Chapter Nine
Gabriel
The burgers were burning.
Not too badly, just enough to give them that charred edge that Fitz would inevitably complain about while eating three of them. I flipped them with more force than necessary, watching the flames lick up around the edges of the grill.
Behind me, Megan sat at the patio table, her cast propped up on a cushion, coloring her cast with a purple glitter marker, decisively informing me early this morning that her cast needed more bling and thus becoming obsessed with the project.
“They’re here!” she announced, as five car doors slammed in quick succession from the driveway.
Of course they were.
I’d made the mistake of mentioning Megan’s broken arm in the group chat, and within minutes, they’d invited themselves over for a “wellness check” that I knew was just an excuse to be nosy. Fitz had even offered to bring beer, which was his version of a sympathy card.
“Uncle Fitz!” Megan called out as the gate swung open.
Fitz appeared first, carrying a six-pack like a trophy, followed by Nathan clutching a bag of chips, Hayden bringing up the rear with what looked like a store-bought pie, and, because apparently the universe hated me, Julien and Quinton.
Julien carried a bottle of wine like a civilized human being, while Quinton carried what appeared to be a foam finger that said “#1 Dad” on it.
“There’s my favorite patient,” Fitz said, making a beeline for Megan. “Let me see that battle scar.”
“It’s a cast, silly,” Megan said seriously. “The scar comes later.”
“Smart kid,” Nathan said, ruffling her hair before turning to me. “How’s the invalid?”
“What’s an invalid?” Megan questioned.
“She’s fine,” I said, focusing very intently on the burgers. “Milking it for all it’s worth.”
“As she should,” Hayden said, settling into one of the patio chairs. “Broken bones definitely earn Ladybug a week of sympathy.”
Fitz grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and leaned against the deck railing with the casual posture of someone about to ruin my afternoon. “So,” he began, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “The nanny.”
Quinton waved the foam finger at Megan. “Got you a present, kiddo. For being brave.”
“That’s a sports thing,” Megan said, eyeing it skeptically.
“It’s a ‘you’re number one’ thing,” Quinton corrected. “Very different.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Julien said, setting the wine on the patio table with the careful precision of someone who took beverages seriously. “I told him not to bring it.”
“And yet here we are,” Quinton said cheerfully. “Living our best foam-finger lives.”
I didn’t look up, replying to Fitz, “What about her?”
“Is she hot?”
There it was. The same question he’d asked at the office before she started, as if he’d been storing it up, waiting for the perfect moment for redeployment.
“She’s employed,” I said flatly. “That’s what matters.”
“That’s not an answer,” Nathan pointed out, stealing a chip from his own bag.
“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”
Megan looked up from her cast. “Cate’s pretty,” she offered helpfully. “She has really curly hair. Like, really curly. And she’s funny.”
“Funny how?” Fitz asked, because of course he did.
“She does voices,” Megan said. “And she let me have gummy bears for breakfast.”
I shot her a look. “You told me those were for a science experiment.”
“They were! A digestion experiment.”
Nathan laughed. “I like her already.”
“She also,” I said, flipping a burger with unnecessary aggression, “convinced Megan to try skateboarding without a helmet, which resulted in the broken arm you’re all here to gawk at.”
“Gummy bears for breakfast is objectively terrible parenting,” Julien said, pouring himself a glass of wine with the air of someone delivering a medical diagnosis. “But points for creativity, I suppose.”
That should have been enough to kill the conversation.
But it wasn’t.
“I heard she stayed at the hospital until you showed up,” Hayden offered. “And that you both had a moment.”
Megan confirmed, “Dad was being scary.”
“I wasn’t being scary.”
“You were a little scary,” Megan countered. “But Cate wasn’t scared. She just kept apologizing, and she was gonna cry.”
Fitz’s eyebrows went up. “Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting,” I said. “It’s called basic human decency. She felt guilty. As she should have.”
“But you didn’t fire her,” Nathan said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because she’d looked at me with those wide, terrified eyes and apologized seventeen times in the span of three minutes. Because she’d stayed when she could have run. Because Megan had held her hand in the ER and hadn’t let go.
Because I was apparently an idiot.
“She’s good with Megan,” I said instead. “When she’s not breaking her bones.”
“High praise from Dr. Lyon,” Fitz said, taking a long drink. “So what does she look like? Specifically.”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Blonde? Brunette? Redhead?”
“Fitz.”
“Tall? Short? Does she have that girl-next-door thing, or more of a—”
“She’s a person,” I interrupted. “Not a catalog listing.”
