Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.Sure. What’s up?
Tell you at the debrief.
Because if I tell her now, she’ll have all day to build a defense. And I already know she’s going to push back.
That’s the thing about Jess. She’s brilliant with Ben. Patient. Creative. The whole Brave Kitchen concept came from her brain and it’s changing lives.
But she’s also risk-averse in ways I don’t fully understand yet.
Every time I suggest something that involves the outdoors, she gets this look. Like I just proposed we juggle chainsaws while blindfolded.
Still, I’m not asking permission. I’m giving her a heads-up.
Ben needs this. And what Ben needs, Ben gets.
Hell,Ineed this.
The rest of the day crawls. Lunch service atOsteria. A finance call with Rahul. Two vendor meetings that could have been quick emails. Finally, I’m home by six thirty and Ben’s already in her pajamas with Frederick tucked under one arm.
“Daddy!” She launches herself at my legs.
I scoop her up. “Hey,piccola.”
She pouts. “You weren’t at pickup today.”
“I know.” I run my fingers across her chest like a spider, making her giggle. “That’s only on Thursdays and Fridays, remember?”
She furrows her brow. “Oh. Oh yeah.”
“How was your day?” I continue.
“After school we madefocacciawith Rosa and I counted seventy-three bubbles.” Her face is so serious. Like bubble-counting is an Olympic sport. “Frederick helped.”
“Of course he did.” I set her down. “Where’s Jess?”
She points. “In the library. She’s writing more Brave Bites cards.”
Right. Because Jess doesn’t just do her job. She builds entire systems while I’m not looking and then acts like it’s no big deal.
“Read me a story?” she pleads.
“Didn’t Jess already do that?” I ask.
“Yes, but...”
“Don’t be greedy,piccola,” I say. I kiss her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
I put her to bed, and find Jess at the library desk surrounded by laminated cards and colored markers. Her hair is up in one of those messy knots that shouldn’t be hot but absolutely is. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweater that keeps sliding off one shoulder.
My cock stirs.
Down boy.
We agreed to ice. And ice means ice.
Even if every cell in my body is screaming to cross that room and finish what we started.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway.
