Turned around and found myself face-to-face with Fitz—the colleague from Gabriel’s practice who’d been at the house that day. Next to him stood another guy, tall and lean with dark red hair and an easy smile. Both of them were wearing Red Sox jerseys.
“It is!” Fitz grinned, jogging over. “Cate, right? The nanny who broke Megan’s arm?”
“I didn’t—she broke her own—it was a skateboard,” I stammered, my face immediately heating. “Hi. Yes. That’s me. The arm-breaking nanny. Great reputation to have.”
Fitz laughed. “Relax, I’m kidding. Gabriel told us it wasn’t your fault. Well, eventually. After we stopped giving him shit about it.”
The other guy extended his hand. “Quinton. I work with Gabriel. And Fitz. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You have?” My voice came out higher than intended. “What kind of things? Good things? Bad things? Things that will get me fired?”
“Mostly that you’re funny,” Quinton said. “And that you made Gabriel dinner last week.”
Oh God.
They knew about the dinner.
Of course they knew about the dinner.
Gabriel had probably told them, and they’d probably teased him mercilessly, and now they were looking at me like I was some kind of curiosity.
“It was just chicken,” I blurted. “Nothing fancy. Just an apology for the whole arm situation. Very professional. Completely professional.”
Fitz’s grin widened. “Uh-huh. That’s exactly what Gabriel said too. Very professional. With candles.”
I wanted to die.
Right there on the sidewalk.
Just cease to exist.
“The candles were Megan’s idea,” I said, which was true but somehow made it sound worse. “I was just cooking. Being a nanny. Doing nanny things.”
“Sure,” Quinton said, but he was smiling. Not mean—just amused. “Hey, we’re heading to the Red Sox game. You want to come?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Red Sox game,” Fitz repeated. “Fenway. We’ve got an extra ticket because Nathan bailed last minute. Do you like baseball?”
“I—I mean—I was supposed to meet a friend.”
“Bring them,” Quinton said. “Or ditch them. Come on, when’s the last time you did something fun?”
When was the last time I’d done something fun?
I couldn’t remember.
The last few months had been a blur of job applications and rejections and trying not to think about Tracy and that restaurant and everything I’d lost. And then the nanny job, which was less “fun” and more “constant low-level panic about keeping a child alive.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” I said.
“You’re not intruding,” Fitz said. “We’re inviting you. That’s literally the opposite of intruding.”
“Plus,” Quinton added, “it’ll be funny to tell Gabriel we hung out with his nanny.”
“Why would that be funny?”
They exchanged a look.