“So you have noticed,” Nathan said, grinning.
I had noticed. Of course I’d noticed. I’d noticed yesterday when she’d shown up on my doorstep on her day off, stammering about checking on Megan while very deliberately not looking at my chest. I’d noticed the way her face had gone approximately the color of a fire engine.
I’d noticed the way she’d said “towel situation” like it was a medical diagnosis.
I was trying very hard not to think about any of that.
“She’s unconventional,” I said finally, pulling the burgers off the grill. “Chaotic. Has no sense of appropriate boundaries. Thinks gummy bears are a food group. Organized my snack cabinet by color instead of type.”
“Monster,” Hayden said dryly.
“She sounds fun,” Nathan added.
“She’s a liability,” I said, but even I could hear how weak it sounded.
“I agree. She sounds like a liability lawsuit waiting to happen,” Julien said, swirling his wine. “But also... fun.”
Fitz was watching me with the expression of someone who’d just won a bet with himself. “You like her.”
“I tolerate her. There’s a difference.”
“You’re thinking about her right now.”
I was. I was thinking about the way she looked yesterday morning, flushed and flustered and completely unable to form a coherent sentence. The way her hair had been even more chaotic than usual, like she’d run all the way to my house. The way she’d fled as if I were contagious.
The way I’d stood there in my towel, dripping on my own doorstep, wondering what the hell had just happened.
“I’m thinking about how you’re all in my backyard, drinking my beer, and interrogating me like I’m a suspect,” I said.
“Deflection,” Fitz said. “Classic.”
Megan giggled. “You’ve been weird since yesterday, Daddy.”
“I have not been weird.”
“You burned the burgers.” Fitz grinned.
“They’re not burned, they’re—” I looked down at the burgers. They were definitely burned. “Charred. It’s a style.”
Nathan was trying not to laugh. Hayden wasn’t even trying—he was full-on grinning. Fitz looked as if Christmas had come early. Quinton was recording this on his phone.
“Are you seriously filming this?” I asked.
“For posterity,” Quinton said. “This is a historic moment. Gabriel Lyon, burning burgers. Being weird. It’s like seeing Bigfoot.”
“Delete that.”
“Not a chance.”
“So,” Fitz said slowly, “what happened yesterday?”
“Nothing happened yesterday.”
“Dad answered the door in a towel,” Megan announced cheerfully.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then Fitz started laughing. Not a chuckle. A full, gasping, doubled-over laugh that made him spill beer on my deck.
Quinton dropped his phone.
“Oh my God,” Nathan said. “Did she see you?”
“She came to check on Megan,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’d just gotten out of the shower. It was a coincidence.”
“A coincidence,” Hayden repeated, still grinning. “Sure.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Quinton said, retrieving his phone and immediately starting to type. “I need to document this properly. Gabriel. Towel. Nanny. This is gold.”
“It’s not gold,” I said. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s definitely something,” Fitz said, wiping tears from his eyes. “What did she do?”
I thought about Cate’s face. The way her eyes had gone wide. The stammering. The “towel situation” comment that had been echoing in my head for twenty-four hours.
“She left,” I said.
“She left,” Fitz repeated. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“After seeing you in a towel.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not thinking about it at all.”
I grabbed a beer from Fitz’s six-pack and cracked it open. “I’m going to need you all to leave now.”
“From a psychological standpoint,” Julien said, setting down his wineglass with the gravity of someone about to deliver a TED talk, “the fact that you’re this defensive suggests you are thinking about it. Extensively.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” I deadpanned.
“I’m just saying. Defensiveness is a classic indicator of—”
“Of Gabriel having a crush on the hot nanny,” Quinton finished, grinning. “Which, for the record, I’m fully supportive of. When’s the wedding? Can I be the best man? I’ll bring the foam finger.”
“There’s no wedding,” I said. “There’s no crush. There’s just a nanny who showed up at an inconvenient time.”
“In a towel,” Fitz added helpfully.
“I was in the towel. She was fully clothed.”
“Even better,” Quinton said. “That’s like... reverse power dynamics. Very modern.”
“It’s not modern. It’s not anything. It was an accident.”
“An accident that you’re definitely not thinking about,” Nathan said, still grinning.
“Not a chance,” Fitz said. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to you in years.”
“I have a very interesting life.”
“You have a very boring life,” Fitz corrected. “This nanny is the best thing that’s happened to you since—”
“Don’t,” I warned.
He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. Unconventional might be exactly what you need.”
I took a long drink and stared at the burned burgers.