Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jules
" M ommy, can I go to the kitchen again today? Please?"
It's 7:15 a.m., and Mia's already dressed, hair brushed, and practically vibrating with excitement. I haven't even finished my first coffee.
"Sweetie, Declan probably doesn't start work this early," I say, scrolling through my emails. Twelve new messages since I checked before bed last night. "Besides, Zoe is working on finding us a replacement nanny. She might have news today."
Mia's face falls. "But I want to help make breakfast. Declan said I could learn how to make special pancakes today."
I look up from my phone, studying my daughter's eager expression. In New York, I practically have to drag her out of bed for school. Here, she's up before my alarm, asking to go work in a kitchen.
"When did he tell you that?" My last check-in with them yesterday had been during the pre-dinner rush, when Mia was carefully arranging garnishes on salad plates.
"At dinner. When you were talking to that man with the shiny bald head."
"Mr. Rothstein. My CFO," I correct automatically. "And you shouldn't call out people's physical features."
"Sorry." She bounces on her toes, undeterred. "So can I go? Please?"
My phone pings with a text from Zoe: Still working on nanny situation. Top candidate can't travel until Friday.
Friday. Three more days of this childcare improvisation. I suppress a sigh.
"Let me call down to the kitchen first and see if Declan's even there."
Mia claps her hands, already celebrating her victory.
I don't have the lodge kitchen's direct line, so I call the front desk. A cheerful voice answers on the second ring.
"Mountain Laurel Lodge, this is Jameson. How can I help you?"
"This is Jules Sinclair in the Maple Suite. I'm trying to reach Declan in the kitchen."
"Oh, Ms. Sinclair! Declan mentioned you might call. He's already prepping breakfast and said to let him know Mia is welcome anytime. Would you like me to transfer you?"
Of course he anticipated this. "Yes, please."
There's a brief pause, then the sound of kitchen bustle fills the background before Declan's voice comes through, warm and surprisingly alert for this hour.
"Morning, Ms. Sinclair. Let me guess. You have an eager sous chef ready to report for duty?"
Despite myself, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "How did you know?"
"Call it a hunch. Send her down whenever you're ready. Main entrance is unlocked, and I've got a special apron with her name on it."
"You bought her an apron?" I ask, surprised.
His laugh is easy, genuine. "Just wrote her name on one of ours with fabric marker. Nothing fancy."
I glance at Mia, who's practically dancing with impatience. "That's very thoughtful of you. But I can't keep imposing on your workday like this."
"It's no imposition. Honestly, your daughter has better kitchen skills than half my staff." There's a muffled shout in the background. "Present company excluded, of course, Georgia!"
Another voice chimes in: "I heard that, boss!"
He laughs again. "Sorry, morning rush is starting. But seriously, send Mia down. My mom will be here soon too. She usually helps with breakfast service."
"Alright," I concede. "I'll walk her down in ten minutes."
"Perfect. Coffee will be waiting for you."
I end the call, turning to Mia's expectant face. "Yes, you can go. But first, brush your teeth and make your bed."
She races to the bathroom without a single complaint. That’s a minor miracle in itself.
Twenty minutes later, we're walking through the spacious lobby of Mountain Laurel Lodge. The morning light streams through tall windows, highlighting the rustic charm of the space. A massive stone fireplace dominates one wall, while comfortable seating areas are arranged throughout. It's beautiful in a lived-in, authentic way that's nothing like the sleek modern hotels I usually book for business trips.
"Good morning!" A tall, energetic man at the front desk waves as we pass. His name tag reads "Jameson Callahan."
"Another Callahan?" I murmur.
"Morning!" Mia calls back, already familiar with the staff after just one day.
The smell of bacon and coffee guides us to the dining area, where several early risers from my executive team are already enjoying breakfast. Andrea spots me and waves us over.
"Jules! And little Miss Mia! Join us!"
Before I can respond, Mia spots Declan through the pass-through window to the kitchen and takes off running.
"Declan! I'm here!"
"Walk, please!" I call after her, but she's already disappeared through the swinging kitchen door.
Andrea smirks over her coffee cup. "Looks like someone has a new friend."
"It's a temporary arrangement," I say, sliding into a seat at their table.
"So we heard." Andrea's smirk widens. "We also heard the chef has been quite the hero, entertaining Mia yesterday."
