Chapter Sixteen #2
“I always talk when I’m nervous. It’s a problem.”
“It’s not a problem.”
“My mom says I could talk the ears off a cornstalk.”
“That’s not a saying.”
“It is in my family.”
We reached the top. The carriage swayed slightly.
I made a sound that was definitely not dignified.
Gabriel’s hand tightened over mine. “I’ve got you.”
Oh God, why did he have to say it like that?
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
We stayed like that, his hand over mine, my heart doing acrobatics that had nothing to do with the height, until the ride started its descent.
Megan turned around, finally noticing our hand situation.
Her eyes went wide. Then she smiled.
Oh no. She’s getting ideas.
“Are you guys holding hands?” she asked innocently.
“Cate doesn’t like heights,” Gabriel said smoothly, removing his hand. “I was providing reassurance.”
“Oh.” Megan looked disappointed. “That’s nice of you, Dad.”
“I try.”
I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t process what had just happened. Couldn’t think about the fact that his hand had been on mine and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Professional boundaries, Cate. Remember those?
After the Ferris wheel, we did bumper cars.
Megan drove like a tiny maniac, ramming into everything with gleeful abandon.
I drove defensively, trying not to hit anyone.
Gabriel drove like he were performing surgery—precise, controlled, strategic.
And then he rammed directly into my car.
“Hey!” I yelped.
He smiled. Actually smiled. “You left yourself open.”
“This isn’t a competition!”
“Everything’s a competition.”
He rammed me again.
“Oh, you’re going down, Dr. Lyon.”
I spent the next three minutes chasing him around the arena, trying to get revenge, while Megan laughed hysterically and crashed into both of us repeatedly. It was chaotic and ridiculous, and I was laughing so hard I could barely steer.
When the ride ended, I was breathless and grinning.
Gabriel was watching me with that expression again.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “You’re just... different when you laugh.”
What does that mean? What does that MEAN?
“Different good or different bad?”
“Different good.”
Oh.
Oh no.
We got food next, because I’d been eyeing the funnel cake stand for the past hour and was approximately thirty seconds away from abandoning all dignity and just buying one myself.
“Can we get cotton candy?” Megan asked.
“After you eat something with nutritional value,” Gabriel said.
“Funnel cake has nutritional value,” I said.
He looked at me. “It’s fried dough covered in powdered sugar.”
“Exactly. Carbs and dairy. Very balanced.”
“That’s not how nutrition works.”
“You’re a pediatric surgeon, not a nutritionist.”
“I’m a doctor. I understand basic dietary principles.”
“And I’m someone who understands that life is short and funnel cake is delicious.”
Megan giggled. “Can we get both? Cotton candy AND funnel cake?”
Gabriel sighed. “Fine. But you’re eating actual dinner when we get home.”
“Deal!”
We got funnel cake (for me and Megan), a corndog (for Gabriel, because apparently, he was a corndog person, which was somehow both surprising and perfect), and cotton candy (also for Megan, because the kid had negotiation skills).
We sat at a picnic table, and I watched Megan systematically destroy her cotton candy while getting it everywhere—her face, her hands, her dress, possibly her hair.
“You’re a mess,” I said affectionately.
“You have powdered sugar on your nose,” she countered.
“What?” I reached up, trying to wipe it off.
“Other side,” Gabriel said.
I tried again. “Gone?”
“No.” He reached over, his thumb brushing against my nose, wiping away the sugar.
Time stopped.
His thumb was on my nose. His eyes were on mine. We were sitting at a carnival picnic table, and he was touching my face, and I couldn’t breathe.
“There,” he said quietly. “Got it.”
“Thanks,” I managed.
Megan was watching us again, that same delighted expression on her face.
She’s definitely getting ideas.
I’m definitely getting ideas.
This is bad.
We did more rides—the swings, the carousel, some spinning thing that made Megan shriek with laughter and made me question my life choices.
Gabriel stayed close the entire time.
Not hovering, exactly. Just... present.
When I stumbled getting off the spinning ride, his hand was immediately on my elbow, steadying me.
When Megan wanted to go on the carousel, he stood next to my horse, his hand resting on the pole, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
When we walked through the crowd, his hand occasionally touched my lower back, guiding me, making sure I didn’t get separated.
