“I know.” She goes back to coloring like it’s the most important job in the world.
I stand and scan the room. André’s managing check-ins with his usual grace. Parents are actually putting their phones away without being asked. The “no filming, no kid faces” signs are working.
Lucy Hammond-Blackwell appears beside me holding a tablet. She’s not staff family. But her billionaire husband knows Marco well.
“This is lovely,” she says quietly. “Really lovely.”
“Thanks.” I’m trying to sound professional even though I want to do a victory lap. “It’s been a journey.”
“I want to talk micro-grants.” She pulls up a spreadsheet. “For expansion. Kid-confidence workshops.”
I blink at her. “You’re serious.”
“Completely.” She tilts the screen so I can see the numbers. “This model works. It’s replicable. And it doesn’t exploit the families it serves.”
When someone gets it without you having to explain.
“I’m in,” I tell her. “As long as it stays private. No posting. No pressure to perform.”
She smiles. “Works for me. Off-camera, opt-in only. No content requirement.”
After she leaves, I just stand there for a second letting it sink in.
This is real.
This matters.
And no one’s asking me to turn it into content.
Marco appears at my elbow. I didn’t hear him approach but suddenly he’s there and I can smell that bitter orange and espresso combination that should not be this distracting.
Professional thoughts only.
“It’s working,” he says quietly. His voice has that rough edge that does things to my panties I absolutely cannot think about right now.
“Yeah.” I force myself to focus on the room instead of his stupid attractive forearms. “I think it is.”
“Matteo’s in love with the simplified menu.” He’s watching the families with that intensefocus he usually reserves for restaurant operations. “Says it’s changed the kitchen flow.”
“Good.” My face heats up. Why am I blushing? This is a professional conversation about menu execution. Nothing to blush about.
Except he’s standing close enough that our shoulders are almost touching.
Ice. We agreed to ice.
Extremely thin ice.
“Jess.” My name in his voice still does that flutter thing to my stomach.
I look at him. “Yeah?”
He pauses. Like he’s weighing words. “I appreciate you. Thanks. For this. For all of it.”
“I’m just doing my job.” The deflection is automatic.
“You’re doing more than your job.” His eyes find mine. Dark. Full of want. “You know that.”
Before I can respond, a parent approaches with questions about the Brave Bites cards. I excuse myself and spend the next five minutes explaining the Three-Count Touch and demonstrating the breathing technique.