I reach for the coffee pot in the center of the table. "He's been helpful."
"And easy on the eyes," Lisa from marketing adds, stirring her oatmeal. "Single too, according to the front desk gossip."
"I didn't ask about his relationship status," I say stiffly.
Andrea and Lisa exchange knowing glances that I choose to ignore. Before they can pursue this unwelcome line of conversation, the kitchen door swings open, and Mia emerges, proudly wearing a white apron with "Sous Chef Mia" written across the chest in slightly wobbly letters.
"Mom! Look what Declan made me!"
"I see that. Very professional."
Mia beams, then turns to the others. "I have to go back to work now. We're making blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup."
"Work, huh?" Andrea raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like child labor to me."
"It's fun!" Mia insists. "And educational. I'm learning fractions."
Before she dashes back to the kitchen, Declan appears carrying a tray. His dark hair is damp at the temples from kitchen heat, and there's a dusting of flour on his black t-shirt. The chef's coat from yesterday is gone, replaced by the more casual shirt and dark jeans. It's a good look on him, I notice before I can stop myself.
"Breakfast for the executive team," he announces, setting down a platter of pastries. "And special delivery for Ms. Sinclair."
He places a steaming mug in front of me along with a small plate holding what appears to be a perfectly cooked egg white omelet with spinach and feta—exactly what I'd get in any restaurant.
"I didn't order this," I say, surprised.
"Mia mentioned it's your usual breakfast." He shrugs, the gesture casual but the thoughtfulness behind it anything but. "Figured you'd want protein before your strategy sessions today."
"Thank you." I'm momentarily thrown by the consideration. "That's very efficient."
His mouth quirks up at my choice of word. "High praise indeed. Enjoy your meeting. Mia's in good hands."
As he turns to go, Mia tugs on his sleeve. "Can I bring Mom a pancake when they're ready?"
"Absolutely. You can be our official pancake ambassador." He winks at her before disappearing back into the kitchen, Mia trotting after him like an eager puppy.
The moment they're gone, Andrea leans forward. "Well, well, well."
"Don't start," I warn her.
"What? I'm just admiring his hospitality skills."
Lisa snickers. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
I take a pointed bite of my perfectly cooked omelet. "We're here for a corporate strategy retreat, not summer camp."
"Shame," Andrea sighs dramatically. "Because that man looks like he could teach quite a few extracurricular activities."
"He's the lodge chef," I remind her, ignoring the flush of heat in my cheeks. "And he's helping with Mia as a professional courtesy."
"Mmhmm. He made you a custom breakfast."
"Based on information from my daughter."
"Details." Andrea waves dismissively. "The point is, he's hot, he cooks, and he's good with your kid. If you don't snap that up, someone else will."
I roll my eyes. "I'm not looking to 'snap up' anyone, especially not during a business trip."
"Of course not," Lisa agrees too quickly. "Because Jules Sinclair never mixes business and pleasure."
"Exactly."
"Even when pleasure comes with homemade pancakes and dimples."
"He doesn't have dimples," I say automatically, then realize my mistake.
"So you have been looking!" Andrea crows triumphantly.
Before I can defend myself, my phone buzzes with a calendar alert. "Ladies, as fascinating as this conversation isn't, we have the product development meeting in fifteen minutes."
"Saved by the schedule," Lisa teases, gathering her notes.
I stand, collecting my portfolio. "I need to check on Mia before the meeting."
"Sure you do," Andrea calls after me, but I pretend not to hear.
The kitchen is a hive of controlled chaos when I push through the swinging door. Staff members move with practiced efficiency between stations, calling orders and responses to each other. In the center of it all, Declan stands at the griddle, flipping pancakes with expert precision while simultaneously directing his team.
What catches me off guard is Mia, perched on a step stool beside him, carefully dropping blueberries onto cooking pancake batter in the shape of smiley faces. Declan says something that makes her laugh, her entire face lighting up with joy.
They look right together, somehow. Comfortable, like they've been doing this for years instead of less than a day.
"She's a natural," a voice says beside me. I turn to find Evelyn Callahan watching the same scene, her eyes crinkled with pleasure.
"She seems to be enjoying herself," I acknowledge.
"Declan too. He doesn't usually smile this much during morning service." Evelyn turns to me, her expression warm but assessing. "How are you holding up? I imagine this isn't what you planned for your corporate retreat."
