Chapter 4 #2
“I know, I know. We talked about this.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its edge. “I’m just saying be careful, Junebug. Remember what I said before.”
“Senator Brandt isn’t like that.”
“You don’t know what she’s like. You’ve known her a week.”
He wasn’t wrong. That was the frustrating thing—he wasn’t wrong, and June couldn’t argue with him, because she didn’t know Melissa Brandt at all.
She knew that Senator Brandt took her coffee black and worked late into the night and left impersonal notes instead of saying goodbye in person.
She knew Senator Brandt always wore silk blouses and tailored trousers, that her bookshelves held policy briefs instead of novels, that she moved through her own house like a guest who wasn’t sure she was welcome.
But she didn’t know why. She didn’t know anything about the woman underneath all that polished composure.
“I’ll be careful,” June said. “I promise.”
Gary held her gaze through the screen for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s all I’m asking.”
“We should let you get back to it,” Laura said, her voice warm. “Give that little girl a hug from us. And call more often! I want to hear everything.”
“I’ll try, Mom.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too. Both of you.”
The call ended, and June sat at the kitchen island in the sudden silence, her father’s words still echoing in her head.
I’m just saying be careful, Junebug.
She thought about the way Senator Brandt had looked at her that first day, cool and assessing.
The way she said “Miss Hollis” with careful formality, keeping the distance between them measured and precise—not that June could expect anything else, but it was worse with how Senator Brandt was the same way with her own daughter.
Maybe her father was right. Maybe this was just a job, just a paycheck, just a stepping stone to whatever came next. Maybe she shouldn’t let herself get attached to this quiet little girl or this beautiful, cold house.
But before she could spiral further, Lila appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding the bag of rainbow sprinkles.
“Can we make something with these now?” she asked. “You said we could.”
June smiled despite herself. “Yeah. Let’s see what we can come up with.”
Senator Brandt got home at six-fifteen, fifteen minutes later than her note had promised.
The evening light had softened to gold, slanting through the windows and casting long shadows across the kitchen floor, and through the open window, the smell of someone’s barbecue mixed with the casserole June was pulling out of the oven.
It was just chicken and rice, nothing fancy, but warm and filling.
She’d set the table with the everyday plates, and the sunflowers glowed in the evening light, and for the first time all week, the kitchen looked lived in.
“Something smells good.” Senator Brandt appeared in the doorway, still in her work clothes—a navy blazer over a cream blouse, her hair pinned up in its usual elegant twist. She looked tired, but her expression shifted when she saw the table. “You cooked.”
“I’ve been cooking all week. You just haven’t been home to eat it.”
The words came out sharper than June intended, and she saw the senator’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly.
Nice one. Criticize your boss on her first night home at a reasonable hour.
“I mean—there’s plenty,” June amended. “If you’re hungry. Lila and I were just about to sit down. We were waiting for you.”
Senator Brandt hesitated, and June could see her weighing the options—retreat to her office with a plate, maintain the professional distance she’d been keeping all week, or sit down at her own kitchen table and eat dinner with her daughter and the hired help.
“Lila’s washing her hands,” June added. “She helped me make cookies this afternoon. She’s very precise with measurements.”
“Cookies?”
“Lemon cookies with sprinkles. For dessert. If that’s okay.”
Senator Brandt’s gaze moved to the counter, where the cookies were resting on a plate—slightly lopsided, unevenly frosted, covered in a chaotic explosion of rainbow sprinkles that Lila had applied with increasing enthusiasm.
“She made those?”
“Mostly. I helped with the oven part.”
For a moment, Senator Brandt just stood there, looking at the cookies like she’d never seen baked goods before. Then Lila came into the kitchen, her hands still damp from washing, and stopped short when she saw her mother.
“Mom! You’re home!” She caught herself, smoothed her expression back into something more composed. “I mean. Hi. How was your day?”
“Long.” Senator Brandt crossed to her daughter and bent down to kiss the top of her head—a brief gesture, almost automatic, but genuine. “I see you made cookies.”
“Miss Hollis let me use the mixer. And I got to crack the eggs. I only got shell in the bowl once.”
