Chapter 3
Ivy
Music croons softly from the speaker in the corner, one of my favorite Christmas playlists of classic Bing Crosby melting into Mariah Carey like peppermint cocoa swirling in whipped cream.
It’s impossible not to get into the holiday mood with this playlist on.
The washing machine hums from the mudroom, and I’m folding the last of Junie’s socks into a little rainbow-stacked pile on the now-cleared-off dining room table.
The same table that a few hours ago was buried in unopened mail, a half-empty toolbox with tools scattered, empty boxes, and a pinecone wreath craft still in a stage of assembly.
But not anymore. Now, this place smells like vanilla, orange peel, and clean linen. The fireplace crackles. I’ve got cookie ingredients laid out in neat little bowls like a Food Network witch who moonlights as a domestic goddess. The recipe’s sitting in its little cookbook stand.
The second I hear the school bus brakes screech out front, my heart flutters. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but this little girl has already carved herself a place in my heart that I didn’t even know was empty. I want to be the best nanny that I can be to her.
The door bursts open. “Ivy!” Junie squeals when she sees me waiting as her backpack hits the floor with a thud, followed by the pitter-patter of snow-booted feet slamming into the hardwood. She launches herself across the room like a joyful human cannonball, flying straight into my arms.
“Oof!” I laugh, catching her with a spin. “There’s my mermaid pirate!”
She buries her face in my shoulder, sinking into me with relief. “What are you doing here?”
I pull back just enough to smile at her. “Well, turns out I might be your new nanny. According to your Nana and your Dad.” I add that last part, hoping it’s actually true.
Junie gasps, eyes going wide with excitement. “Yes!”
Then she looks around the kitchen and takes in the ingredients and recipe laid out. “Wait. Are we making real cookies?”
Her voice squeaks up two octaves, and her whole body wiggles with joy. She grabs my hands and jumps up and down, her puffy coat bouncing like she’s a tiny Christmas marshmallow.
I nod, laughing. “That’s the plan. But only if you go hang up your backpack and wash your hands first, you tiny tornado.”
She’s already halfway to the mudroom. “I’ll do it! I’ll be so fast! Don’t start without me!”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” I call after her. “I’ve been excited for this all day.” I’ve spent time with Junie at the bookstore, and at family dinners because Donna and my mother are best friends. But I’ve never been inside Remy’s house.
While she’s hanging up her coat and putting away her stuff, I pull out the last surprise: two matching Christmas aprons with dancing gingerbread pirates with candy cane swords.
When she returns, I hold one up with a grin. “Look what I got us!”
Her jaw drops. “We match?! That’s the coolest thing ever.”
She spins as if she’s on the runway at a Paris bakery fashion show, then throws her arms around me again.
“You’re the best witch-nanny EVER.”
I press a kiss to her hair and whisper, “And you’re the best cookie co-captain I’ve ever had.”
She giggles, eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy from the cold and excitement.
We turn to the counter together, sleeves rolled up, Christmas music humming behind us like a scene straight out of a holiday movie.
And in that moment with flour in the air, joy buzzing between us, I swear the house already feels different. Lighter and warmer as if someone just opened a window and let Christmas back in.
I have a chicken casserole bubbling in the oven, golden cheese crisping on the edges just the way I like it.
I’ve already folded the last load of laundry and sorted out all the bathroom linens that I’m currently washing.
We made it into a game. Junie called it “Potion Ingredient Sorting,” and I awarded her wizard points every time she folded a pile.
After dinner, we dance around the kitchen with the broom, cleaning up while Junie sings along to the “Jingle Bell Rock” remix like it’s her Grammy debut.
Now the dishes are done, the counters are sparkling, and the floor is crumb-free. And there’s a plate in the fridge labeled in Junie’s handwriting because she insisted on adding a heart and a skull next to it. Just picturing Remy coming home is making me super nervous.
The house is glowing and cozy. I lit a brand-new candle I bought in town at one of my favorite witch shops as soon as the kitchen was spotless.
Cinnamon, fir, and clove, with just a little enchantment woven into the wax.
This house needs all of the magic it can get right now to bring it back to life.
It flickers on the kitchen island now, casting a soft light across the room.
