“Dad.”
“Just saying. First impressions matter, and being on time is number one.”
“I will be.”
This was the rhythm of the Hollis household, familiar and comforting even when it made her want to scream. Her mother was enthusiastic. Her father observed. Tyler, June’s younger brother, was mercifully absent—probably still asleep in his room, given that his summer classes at the community college didn’t start until afternoon.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Tyler had sent a meme of a dog in a business suit with the caption “me showing up to my interview like.”
Okay, not asleep then.
June snorted and typed back a smiley sticking its tongue out.
Good luck tho,came the immediate reply.Don’t let them intimidate you.
Why would they intimidate me?
They are people who need a nanny.
June pocketed the phone and returned to the stove, cracking eggs into the bacon grease. Breakfast had always been her domain, even as a kid. While other children slept in on weekends, June had been down here experimenting—learninghow to temper chocolate, how to fold an omelet, how to coax flavor out of the simplest ingredients. The kitchen was where she made sense. Where the chaos in her head quieted down and everything became about texture and timing and taste.
“You’re too soft for this, June. That’s always been your problem.”
The memory surfaced without warning: Ember’s voice, sharp and dismissive, cutting through the clatter of a professional kitchen. The heat of the line. The pressure of service. The moment June had realized that the person she loved didn’t respect her at all.
She’d been younger then, even if it wasn’t even a year ago. Twenty-two, fresh out of culinary school, convinced that Ember had all the answers. Ember had been thirty, confident, embedded in the Portland restaurant scene in a way that felt glamorous and important. Their relationship had been intense from the start—late nights after service, heated kisses in the walk-in cooler and exciting late nights of exploration, the intoxicating feeling of being chosen by someone who seemed to have everything figured out.
And then the head chef. The affair that Ember hadn’t even tried to hide once it started. The casual cruelty of her defense: “That’s just how kitchens are. You can’t expect monogamy in this industry. You’re being naive.”
As if wanting loyalty made June stupid. As if expecting basic respect made her weak.
June had left Portland three months later. Dropped out of the restaurant scene entirely, moved back into her childhood bedroom with a poster of Studio Ghibli’s Howl’s Moving Castle to stare at from her bed, and tried to figure out what the heck she was supposed to do with a culinary diploma and a heart full of cracks.
That had been four months ago. She was still figuring it out.
“June? The eggs.”
She blinked, refocusing. The eggs were starting to set on the edges. She stirred them quickly, rescuing them from overcooking, and pushed Ember’s voice back into the box where it belonged.
Not today. Not ever again.
“Sorry. Distracted.”
Laura gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. Instead, she poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching June cook.
“I looked her up, you know. The woman you’re interviewing with.”
“Mom. The listing was anonymous.”
“The address wasn’t.” Laura looked entirely too pleased with herself. “I mapped it, and then I looked up the property records. State Senator Melissa Brandt. Two terms in the state senate, lots of work on infrastructure and rural development.” Her eyes sparkled with the delight she got from uncovering information. “Divorced about two years ago—there was some kind of scandal, the husband cheating with someone younger. It was all over the local news for a while.”
June stared at her. “You looked up property records? And dug through old news stories?”
“I like to know things.” Laura waved a hand dismissively. “And honestly, June, a state senator! That’s very impressive. The house must be beautiful—the homes in that neighborhood aren’t cheap. This could be a wonderful opportunity for you.”
“It’s a nanny job, Mom.”
