Page 127 of Clinically Delicious
My heart stopped.
She landed perfectly, arms up like a gymnast, grinning, even with the cast still on her arm.
“Did you see?”
“I saw!” I called back, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “That was... very impressive. Maybe next time wait until the swing is a little lower?”
“But that’s not as fun!”
Of course it’s not.
Nothing safe is ever as fun.
Which is probably a metaphor for my entire life right now.
She ran toward the slide, and I watched her climb up, watched her slide down, watched her do it again and again with the kind of endless energy that only five-year-olds possess.
I love her.
The realization hit me with startling clarity.
I love this kid.
Not in a “she’s my boss’s daughter and I’m paid to care about her” way.
In a “if Tonya takes her away it’s going to break something in me that I didn’t even know could break” way.
Oh God.
Oh God, this is bad.
This is really, really bad.
Because I’m not supposed to be this attached. I’m supposed to be the nanny who became the fake wife who helps win the custody case, and then what?
What happens after?
Do we stay married? Do we get divorced? Do we—“Cate?”
I looked up.
Fitz was standing there in running gear, slightly sweaty, grinning down at me. He gestured to the bench. “Mind if I sit? I just finished five miles and I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“Sure.”
He dropped onto the bench beside me, stretching his legs out. “So, Mrs. Lyon. How’s married life?”
“Complicated.”
“I bet.” He was quiet for a moment, watching Megan on the monkey bars. “She’s a good kid.”
“The best.”
“Gabriel’s a good dad.”
“I know.”
“So what’s with the face?”