Small touches. Casual touches.
Touches that felt anything but casual.
This isn’t professional. This isn’t boss-and-employee. This is something else.
And the terrifying part?
I didn’t want it to stop.
The sun was setting when we finally headed toward the exit.
Megan was exhausted, clutching Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear, her face still sticky with cotton candy residue.
“That was the best day ever,” she announced, yawning.
“I’m glad you had fun,” Gabriel said, lifting her up. She immediately rested her head on his shoulder.
I watched them—this tall, intimidating surgeon carrying his tiny daughter, her arms wrapped around his neck, completely trusting.
Something in my chest tightened.
This is what I want. This is what Tracy has. Success and purpose and a place where she belongs.
And I’m here. Playing nanny. Pretending this is enough.
“Cate?”
I looked up. Gabriel was watching me, Megan half-asleep against him.
“Are you alright?”
No. Yes. I don’t know.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Just tired.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Thank you for coming today.”
“You’re thanking me? You bought the tickets. You invited me. I should be thanking you.”
“You made it better,” he said simply. “Megan had more fun because you were here.”
Just Megan?
I didn’t ask. Couldn’t ask.
“She’s a great kid,” I said instead. “Easy to have fun with.”
We walked to the car in comfortable silence. Gabriel buckled Megan into her car seat—she was already asleep, Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear clutched in her arms.
I got into the passenger seat, my body pleasantly exhausted, my mind still spinning.
He knows something happened in Boston. He brought me here to cheer me up. He held my hand on the Ferris wheel. He wiped powdered sugar off my nose. He touched my back, my elbow, and stayed close all day.
What does it mean?
What does any of it mean?
Gabriel got into the driver’s seat, starting the engine.
“Cate,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
“I’m glad you came today,” he said. “I know this week was difficult. I wanted you to know that... you’re valued. Here. By Megan. By...”
He trailed off.
By whom? By you?
“Thank you,” I said softly. “Today was... I needed this. I didn’t know I needed it, but I did.”
He nodded, his eyes holding mine for a moment longer than necessary.
Then he put the car in drive, and we headed home.
I stared out the window, watching the carnival lights fade behind us, and realized something terrifying.
I was happy.
For the first time since Boston, since Tracy, since everything fell apart, I was genuinely, completely happy.
And it had nothing to do with cooking or restaurants or culinary dreams.
It had everything to do with the man sitting next to me and the little girl asleep in the backseat.
When we pulled into the driveway, Megan was still completely out.
Gabriel turned off the engine and glanced back at her. “She’s not waking up anytime soon.”
“Sugar crash,” I said. “Cotton candy coma is a real medical condition.”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t think that’s in any textbook.”
“It should be. I could write a paper. ‘The Effects of Carnival Food on Pediatric Sleep Patterns.’ Very scientific.”
“I’m sure it would be peer-reviewed immediately.”
I watched as he got out and opened the back door, carefully unbuckling Megan from her car seat. She didn’t even stir—just made a small sound and nestled further into his shoulder, Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear clutched against her chest.
He carried her toward the house with the kind of practiced ease that made my chest do that stupid tightening thing again.
Stop it. Stop having feelings about your boss carrying his daughter. That’s literally his job as a parent.
I followed them inside, closing the door quietly behind us.
Gabriel headed straight for the stairs, and I trailed after him, not sure if I was supposed to or if I was just... following. Like a weird, anxious shadow.
Should I say goodnight now? Should I go to my room? Should I—
He glanced back at me. “Can you grab her pajamas? Top drawer.”
Oh. Right. He wanted help.
Professional help. Nanny help. Not weird-feelings help.
“Sure,” I said, probably too enthusiastically.
We reached Megan’s room—a explosion of pink and purple that somehow managed to be both chaotic and cozy. Gabriel laid her gently on the bed, and she immediately curled onto her side, still clutching her stuffed animals.
I opened her dresser and found pajamas covered in stars and moons. Perfect.
Gabriel was already carefully extracting Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear from her grip, setting them aside on the nightstand.
“I’ll get a washcloth,” I whispered, heading to her bathroom.
When I came back with a damp cloth, Gabriel had managed to get her shoes off without waking her.
