By whom? By you?
“Thank you,” I said softly. “Today was... I needed this. I didn’t know I needed it, but I did.”
He nodded, his eyes holding mine for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he put the car in drive, and we headed home.
I stared out the window, watching the carnival lights fade behind us, and realized something terrifying.
I was happy.
For the first time since Boston, since Tracy, since everything fell apart, I was genuinely, completely happy.
And it had nothing to do with cooking or restaurants or culinary dreams.
It had everything to do with the man sitting next to me and the little girl asleep in the backseat.
When we pulled into the driveway, Megan was still completely out.
Gabriel turned off the engine and glanced back at her. “She’s not waking up anytime soon.”
“Sugar crash,” I said. “Cotton candy coma is a real medical condition.”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t think that’s in any textbook.”
“It should be. I could write a paper. ‘The Effects of Carnival Food on Pediatric Sleep Patterns.’ Very scientific.”
“I’m sure it would be peer-reviewed immediately.”
I watched as he got out and opened the back door, carefully unbuckling Megan from her car seat. She didn’t even stir—just made a small sound and nestled further into his shoulder, Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear clutched against her chest.
He carried her toward the house with the kind of practiced ease that made my chest do that stupid tightening thing again.
Stop it. Stop having feelings about your boss carrying his daughter. That’s literally his job as a parent.
I followed them inside, closing the door quietly behind us.
Gabriel headed straight for the stairs, and I trailed after him, not sure if I was supposed to or if I was just... following. Like a weird, anxious shadow.
Should I say goodnight now? Should I go to my room? Should I—
He glanced back at me. “Can you grab her pajamas? Top drawer.”
Oh. Right. He wanted help.
Professional help. Nanny help. Not weird-feelings help.
“Sure,” I said, probably too enthusiastically.
We reached Megan’s room—a explosion of pink and purple that somehow managed to be both chaotic and cozy. Gabriel laid her gently on the bed, and she immediately curled onto her side, still clutching her stuffed animals.
I opened her dresser and found pajamas covered in stars and moons. Perfect.
Gabriel was already carefully extracting Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear from her grip, setting them aside on the nightstand.
“I’ll get a washcloth,” I whispered, heading to her bathroom.
When I came back with a damp cloth, Gabriel had managed to get her shoes off without waking her.