The overhead lights are off, with only lamps to make it warm and golden.
Junie’s curled up next to me on the couch in fuzzy socks and Christmas pajamas covered in dancing narwhals. She brushed her hair, and it’s still damp from her bath. She brushed her teeth, and her face smells like bubblegum toothpaste and lavender soap.
We’re watching The Grinch, and she’s quiet. Not because she’s tired, but because she’s relaxed. Just the way every little kid should feel after a long day at school with a yummy dinner in her belly.
I wrap the blanket tighter around us and rest my cheek against the top of her head. Her body melts into mine like she’s been waiting all day for this exact stillness.
Outside, snow falls in soft, steady flakes, coating the trees and the porch swing and the truck parked in front. Everything is hushed and wrapped up.
I breathe in the scent of her hair and the candle and the casserole still lingering in the air. Home. Yes, that’s what this feels like. I had this at my house growing up.
This house felt cold when I got here. Not just in temperature, but in spirit. Like it was waiting for something. Or someone. Now? It feels better.
What would make it even better is if we decorated for Christmas.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep on his couch. Really. My eyes are just resting, that’s all. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lives today, starting out in the Boston townhouse. And honestly, despite how it began, it ended up being a great day. Things feel a lot better now.
The house is quiet now. Junie went down easy after the movie, her tiny voice sleep-slurred with dreams and pirate songs.
I read her three picture books. Okay, probably more like five.
I can’t say no to reading to a kid. And then she curled into her blanket with her stuffed narwhal and whispered, “Can you stay forever, Ivy?”
She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That part might’ve been what made my heart swoon a little. Okay, a lot. And it caught me off guard. I brushed a curl out of her eyes and told her, “Let’s get through this first week, okay?”
I think I passed out somewhere between “I’ll just rest for a sec,” and “I wonder if Remy has ever actually smiled.”
Now the room is darker, the candle still flickering.
My hand loosely clutches my phone. I blink against the fuzziness of sleep and stretch my legs before I realize something feels different.
Someone is watching me. Someone tall and quiet.
Someone who smells like snow, pine, and something sharp and clean and male.
I sit up with a small gasp, nearly dropping my phone. My heart jolts like a firework.
Remy Bennett is standing inside the kitchen, big and broad in every way. I knew he’d be home at one point, but nothing prepared me for the actual moment of us coming face to face. Alone in his house in the dark, at night.
He looks like a woodsy romance novel cover come to life. Flannel sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw shadowed with end-of-the-day scruff. His hair is messy and windblown, and he’s looking at me like he’s trying to solve a problem he didn’t know existed until he opened his front door.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is rough and low. “Where’s my mom?”
I blink, my mouth opening slightly before my brain catches up. “She said she had deadlines, and that you knew I was starting today. Which I can tell that…you obviously did not.”
His brow furrows. He stares like he’s not sure if I’m real or just part of a really inconvenient dream.
“What exactly did she tell you?” he asks, as if still catching up.
“She said today was my first day as your new nanny,” I reply, standing now. My joints pop, and I smooth my shirt down over my leggings nervously. “Said you needed someone, and she was behind on her book.”
“She hired you to be my nanny?” He looks surprised, with a flash of irritation in his eyes.
“Pretty much. It was more of a classic Donna drive-by. One minute I’m in Boston with Derek, the next minute I’m up here with Junie. She said you wanted me.”
That earns me a flicker of something on his face, but it passes quickly.
“As your nanny, I mean,” I reply nervously.
Geez, Ivy, get it together. He definitely doesn’t want me. I’m not sure he’s even an actual human. More like a grumpy cyborg.
He steps farther into the living room, glancing toward the hallway. “She’s asleep?”
I nod. “Out cold. Brushed teeth, bedtime stories, the full shebang. She was a champ. You’ve got a great kid, Remy.”
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking tired in a way that has nothing to do with physical labor. “I just wasn’t expecting someone else to be here.”
“I figured Donna was up to something,” I say gently, standing and moving to the doorway to the hallway. “I should have tried calling you to confirm.”
He checks his phone and grimaces. “Wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Dead. Left it in the truck while I was loading orders.”