How does he do that? Is that a surgeon thing? Steady hands?
I kneeled beside the bed and gently wiped the cotton candy residue from her face—pink sugar that had somehow migrated from her mouth to her cheeks to what appeared to be her left ear.
“She’s a disaster,” I murmured.
“She had fun,” Gabriel said quietly, working on her hands, carefully cleaning each sticky finger.
There was something about this moment—the two of us working together in the dim light of Megan’s room, the quiet intimacy of caring for this sleeping child—that felt significant.
Like we were a team.
Like this was normal.
Like we did this every night.
Stop it, Cate. This is literally your job. You’re the nanny. This is what nannies do.
Except it didn’t feel like a job.
It felt like something else entirely.
Gabriel finished with her hands and looked at me. “Pajamas?”
Right. Focus.
We worked together—him supporting her while I carefully pulled off her stained dress and maneuvered her arms into the pajama top. She made a small sound of protest but didn’t wake, just mumbled something that sounded like “more cotton candy.”
“No more cotton candy,” Gabriel said softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’ve had enough sugar to last a month.”
I got her pajama pants on while he held her steady, and then we gently laid her back down.
He pulled the covers up, tucking them around her with a precision that was somehow both clinical and tender.
Then he picked up Dr. Trunk and Dr. Bear, arranging them carefully on either side of her pillow.
“So they can protect her,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.
Oh my God, why is that so sweet? Why is everything he does making my heart do acrobatics?
He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead, his hand smoothing her hair back.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered.
I had to look away.
Had to focus on literally anything else because watching Gabriel Lyon—intimidating, controlled, professional surgeon Gabriel Lyon—being soft with his daughter was doing things to my emotional stability.
Things that were definitely not professional.
Things that were definitely not appropriate.
Things that were definitely going to get me into trouble.
He straightened, glancing at me. “Ready?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We left the room together, and Gabriel gently closed the door behind us, leaving it open just a crack, enough to hear her if she woke up.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow from downstairs.
We stood there, close together in the quiet, and suddenly I was very aware of how small the space felt.
How close he was.
How I could smell his cologne again, that clean, expensive scent that had been driving me crazy all day.
Say something. Thank him. Say goodnight. Go home.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For today. For the carnival. For... everything. It was really—”
“Cate.”
I looked up at him. He was watching me with that expression again—the one I couldn’t read, the one that made my heart race and my brain short-circuit. And then he reached out. His hand came up slowly, deliberately, giving me time to step back if I wanted to.
I didn’t step back.
I couldn’t move.
His palm cupped my face, warm and solid, his thumb brushing against my cheek in a gesture so gentle it made my breath catch.
Oh my God. Oh my God, what is happening?
His eyes held mine, dark and intense in the dim light.
And then he said one word.
Just one.
“Stay.”
My brain exploded.
Not metaphorically. Actually exploded, into a million tiny pieces that were now floating somewhere in the vicinity of Megan’s bedroom door.
Stay? Stay WHERE? Stay in the hallway? Stay in the house? Stay... with him? Oh my God, is he asking what I think he’s asking? No. No, he can’t be. That’s insane. He’s my boss. I’m the nanny. This is—but his hand is on my face. And he’s looking at me like—like—oh God.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
No words came out.
Literally none.
My entire vocabulary had apparently evacuated the premises, leaving me standing there like a malfunctioning robot whose only setting was “PANIC.”
Say something. Anything. Ask him what he means. Clarify. Use your words, Cate.
“I—” I managed. “You—”
Nailed it.
Very articulate.
Gold star, Cate!
His thumb moved again, a small stroke against my cheek that sent electricity straight down my spine.
“Stay,” he repeated, his voice low and rough in a way I’d never heard before.
And I realized, with the kind of clarity that only comes from complete and total emotional catastrophe, that Gabriel Lyon—my boss, Megan’s father, the most controlled and professional man I’d ever met—was asking me to stay.
With him.
Tonight.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
This was not in the nanny handbook.
This was not part of the job description.
This was—this was everything I wanted and everything I shouldn’t want, and—Oh my God, I’m going to pass out.
“I—” I tried again, my voice barely a whisper. “Gabriel, I—”