The kind of dish that would make Dr. Lyon forget I was the nanny who’d broken his daughter’s arm.
Or at least, that was the plan.
I plated everything carefully—chicken fanned on the plate, pasta twirled into a neat nest, sauce drizzled artfully over the top, and fresh parsley for garnish. It looked like something from a restaurant. My restaurant. The one I’d never gotten to work in.
Stop it, Cate. This isn’t about Tracy. This isn’t about Boston. This is about apologizing to your boss and keeping your job and definitely not thinking about how his eyes looked this morningwhen he said “Good morning” in that low, rough voice that had made my stomach flip.
Definitely not thinking about that.
“Wow,” Megan breathed, appearing in the doorway. “That looks like restaurant food.”
“That’s the idea.” I wiped down the counter, put away the ingredients, and loaded the dishwasher. Professional. Competent. Not at all like someone who regularly caused chaos.
“Dad’s going to love it.”
“I hope so.” I checked my phone. Five forty-five. Dr. Lyon would be home soon. “How’s the table looking?”
“Come see!”
I followed her into the dining room and stopped short.
Megan had gone all out. The table was set with actual cloth napkins.Where the hell did she find those?The plates arranged just so, and—oh God—she’d found candles.
“Megan, sweetie, this looks amazing, but maybe we should skip the candles? I don’t want your dad to think—”
To think what? That I was trying to seduce him with chicken piccata and candlelight?
Because I absolutely was not doing that.
This was an apology dinner.
A professional gesture.
Nothing romantic about it.
Even if the candles did make it look kind of... intimate.
“But it looks fancy!” Megan protested.
“It does look fancy. It looks very fancy. Maybe too fancy?”
“You said to make it fancy!”
She had me there.
“Okay, you’re right. Candles are fine. Totally normal. People have candles at dinner all the time.” I was definitely overthinking this. “It looks perfect.”
Megan grinned, clearly proud of herself.
I heard a car in the driveway.
Oh God. He was home.
Dr. Lyon was home, and I’d cooked him dinner, and there were candles on the table, and this was either going to be a nice gesture or the most awkward moment of my entire employment.
Possibly both.
“He’s here!” Megan bounced toward the front door.
