. “You little mobster . I didn’t know you had it in you.”

She wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “No one messes with you or Colby. Ever.”

“I don't need you fighting my fights for me, Em,” I say.

“I know, but sometimes it's nice to have a little help, isn't it?”

I fall into her gaze, not believing this woman actually exists.

“Hudson? Hudson?” Chris’s voice echoes through the receiver, pulling me back to reality.

I pick up the phone, trying to shake off the haze of emotion surrounding me like a fog. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m in a state of shock.”

He chuckles lightly, a sound that feels oddly comforting. “It’s fine. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yeah,” I say, stopping to glance back at Emma. “How long do I have to wait before I can remarry?” I ask, my heart racing at the thought of a new beginning—a future entwined with Emma and Colby. The idea wraps tightly around my heart.

“Thirty days unless we file a waiver, but there aren’t any special circumstances. It’s easier to wait, considering it’s December, and people are out of the office. Anything else?” he asks, his tone professional.

Emma watches me intently. The weight of anticipation teeters like a top.

“Merry Christmas,” I offer, the words feeling more significant than ever, laced with gratitude and hope. He returns the sentiment, and the call ends with a soft click.

Emma stares at me, her expression a complex mosaic of concern and hope. I move toward her, returning my arms to her.

“Do you want to know details of what happened?” she asks, her voice soft and almost hesitant.

“No. I trust you handled it the way you felt was right,” I say, kissing her forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair—a comforting blend of her blue bubble bath and flowers.

“You and Colby are finally free, Hudson,” she murmurs as she runs her nails through the back of my hair.

“Thank you,” I whisper, holding her a little tighter as relief surges through me—washing over the anxiety I've had since yesterday— like a gentle tide. “You're my Christmas miracle, Emma. You saved me.”

“And I'd do it again and again and again if it gives you closure and helps you and your son heal.”

I kiss her softly, smiling against her lips as we dance in the living room. “That won't happen until you're my wife.”

“Meet me in New York,” she whispers, her voice tinged with excitement.

“I'll do whatever makes you happy,” I reply, the weight of how I feel about her evident in my words.

Emma’s brows raise. “You've been having coffee with my father.”

She states it like it's a fact, a known truth rather than a question, something undeniable in the fabric of our current reality.

“Since he arrived,” I say. “Please don't be upset.”

“I'm not,” she admits.

“It was important to me. Your family, whether good or bad, shapes the fabric of who we are, and why we do the things we do. Sometimes, if you pay attention, it can tell a story about a person. And I know so much more about you after spending time with your dad and your sister,” I say. “Things that you could never share.”

The corners of her mouth lift slightly. “No one has ever made an effort. Only you.”

“I give a fuck, Em. And I will always make time for the things I care about.”

She looks at me like she sees me, her eyes soften at the edges. “We're having dinner soon. I'd love it if you joined us.”

“I will,” I admit. “I have a suit I need to pull out of the closet.”

“Mm. I'm going to have to fight women off of you.” Her alarm goes off, piercing through our moment. Emma kisses me softly, pushing away with a hint of reluctance. “I have to pick up Colby. Sorry. Can't be late. He gets grumpy like his daddy.”

I pull her back to me, running my fingers through her hair, cherishing this fleeting moment. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I could say the same to you.” She kisses my cheek. “Bye. Hope you have a better day. Also, that looks really fucking good on you.”

“What does?”

“Your real smile.”

DAYS LATER

Emma and I drive to the Community Center, where we must submit our cookie entry for the competition.

“Nervous?” I ask as we park, glancing at the long line of people holding desserts that snakes out the door and down the sidewalk.

“No,” she replies, her eyes still sparkling with determination. “I know we have the best recipe. Even Mawmaw said it was a winner when she tasted it. If we lose, I'm hiring a team to investigate them.”

“Is it that serious?” I chuckle, raising an eyebrow.

“We deserve that trophy, dammit.” Her red, plump lips turn upward.

I lean over and kiss her, shielded by the truck's tinted windows. “A kiss for good luck.”

“I'll take another one of those, please,” she says, and I savor her, temporarily losing myself in the moment.

