Chapter 13
Ivy
The water is cooling, and I sink lower into Remy’s big freestanding soaker tub until it laps at my collarbone, soaking up every minute of this bath. His primary bathroom feels too big, too quiet, the steam curling against the frosted window.
I try to let it soothe me, but his words echo anyway.
She’s just the nanny.
I hadn’t meant to overhear Remy and his mom’s conversation after we took photos.
Donna had him cornered after the photo shoot, holding up that picture like evidence, and I’d overheard from the farm stand.
It shouldn’t matter, and I shouldn’t still be so bothered by his words.
They were the truth. He’s right, and that’s all I am.
Temporary, convenient, filling a gap until he doesn’t need me anymore.
But the words sting sharper than I expect.
I tell myself not to feel it, not to care, but it sits heavy in my chest, anyway.
I drain the tub, wrap myself in one of his thick towels, and pad across the tile. My hair drips down my shoulders, leaving damp streaks on the cotton.
A gentle knock rattles the bedroom door. “Hey,” Remy’s voice calls, low, steady. Before I think better of it, I crack the door. Just a peek.
He’s there in the hallway, coat half-zipped, beanie pulled low.
His eyes widen when he sees me, his gaze flicking down to where the towel knots tight at my chest, then snapping back up.
Not crude, not lingering, but enough to make the air stretch thin between us.
And a reminder that Remy is a man. And he is so freaking good looking.
Not that I forgot. I think about this daily.
“Sorry,” I whisper, my voice catching. “I just got out of the bath.”
He clears his throat, softer now. “Did you see we’re supposed to get dumped on tonight? Huge snowstorm coming. I’m going to check on things before it hits.”
For a moment, we just stand there. The faint rush of the wind outside. The dripping of water from my hair. His eyes on me, softer than I’ve ever seen them.
“Okay,” I manage. My fingers clutch the edge of the towel tighter.
He nods, lingering a heartbeat too long, then steps back. “I’ll be back soon if you need anything. Tate’s meeting me over at the barn.”
When he turns, I press the door closed, leaning against it with my heart pounding. His words still echo in my head, but the look he just gave me whispers something different.
I might just be the nanny. But he looks at me like he wants me to be more. And I feel the tension between us. It can’t be just me, right? He’s different now.
I towel off quickly and tug on my cozy flannel pajamas before slipping down the hall. The house feels hushed and quiet, which seems to come just before a storm. Fitting. I push open Junie’s door and peek in.
She’s a little heap of blankets, her hair spilling across the pillow in curls, cheeks flushed pink with sleep.
Lola lies curled at her feet, tail thumping once against the floral purple comforter when she notices me.
I step in and smooth a hand over Junie’s hair.
She sighs, clutching her narwhal tighter.
Lola gives a soft huff, then drops her head back down, satisfied the world is safe, and she’s at home with her new girl to watch over.
I stroke her soft ears and press a kiss to her head, as well.
I’m glad Junie has this. Lola is a good comfort.
My chest tightens. They already feel stitched into me in ways I hadn’t planned, in ways I know I shouldn’t let myself think about wanting more.
I am just the nanny.
Back in the kitchen, I fill the kettle and wait until it whistles. I pour steaming water over a homemade mix of chamomile Rowan made me; the scent rises gentle and floral. The mug warms my palms as I curl into the armchair by the big front window.
Outside, the first flakes of snow drift down, catching in the light above the porch. Soft and slow at first, then thicker, heavier snow that promises the world will look different by morning. And that makes me think about how unrecognizable my life is right now from just a month ago.
I sip the tea and watch it fall; the heat sinking through me while the storm builds.
How am I supposed to get through this season without falling deeper for them?
Even my dog fell head over heels for his kid.
I’m second best to her now, and I’m okay with that.
Junie needed her. I’m falling hard. For Junie, with her excitement and bigger laugh, who calls me her family without hesitation.
For Remy, who holds everything tight and pretends he doesn’t feel, but then fills my glass before I ask, or lets me sleep on his shoulder without moving.
He’s everyone’s rock and solid, safe place.
It makes me wonder what his safe place is? Who is there for him?
