Chapter Sixteen
Cate
He knew.
I didn’t know how he knew, or what he knew, but Gabriel Lyon definitely knew something had happened in Boston.
Because surgeons didn’t just spontaneously acquire carnival tickets.
They didn’t come home early on a Monday afternoon with a carefully controlled expression and announce family outings as if they were prescribing medication. And they definitely didn’t invite the nanny along unless there was an ulterior motive.
Okay, Cate, think. What does he know?
Did Fitz tell him? Quinton? Did they mention running into me at the game? Did they mention Tracy?
Oh God, did they mention Tracy?
I spent the next few days spiraling.
Tuesday: Managed to avoid direct eye contact with Gabriel for approximately seventeen hours. New personal record.
Wednesday: Made Megan’s lunch with the precision of a bomb defusal expert. No mistakes. No reason for Gabriel to ask if I was “alright.”
Thursday: Caught Gabriel looking at me with that expression again. The one that made me feel like he could see directly into my brain and was cataloging all my neuroses for future reference.
Friday: Gave up on avoiding eye contact. Accepted my fate. Decided that if he was going to fire me for being a disaster, he’d have done it by Monday.
And now it was Saturday.
One o’clock.
Carnival day.
I’d changed outfits four times.
Too casual. Too formal. Too “I’m trying to impress my boss.” Too “I’ve given up on life.”
I finally settled on jeans and a light sweater—the kind of outfit that said, “I’m a responsible nanny who definitely isn’t having a mental breakdown about spending recreational time with her impossibly attractive employer.”
Nailed it!
“Cate! Cate, are you ready?” Megan burst into my bedroom without knocking, because boundaries were a suggestion in my parents’ house.
She was wearing a sundress with butterflies on it and had already managed to get a stain on the front.
“How did you—” I gestured at the stain. “We haven’t even left yet.”
“Juice box,” she said cheerfully, as if that explained everything.
It kind of did.
“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“No time! Dad says we’re leaving in five minutes!”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me down the stairs with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for Christmas morning or the last day of school.
Gabriel was waiting in the foyer, talking with my parents.
Oh, the HORROR!
Wait a minute. He’s wearing—Oh. My. GOD!
Upon seeing me, he smiled. Wearing jeans and a dark henley that should have been illegal in several states, his hair was slightly less controlled than usual, like he’d actually run his fingers through it instead of using whatever surgical-grade product he normally employed.
He looked... approachable.
Delectable.
Yummy!
Which was somehow more terrifying than his usual intimidating surgeon persona.
“Ready?” he asked, his eyes meeting mine.
No. Absolutely not. I’m never ready for anything.
“Yep!” I said with way too much enthusiasm. “Ready to help corral this one.” I gestured at Megan, who was already bouncing toward the door.
“You guys have fun,” my mom cooed, grinning from ear to ear.
Gabriel’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “I appreciate the assistance.”
Right. Assistance. Professional nanny assistance at a carnival.
Totally normal.
Nothing weird about this at all.
The carnival was exactly what you’d expect: a chaotic explosion of colors, sounds, and questionable food safety standards.
Megan lost her mind immediately.
“Can we go on the Tilt-A-Whirl? Can we play ring toss? Can we get cotton candy? Can we—”
“One thing at a time,” Gabriel said, his hand settling on her shoulder. “What do you want to do first?”
“EVERYTHING!”
I laughed despite myself. “That’s a solid strategy. Very focused.”
Gabriel glanced at me, and there was something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or relief that I was laughing at all.
He definitely knows something happened.
“How about we start with games?” he suggested. “Work our way up to the rides.”
“YES!” Megan grabbed both our hands—mine and Gabriel’s—and started dragging us toward the game booths.
And suddenly I was very aware that we looked like a family.
A dad, a mom, and their kid, holding hands and walking through a carnival.
Except I wasn’t the mom. I was the nanny. The employee. The person who was definitely not supposed to be having feelings about holding hands in a weird three-person chain while walking past the funnel cake stand.
I internally groaned.
God, I really want a funnel cake.
Get it together, Cate.
The first game was ring toss.
Megan was terrible at it. Enthusiastic, but terrible.
“You have to aim!” I said, demonstrating with my hands. “Like this—arc it, don’t just throw it straight.”
“Like this?” She launched a ring with the force of a major league pitcher as it sailed over the bottles, over the booth, and nearly took out a teenager holding a corndog.
“Maybe... less power,” Gabriel said diplomatically.
I tried next. My ring bounced off a bottle and landed in the dirt.