“That’s very impressive.”
They ate dinner together, the three of them, and it was different from that first awkward night.
Lila was more animated, telling her mother about the grocery store and the pancakes and the cookies, and the senator listened, asked questions, even laughed once, surprised out of her by something Lila said about the shape of one of the cookies looking like a dinosaur with a hat.
“This is delicious,” Senator Brandt said, gesturing to her plate. “The best meal I’ve had in weeks.”
June raised an eyebrow. “You’re a senator. Don’t you go to fancy dinners all the time? Rubber chicken fundraisers, at least?”
“Rubber chicken is exactly right. Overcooked protein and underdressed salads, served lukewarm while someone talks about zoning regulations.” Senator Brandt took another bite. “There’s something different about food someone actually made. In a real kitchen. With actual… care.”
She said the last word like it was unfamiliar, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Senator Brandt asked. “All culinary school?”
“Some of it. But most of it, my grandmother.” June took a sip of her water. “She believed that food was how you showed people you cared about them. I spent a lot of time in her kitchen growing up.”
“Is that why you went to culinary school? Because of her?”
“Partly. I always knew I wanted to cook. The school was just… a way to make it official, I guess. Learn the technical stuff.”
“But the restaurant industry wasn’t the right fit,” Senator Brandt said, apparently remembering what June had said during the interview.
June had been dreading this conversation, the inevitable moment when she’d have to explain why a trained chef was working as a nanny instead of running a restaurant. During the interview, she’d managed to gloss over it, but now, eating dinner, was a different story.
“I loved the cooking,” she said carefully. “The rest of it was… harder.”
“The hours must be grueling,” the senator said.
June nodded. “They are. But it was more… the stress. The attitudes. The… well, the people.”
Senator Brandt nodded, and June braced herself for follow-up questions—the probing, the curiosity, the polite interrogation that most people couldn’t resist. But the senator just took another bite of her casserole and let the subject drop.
The conversation moved on, and June breathed out, her shoulders coming down.
After dinner, Lila insisted on showing her mother the rest of the cookies, explaining in great detail which ones she’d decorated and why the pink ones were superior and how Miss Hollis had let her lick the bowl even though that probably wasn’t hygienic.
Senator Brandt examined each cookie with appropriate seriousness, and when Lila offered her a pink one, she ate it right there in the kitchen, sprinkles and all.
“Delicious,” she declared to a beaming daughter. A single sprinkle stuck to the corner of her mouth that June forced herself to ignore. Then the senator licked her lips and the sprinkle was gone.
June started clearing the dishes, carrying plates to the sink while the senator helped Lila wrap up the remaining cookies for tomorrow.
She turned from the sink to grab the serving dish from the table, and found Senator Brandt standing right there, reaching for the same thing.
Their eyes met.
June had seen Senator Brandt a handful of times over the past week—brief glimpses, mostly, a figure in a blazer disappearing out the front door or footsteps overhead late at night.
But this was different. This was close, barely two feet between them, and Senator Brandt’s grey-blue eyes were unguarded in a way June hadn’t seen before.
Tired, yes, but something else too. Something that looked almost like surprise.
A flicker passed between them. Brief, electric, impossible to name.
June looked away first.
Stop it.
“Sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I…”
“I should get Lila ready for bed.” Senator Brandt’s voice was brisk, professional, the moment already gone. “Thank you for dinner, Miss Hollis.”
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”
Senator Brandt nodded once, then turned and left the kitchen, Lila trailing behind her.
June stood at the sink for a long moment, staring at the dishes, her pulse faster than it should have been.
It’s just a job, she told herself. She’s your boss. She’s a senator. She’s probably straight, and even if she weren’t, she’s so far out of your league it’s not even funny. For God’s sakes, don’t start crushing on her.
It’s just a job.
She turned on the water and started washing the dishes, and tried very hard not to think about the way Senator Brandt’s eyes had looked in the kitchen light.
It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.
She had a summer to get through, a paycheck to earn, a future to figure out. She didn’t have time for whatever that moment had been.
Just a job, she repeated, scrubbing at a plate that was already clean. Nothing more.