Just professional. Just the nanny and the boss.
For Ben. For Ethan. For everyone who’s counting on me to have my shit together.
The promise hurts. Fucking hurts. But I make it anyway.
Because the alternative is watching everything I’ve built burn down.
Even if it means never touching her again. Even if it means pretending I don’t want her every second of every day.
I can do this. Ihaveto do this.
I just hope the restraint doesn’t kill me first.
19
Jess
The conference room at FHG headquarters smells like espresso and pasta. Literally.
I’m sitting at a long table trying very hard to focus on my curriculum notes and not on the fact my boss is across from me wearing yet another black henley with the sleeves rolled up, something that should really be classified as a workplace hazard.
When your employer’s forearms are so distracting you forget how to think...
Matteo, the culinary director, is gesturing enthusiastically with a pen. “The kid menu needs to be simpler. Less fussy. More tactile.” He looks at me expectantly.
I blink, quickly compose myself. This meeting is supposed to be about my baby after all: Family Meal Mondays/Brave Kitchen.
Focus, Jess.
“Agreed,” I blurt out, making a show of flipping through my notes. “I was thinking we drop anything that requires advanced knife skills. At least for the first few sessions.”
“What about the lobster?” Matteo asks, glancing at Marco. “Thespaghetti all’asticeyou made for the first dinner was a hit with the adults. But for kids?”
My face heats at the mention of that dish. The one Marco made specifically for me. My favorite. The one that made me realize this whole situation is way more complicated than a simple employer-employee relationship.
Marco’s eyes flick to mine for exactly half a second before returning to Matteo. But that half second? Loaded with about seventeen layers of subtext.
“You’re right, it’s too messy,” I manage, my voice only slightly strangled. “And dangerous. Kids can cut themselves on the shells. Plus it’s intimidating. We want approachable.”
“Even though you love it,” Marco says quietly.
I blink at him. Did he seriously just say that out loud? In a business meeting?
Matteo looks between us with mild confusion. “You love lobster?”
“I mean, who doesn’t?” I deflect, waving my hand dismissively. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about what works for anxious kids who are learning to trust the kitchen.”
Marco nods slowly. “Fair point.”
When you have to pretend your favorite dish isn’t significant even though it absolutely is and everyone in this room can probably sense the weird tension.
“What about staff support?” André, the VP of service and training, leans forward. “If we want to grow Family Meal Mondays, we need bodies. Someone to handle logistics. Setup. Breakdown.” André pauses, then answers his own question. “I can coordinate that. I’ll pull from FOH staff who’veexpressed interest in community programs. Rotate them so no one gets burned out.”
Burned out. Right. The thing I’m actively trying to avoid.
“Speaking of burnout,” I say, because apparently I’m incapable of keeping my mouth shut, “we should probably keep it to one day a week for now. At least until we see how well it scales as we starting inviting more families.”
Marco’s watching me now. “You worried about capacity?”
