Crossing my arms, I lean back against the countertop. “I’m not very nice. And I’ll happily be a challenge about protecting my kid.” I swear my dad’s lips twitch, and he sits down at the table and crosses a booted foot over his knee. Summer just stands, hip propped against the door frame, staring at me. She does this sometimes, and it’s unnerving.
She’s smart. She doesn’t miss a beat. I swear I hear the gears turning in her head, but she doesn’t have a big mouth, so you never quite know what she’s thinking.
I really like her and I’m glad my little brother was smart enough to put a ring on it.
“You’re nice,” she says thoughtfully, “in your own way.”
I clamp my teeth onto my lips because I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing I’m amused by that comment.
She sighs. “Listen, that’s everyone we’ve interviewed. I went out of my way to weed out the applicants who seemed less interested in spending time with Luke and more interested in spending time with . . . you.”
“Hoo boy,” my dad slaps the table, “and there were several. Who knew women would willingly sign up to endure your scowls and bad moods? The pay isn’t that good.”
I scowl at him before turning my attention back to Summer. “You didn’t weed thoroughly enough. I want someone who has zero interest in me. No complicated shit. Maybe they could be happily married?”
“Happily married women aren’t looking to live in your house for the summer.”
I grunt. “What about someone from another town? Someone who doesn’t know our family. And all my shit. Someone who hasn’t slept with one of my brothers.” My nose wrinkles. “Or my dad.”
Harvey makes a little choking sound, almost a laugh. “I’ve been single for decades, son. Mind your business.”
Summer’s cheeks pinken, but I don’t miss the smile on her lips as she turns to look out the window.
“I could just do it, you know,” he adds. And not for the first time.
“No.”
“Why not? He’s my grandson.”
“Exactly. That’s what your relationship should remain. You’ve done enough helping with him for his entire life. Your back, your knees, you need a rest. You can still have your fun days with him—any time you want. But you don’t need to get run into the ground with long hours, early mornings, and possibly late nights. It’s not fair, and I’m not taking advantage of you that way. End of story.”
Then I turn back to my future sister-in-law. “Summer, can’t you just do it? You’d be perfect. Luke loves you. You don’t like me. You already live on the ranch.”
I see her jaw pop. She’s definitely getting sick of me asking her. But I don’t want to leave my boy with just anyone. He’s a handful. More than one handful. And I can’t do everything I need to do on this ranch this summer without someone here to take care of him. Someone I can trust to keep him safe.
“I’m also a new business owner, and these summer months are my busiest. It’s not an option. Stop asking. It makes me feel bad. Because I love Luke and I also like you. But we’re getting tired of bending over backwards interviewing people just to make zero progress with you.”
“Okay, fine,” I grumble. “I’ll settle for someone just like you, then.”
Her head quirks in response to that, her body stilling. “I might have an idea.” She brings a finger up to tap it against her lips and Harvey turns to her, eyes full of questions.
He looks so damn hopeful. If I’m tired of the saga that is finding a new nanny for the summer, then Harvey must be downright exhausted.
My eyebrows knit together. “Who?”
“You don’t know her.”
“Does she have experience?”
Summer stares at me, wide dark eyes giving nothing away. “She has experience with handling rowdy boys, yes.”
“Will she fall in love with me?”
Summer snorts in the most unladylike way. “No.”
I should probably be offended, but I’m not. I push off the counter and twirl a finger around. “Perfect. Let’s do it up,” I tell her as I march out the back door toward my house and away from the clusterfuck that is finding a capable nanny for a five-year-old boy.
I just need someone to get in and get out. Someone professional and complication free.
It’s only two months. It shouldn’t be that hard.
#
I count in my head the last time I had sex.
Or at least I try.
Two years? Three years? Was it that one time in January when I spent a night in the city? How long ago was that even? What was that chick’s name again?
The woman in front of me shifts, one hip popping out, full ass rounding out her skinny jeans in a way that should be illegal. The under-cheek crease is almost as alluring as the swing of her auburn hair as it swishes across her slender back.
She’s distracting. Tight shirt tucked into tight jeans. Every fucking curve on display.
I lose count entirely. It’s the sight of her in front of me in line for coffee that has me counting anyway.
The takeaway here is I had sex so long ago that I don’t even remember. But there’s no forgetting why I haven’t even let myself consider a woman for this long.
A kid I’m raising on my own. A ranch I’m running on my own. A million responsibilities. Too little time. Not enough sleep.
Time for myself hasn’t been a thing for a long time. I just didn’t realize how long.
“What can I get you, ma’am?”
The woman in front of me laughs, and it reminds me of the chimes on my back porch when the wind dances through them—melodic and airy sounding.
What a laugh.
It’s a laugh I’d recognize. I’ve definitely never met this woman. I’d remember it, because I know everyone in Chestnut Springs.
“Ma’am? I don’t know how I feel about that,” she says, and I swear I can hear the smile in her voice. I wonder if her lips match the rest of her.
Ellen, who runs Le Pamplemousse, the little gourmet coffee shop in town, smiles at her. “Well, what would you have me call you? I usually recognize every face that walks in my door, but not yours.”
Ah, it’s not just me. I lean forward a little, hoping to catch the name. But one worker chooses this exact moment to grind coffee. Which just makes me grind my teeth.
I don’t know why I want to know this woman’s name. I just do. I’m from a small town, I’m allowed to be snoopy. And that’s all this is.
When the grinding noise stops, Ellen’s wrinkled face lights up. “What a pretty name.”
“Thank you,” the woman in front of me replies, before adding, “How come this place is called The Grapefruit?”
Ellen barks out a laugh and grins from her side of the counter. “I told my husband I wanted to name the shop something that sounded fancy. Something French. He said the only thing he knows how to say in French is Le Pamplemousse. It seemed good enough to me and now it’s like a little running joke between us.” Her eyes soften at the mention of her husband, and I feel a flicker of envy inside of my chest.
Followed by a flicker of annoyance.