“Okay, so maybe I’m not the best teacher,” I admitted.
“May I?” Gabriel stepped up, his arm brushing mine as he moved into position.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
He was close. Too close. Close enough that I could smell whatever cologne he was wearing, something clean and expensive that probably cost more than my freshman year at culinary school.
He picked up a ring, his movements precise and controlled, and tossed it.
It landed perfectly around a bottle.
Of course it did.
“Show-off,” I muttered.
His mouth twitched again. “It’s about trajectory. Angle and velocity.”
“Right, because that’s what everyone thinks about at a carnival. Physics.”
“You don’t?”
“I think about funnel cake.”
Megan giggled. “Cate always thinks about food.”
“It’s called having priorities,” I said defensively.
Gabriel won Megan a stuffed elephant. She named it Dr. Trunk and declared it her new best friend.
We moved to the next game... balloon darts.
I was slightly better at this one. Slightly.
“You’re aiming too high,” Gabriel said, suddenly right behind me.
Jesus Christ, does this man understand personal space?
“I’m aiming exactly where I want to aim,” I said, my voice coming out higher than intended.
“You’re compensating for a drop that doesn’t exist. The darts are lighter than you think.”
“Are you seriously mansplaining carnival games right now?”
“I’m providing constructive feedback.”
“You’re being a know-it-all.”
Megan was watching us with barely concealed delight, like we were the entertainment.
I threw the dart. It hit a balloon.
“See?” I said triumphantly. “Perfect aim.”
“You got lucky.”
“I got skilled.”
“That’s not a word.”
“It is now.”
He was smiling. Actually smiling. Not the controlled, professional expression he usually wore, but a real smile that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners.
Oh no.
Oh no, that’s worse.
That’s so much worse.
I won Megan a small stuffed bear. She named it Dr. Bear and declared it Dr. Trunk’s best friend.
“They’re going to have adventures,” she announced seriously.
“What kind of adventures?” Gabriel asked.
“Medical adventures. Dr. Trunk is a surgeon and Dr. Bear is a... a...”
“Pediatrician,” I supplied.
“Yes! That!”
Gabriel looked at me. “Of course you’d make the bear a pediatrician.”
“Someone has to take care of the kids while Dr. Trunk is busy being intimidating in the OR.”
His expression shifted. Something I couldn’t quite read. “Is that what you think I do? Intimidate people?”
Abort. Abort. You’ve said too much.
“I think you’re very good at your job,” I said carefully. “And sometimes being good at your job means being... authoritative.”
“Intimidating.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied you were competent.”
“That’s not what you said.”
Megan tugged on my hand. “Can we go on rides now? Please?”
Thank God for children with short attention spans.
The Ferris wheel was Megan’s first choice.
“It goes so high!” she said, bouncing on her toes as we waited in line. “You can see everything!”
I looked up at the wheel, slowly rotating against the sky.
It’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s just a Ferris wheel. People go on Ferris wheels all the time without dying.
“Are you alright?” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, meant only for me.
“Yep! Great! Love Ferris wheels!”
“You look pale.”
“That’s just my face.”
“Cate.”
I sighed. “I’m not great with heights. But it’s fine. Megan wants to go, so we’re going.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m going.”
His expression shifted again, that same unreadable look from earlier. “Alright.”
We got into the carriage—me, Megan, and Gabriel. Megan immediately plastered herself against the window, pointing at everything below as we started to rise.
I gripped the safety bar with both hands.
It’s fine. Totally fine. Just don’t look down.
I looked down.
Why did I look down?
“Cate.” Gabriel’s hand covered mine on the safety bar. “Look at me.”
I looked at him.
Big mistake.
Because looking at him meant seeing the concern in his eyes, the way he was watching me like I was a patient he was monitoring, the way his hand was warm and solid over mine.
“Breathe,” he said quietly.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re holding your breath.”
Oh.
I exhaled shakily.
“There you go,” he said. “Just keep breathing. Focus on me, not the height.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Why not?”
Because you’re you and I’m me and your hand is on mine, and we’re in an enclosed space and I can’t think straight when you look at me like that.
“Just... isn’t,” I managed.
Megan was oblivious, still pointing at things and chattering about how small everything looked.
Gabriel’s thumb moved slightly against my hand—a small, probably unconscious gesture that made my entire nervous system short-circuit.
“You’re doing fine,” he said.
“I’m having a panic attack on a Ferris wheel.”
“A mild anxiety response. Not a panic attack.”
“Oh, well, that’s so much better.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re talking. That’s a good sign.”