"I'm adaptable," I say, the practiced response coming automatically.
"I'm sure you are." Her knowing smile suggests she sees more than I intend to reveal. "But even the most adaptable people occasionally need help. I was thinking—if your nanny situation remains unresolved, Mia is welcome to join some of our junior guests' activities today. My nephew Jameson runs them."
"That's very kind, but?—"
"Mom!" Mia spots me and waves excitedly, nearly upending the bowl of blueberries. Declan's hand gently steadies it without missing a beat.
"Careful there, Chef Mia," he says with easy authority. "Remember our first kitchen rule?"
"Awareness of your surroundings," she recites seriously, then turns back to me. "Mom, I made you a special pancake! It has a blueberry smiley face AND a blueberry power suit!"
I approach their workstation, curious despite myself. Sure enough, on a waiting plate sits a perfectly golden pancake with a crude but recognizable blueberry stick figure wearing what appears to be a triangular jacket.
"That's creative," I manage, oddly touched by the ridiculous breakfast art.
"Told you she'd like it," Declan says to Mia with a conspiratorial wink.
"I need to get to my meeting," I tell Mia, checking my watch. "Will you be okay here until lunchtime?"
Before Mia can answer, Evelyn steps in. "Actually, I was just telling your mother about our junior activities today. We're having a nature scavenger hunt at 10:30, followed by lunch and craft time. Several children of other guests are participating. Would you like to join them, Mia?"
Mia's eyes go wide. "Can I, Mom? Please?"
I hesitate, looking between my daughter's excited face and Declan's encouraging nod.
"It's a regular program we run," he explains quietly. "Totally supervised, age-appropriate. Jameson's great with kids, and my mother oversees everything."
The logical part of my brain recognizes this solves my childcare issue for the day. The protective mother part hesitates at the thought of leaving Mia with even more strangers.
But are they strangers? After watching how Declan interacted with Mia yesterday, how the entire staff seems to have embraced her presence, Mountain Laurel Lodge feels less like an impersonal hotel and more like... well, not home, exactly, but somewhere surprisingly safe.
"Alright," I concede. "But I want a schedule of activities and locations. And we’ll have lunch together."
"Already prepared," Evelyn says, pulling a printed itinerary from her pocket with a flourish. "Including my cell phone number and Jameson's."
Of course she came prepared. I'm beginning to suspect Evelyn Callahan is a fellow planner.
"Thank you," I say, genuinely appreciative of her thoughtfulness. "This is very helpful."
"We take care of our own here," she says simply. "And while you're staying with us, that includes you and Mia."
An unexpected lump forms in my throat. When was the last time someone offered to take care of me, rather than the other way around?
"Can I finish helping with breakfast first?" Mia asks, still focused on her blueberry artistry.
"Of course," Evelyn answers before I can. "The scavenger hunt doesn't start for a while. Plenty of time to finish your masterpieces."
"I should go," I say, suddenly feeling like an intruder in their easy camaraderie. "My team is waiting."
"Take this with you," Declan says, handing me a to-go cup of coffee and the plate with Mia's blueberry creation. "Brain food for strategic thinking."
Our fingers brush during the handoff, and I jerk back slightly at the unexpected warmth of the contact. His eyes meet mine, curious and perhaps a little amused at my reaction.
"Thank you," I say stiffly, retreating behind professionalism. "For the coffee and for everything."
"Happy to help," he says simply. But there's something in his expression, a warmth that makes me uncomfortable because of how much I don't find it uncomfortable.
"Bye, Mom!" Mia calls, already returning to her pancake art. "See you at lunch!"
As I walk toward the conference room, balancing my coffee and ridiculous pancake, I try to focus on the day's agenda. Quarterly projections, market expansion strategies, team building exercises. Simple, logical, controllable things.
Not the way Mia's face lights up in that kitchen. Not the ease with which the Callahan family has incorporated us into their world. And definitely not the unsettling warmth in Declan Callahan's eyes when he looks at me.
Temporary arrangements, I remind myself firmly. By Friday, the new nanny will arrive, and everything will return to normal. Scheduled, organized, predictable.
But as I glance down at the smiling blueberry face on my pancake, I wonder why that thought doesn't bring the relief it should.