“Mm. Let's go win this,” she mutters, breathlessly.

This morning, Emma woke up extra early to decorate the tops of our cookies with royal icing, her meticulous artistry transforming each cookie into a small masterpiece. The presentation is a dazzling array of colors and intricate designs that would catch the eye of any judge. We both know it.

I open Emma's door for her, and she steps out, her festive red and white holiday dress hugging her waist and accentuates her figure. The fabric flutters lightly in the brisk air, and my eyes slide down to admire her. Her red hair is curled perfectly, catching the sunlight and reflecting it.

“Fucking gorgeous,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath as she grabs the containers filled with our carefully crafted cookies.

Suddenly, I hear someone yelling her name, snapping out of my daydream. Then several others chime in. A group of people with cameras surround us, like a swarm of bees buzzing in an intrusive frenzy. Overwhelm immediately sets in, and my fist clenches instinctively. I don’t like being crowded like this; it makes me feel cornered.

Emma notices my discomfort and hooks her finger with mine, grounding me. “Pretend they don't exist. Just me and you. Okay?”

The smile that was there has faded, replaced with a flicker of anger.

“Are you two dating?” someone asks, the question slicing through the din like a knife.

“Emma, are you still single?”

One guy gets a little too close for comfort, and I shove a shoulder into him, instinctively shielding her from the barrage.

The line of entrants watches the commotion, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. I quickly rush Emma inside.

She leans against the wall, shaking her head, but still holds our cookies tightly.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, my tone low but urgent. “You deal with that everywhere you go?”

“Except here. But I guess that's over,” she says, closing her eyes as if she can make it all disappear. I can hear the pain in her voice, a tinge of vulnerability that makes my heart ache. “I'm sorry, Hudson. I thought I could do normal things.”

“Don't be sorry.” I shake my head firmly. “It's not your fault.”

Moments later, Mawmaw moves toward us like a force of nature, her presence commanding the room. She pushes through the double doors and hollers at the photographers like they’re standing on her lawn. Her voice booms with authority.

“Go on, now. Get,” she says, her eyes fierce. “We don't want none of that trouble here. I'll call the sheriff!”

One of them says something rude, and she takes a step toward him, her stance unyielding. I’m halfway convinced she'll take her shoe off and swing it like a weapon. Emma's eyes widen with admiration and disbelief.

“Sorry, Mawmaw can be a bit... unhinged ?” I quip, a slight smirk tugging at my lips.

Her pretty face relaxes.

The door slams shut behind Mawmaw, and she returns to us.

“You two okay?” Concern is etched across her face, and her brow furrows.

“Yes,” Emma replies, her voice steady.

Turning to the gathered crowd, Mawmaw raises her voice. “Anyone have any objections to letting them move to the front of the line?” Her words hang in the air, bold and commanding.

The crowd, a mix of familiar faces and strangers, and no one objects.

“Come on,” Mawmaw tells Emma, and we move to the front of the line, escaping chaos. I grab her free hand and squeeze it gently, feeling the warmth of her palm against mine as we’re called forward to place our entry on the competition platter.

Emma carefully pulls each cookie out of the container, her smile radiating joy. I take a mental snapshot of her happiness, wanting to hold on to this moment forever.

We're given a number, a small piece of paper that feels like a ticket to something special, and we set our entry in place, carefully aligning it with pride.

“Oh, can we take a picture?” Emma exclaims. She pulls out her phone with excitement. We lean in close for a selfie, fingers pointing enthusiastically at the cookies behind us. “Perfect,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “I think this is the only picture I have of us.”

“We'll have to change that,” I say, my heart swelling with hope and anticipation as we leave the busy judging floor together.

“Good luck,” a woman at the door says. “Come back tonight at eight for the award ceremony, where the winner will be announced.”

I wrap my arm around Emma, drawing her in close. The sweet scents of cookies linger in the air around us.

“We've got this,” I whisper, infused with confidence. “No matter what happens, we still won.”

“Yes,” she replies with a perfect smile that meets her eyes. “We did.”

I feel that flutter again and can’t help but wonder how I got so lucky.