Page 103 of Clinically Delicious
Chapter Twenty-One
Gabriel
“And then the princess realized she didn’t need rescuing at all,” I read, my voice deliberately calm and measured. “She rescued herself.”
Megan’s eyes were already half-closed, her small body relaxed against her pillows. The glitter volcano sat proudly on her dresser—I’d helped her move it there after dinner, despite the trail of sparkles it left in its wake.
“Daddy?” she murmured.
“Hmm?”
“Is Cate going to stay?”
My hand stilled on the page. “What do you mean, baby?”
“Like... forever. Is she going to stay forever?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Megan had asked about nannies before—usually within the first week, usually with a tone of resignation that broke something in me every time.
This was different.
This wasn’t resignation. This was hope.
“Cate’s not going anywhere,” I said carefully. “She’s your nanny.”
“But what if she wants to leave? What if she gets tired of us?”
Us.
Not me. Not just her nanny duties.
Us.
I set the book down and looked at my daughter. Really looked at her. She was watching me with those eyes—the ones that saw too much, understood too much for a five-year-old.
“Cate’s not going to get tired of you,” I said firmly. “You’re the best part of her day. She told me so.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It was true. I’d heard Cate say it to her friend on the phone last week. Overheard, technically, when I’d come home early and found them in the backyard making what appeared to be a fairy house out of sticks and leaves.
“Megan’s amazing. Like, genuinely the coolest kid I’ve ever met. I’m not just saying that. She’s funny and smart and so creative it’s actually insane.”
The memory made something warm settle in my chest.
“What about you?” Megan asked, her voice getting quieter, sleepier. “Do you like Cate?”
Loaded question.
Dangerous question.
“I think Cate is very good at her job,” I said diplomatically.
“That’s not what I asked.”
When did my daughter get so perceptive?