I already know the answer. I can’t stop myself. Not when I’m feeling like this. Like I finally belong somewhere. Not when the sight of snow falling outside this window feels like the start of something I’ve wanted for longer than I’ll ever admit.
The tea cools in my hands. The snow keeps falling.
And I sit there in the quiet, letting myself hope, even if I probably shouldn’t.
Because people we love leave us and sometimes die.
Just like we’re watching this play out with Pete.
It’s like losing my dad all over again. A few years ago, my dad and Tate’s dad went out on a commercial fishing run and never came back.
Not only was their boat never recovered, but neither were they.
And that shattered my mom and my sisters.
And Tate. I watched how he lost his dad, and then his mother faded away.
People we love leave or die. And that hurts worse than being lonely. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just meant to be alone. But when I look at Remy and Junie, I know that isn’t true. I just don’t know if I can risk my heart shattering again.
“It’s a snow day!” Junie’s shriek down the hall outside my door yanks me out of sleep before the sun even shines through the curtains.
The next thing I know, my door bursts open, and Lola launches herself onto the bed. Forty pounds of excited cattle dog lands square on my stomach, and then there’s a cold, wet tongue dragging across my face.
“Ugh, Lola!” I laugh, trying to fend her off. “I get it, I get it. Your new, tiny human is excited. Message received.”
Junie bounces right up behind her, curls wild and cheeks already flushed with the thrill of no school. She’s still in her pajamas, feet thumping against the floor as she scrambles up beside me.
“Look!” she says, tugging at the curtain. She yanks it open, and sure enough, the whole world outside is blanketed in white. Snow covers the fields, the porch, the fences, glittering under the pale gray morning sky.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, sitting up, Lola wedged happily between us.
Junie turns to me with wide eyes. “What can we check off of our list today?”
“What were you thinking?” I ask, brushing her curls back.
“We need snow angels, a snow fort, and a snowball fight. All today.”
“All today?” I pretend to gasp. “That’s a lot of snow business to handle. Think we can handle all of that?”
She giggles and nods, and Lola barks like she’s in on the plan, too.
I finally swing my legs out of bed, tugging the blanket around my shoulders. The smell of coffee hits me as soon as we make it into the kitchen. A note sits propped against the pot, scrawled in Remy’s messy handwriting:
Out clearing snow. Stay warm. Coffee’s ready.
When I went to bed he was out clearing, and I get up and he’s already gone. I wonder if he’s avoiding me. But then he goes and leaves me little notes and coffee. Hmmm.
I pour a mug, wrapping both hands around it, the warmth soaking through my fingers. Junie climbs onto a chair, chattering about the snow fort and how big it should be, Lola circling the table like she’s already mapping out where the battle lines will fall in the great snowball fight of the year.
Through the window I catch sight of Remy’s side-by-side moving across the field by the barn, a trail cut through the drifts with a snowplow attached to it.
Something pulls tight in my chest. He thinks of everything, even down to the full coffee pot waiting here for me. And as Junie leans against my arm, already planning the day, I realize this little family feels more like home than anything has in years.
I sip my coffee and smile. “All right, Junebug. Snow angels, a fort, and a snowball fight. Let’s do it.”
Junie squeals, Lola barks again, and for a moment the whole kitchen feels lit from the inside out.
I hold up a hand. “But first, we do breakfast. I’m going to make oatmeal, then we’ll bundle up and go on our adventure.”
“I’ll help,” she says, dragging out the pan from the cabinet and setting it on the counter.
We work together and get the oatmeal going, and she drags out all of her snow gear from the closet.
Lola runs outside to do her business, and I see her run to the field where Remy is.
He stops, gets out and reaches down to pet her and scratch her ears, then gets back into the side-by-side.
She runs around the field and then she comes back.
She loves it here. I don’t even know if I can take her from Junie at this point. They have made such a close bond.
After I get her to eat a little, we bundle up and go outside. I borrow some of Remy’s snow gear that is way too big for me, but I make it work.
The snow is deeper than I expected, already past my boots as Junie and I flop down side by side to make angels. She kicks her legs and sweeps her arms, giggling so hard she can’t keep the lines straight. Lola darts around us, barking, her paws sinking into the drifts.
When we stand, Junie declares our angels perfect, even though mine looks lopsided. She points to the side yard. “That’s where the fort goes.”