I flip open my notebook, grateful for something to do with my hands. “Family Meal Mondays. A private cooking program for community families. Not public.Just a space where kids, anxious or otherwise, can learn cooking. It’s part of... part of what I’ve been calling... Brave Kitchen.”
He leans forward slightly. “Brave Kitchen?”
“Yeah.” I flip to my notes, showing him the bullet points I’ve been building. “Mindful cooking for anxious kids.”
Marco cocks an eyebrow.
Dang, why did I have to use the wordcockto describe his eyebrow!
I swallow quickly, trying to focus. “We can start with FHG staff families, and expand it out into the broader community later.”
He leans back. Those chef’s hands steeple under his chin. I watch the movement and my eyes involuntarily drop to his groin...
Stop it.
I force myself to meet his gaze.
“Walk me through it,” he says.
I launch into the pitch I’ve been rehearsing for three days. How we’d use the FHG test kitchen after hours. How I’d run the curriculum separate from my nanny duties. How kids would learn the same Brave Rules I use with Ben but through food.
“It would help any kid learn how to work off anxiety. Breath work while stirring. Counting while whisking. The one-two-three squeeze when timers go off.” I’m talking with my hands now, animated. “Make the kitchen a safe space for kids instead of a stress space. Well, for those kids that don’t cook, anyway, I suppose...”
Marco’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read. It makes my face go hot.
“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” he observes.
“I think about a lot of things.”Like your mouth. And whether I’ll ever get to taste it again, despite what the contract says...
My face is definitely red now.
He stands. Crosses to the window overlooking the herb garden. The afternoon light catches in his dark hair and I have to physically stop myself from imagining running my fingers through it.
“Who would attend?” he asks.
“Like I said, FHG staff families first. Then maybe school referrals if the counselor signs off. Small groups. Six kids max.” I flip to my notes. “Ethan also offered to do a five minute CPR and Heimlich demo for parents. You know, since he’s a paramedic and all.”
Marco turns. There’s something in his eyes that looks almost like pride. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“I had time.”
Between obsessing over our one night stand and trying not to combust every time you’re in the same room.
He moves back to the desk. Picks up his phone. Starts texting rapid fire. “I’m looping in Rahul for accounting. Elena for the contract piece. This needs clean lanes.”
Wait.
I blink. “You’re saying yes?”
“I’m saying yes.” He looks up. “On one condition.”
Oh no. Here it comes. The catch. There’s always a catch with billionaires.
“What condition?” I ask cautiously.
“You own it. Brave Kitchen is yours. Separate from the nanny contract. Your intellectualproperty. If you ever want to take it public, that’s your call. But FHG doesn’t touch it.”
I blink again, confused. “You’re giving me full ownership?”
