Chapter 5
From Cafe Dreams to Nanny Schemes
MILLIE
The rest of the week flies by. The couch delivery went seamlessly, and I couldn’t be more in love with how it looks in the space.
I can already imagine customers enjoying the cozy fabric, a coffee in hand, matching the café’s vibe.
I hope that the forest green sofa adds to the fairytale feel I’m aiming for.
Everything is falling into place so effortlessly that I almost expect something to go wrong—but so far, nothing has. It’s like all the decisions I’ve been stressing over, from the layout to the décor, are coming together beautifully.
According to Lucie, our engagement on social media is up since we gave control of the bathroom design to the followers.
People voted on what they wanted, and the winning combination ended up being a textile black ceiling with white walls and black and white honeycomb flooring—turned out to be a colossal hit.
I was skeptical at first. Seeing it in person, it looks way better than I imagined. It feels stylish, vintage, and yet still warm and inviting. It’s exactly what I envisioned.
Halfway through the week, I splurge and buy the neon sign I’ve been wanting for months that says, “But First, Coffee.” It’s the perfect addition to the café. It’s such a small touch, but it feels like it truly gives the place the perfect ambiance.
At night when the cafe is quiet, the pink glow from the sign spills onto the walls, making the space feel like it’s alive with promise. It’s a little beacon of hope and caffeine all rolled into one.
Everything is going so smoothly, and the soft launch has been a resounding success. We’re not open fully yet, but people are flocking in during the limited hours we are open, and the feedback has been overwhelmingly positive.
Most customers are curious to see what we will be like when we are fully open, but many have already said they’ll be coming back—whether or not we’re officially open.
It’s reassuring, honestly.
The only thing I’m still waiting on is for the contractor to confirm the official opening date. He keeps saying it’ll be “soon,” but I’m hoping for mid to late May. I’m ready to take the next step and officially open the doors.
Sometimes I’ll sit on the couch and imagine the moment. The doors swinging open, and the cafe filled with people laughing and chatting. I almost feel the warmth of all those lives intersecting right here in my little dream.
My brothers came over this week to lend a hand with a few projects, and I honestly can’t express how much of a relief it is to have them here.
They’ve been a huge help, setting up my beautiful menu board and creating the shelving for the syrup wall.
It’s amazing to see everything come together so smoothly with their help.
I really appreciate their time and effort, and it’s made such a difference in getting these projects done.
It’s looking so much more like a café than a construction zone, and it makes my heart so happy.
Every little detail is another step towards the dream I’ve been working to have for years.
The one hardship this week was Gabriel coming in every single morning at nine to order his vanilla black coffee and caramel cappuccino for his mom.
I initially thought it was a coincidence, but now it’s feeling like a routine seeing him every day.
This week though, he has been surprisingly nice.
He is still reserved and quiet, but at least he isn’t rude. He always leaves a twenty on the counter, even after paying for his drinks.
I think he does it just to spite me for our first meeting. Or who knows, maybe he feels guilty for being a total prick. It’s hard to figure him out.
One morning, when Gabriel doesn’t show up at his normal time, a tiny part of relief flickers in my chest. Maybe today I’m off the hook.
I try to convince myself it’s a good thing.
I’ll have less pressure and time to breathe.
But of course, a few hours later, the door swings open.
Gabriel strides in pushing a pram. His usual calm demeanor firmly in place.
With him is who I can only assume is his mother.
“Bumper,” he greets me casually, like we’re old friends. Like everything between us is perfectly fine. I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. His presence unsettles me in a way I can’t explain.
His mother gasps dramatically, casting a sharp glance his way. “Gabriel Luca Sirolli, if this is how I taught you to treat a woman, then I guess I know why Haley left you.”
He rolls his eyes, muttering, “Sorry, Mamma,” in that same deadpan tone that somehow makes the moment both tense and oddly familiar.
She laughs softly and gives him a playful slap on the cheek before turning her warm smile to me. There’s something comforting about her. Even if she’s clearly got a bit of fire to her.
Gabriel turns to me next, and suddenly my breath catches. He smiles, a real smile that lights up his whole face. I’m momentarily frozen. How is it possible for someone to look so stunning and vulnerable all at once?
“Well, introduce me to this beautiful young lady, Gabriel,” she prompts, nudging him with a swat on the chest.
He groans and rolls his eyes again, clearly annoyed. “Mamma, this is Bump-Millie Feely. Owner of this beautiful establishment.” The stumble over my nickname is clearly accidental, and I catch the faintest flush on his cheeks. Cute.
I smile, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss. How can I help you today? We just installed our brand new menu board, but if you need help deciding what to order, I’m happy to assist,”
“She’ll have a—” Gabriel starts, but his mother interrupts with a bright smile.
“Oh, I would love any recommendations you have, dear. We’re just waiting to meet with a potential nanny for the baby. No rush.” She giggles, glancing at her son. “My son will probably order his usual boring drink.”
I laughed, feeling an unexpected lightness around her.
There was something about her—this gentle warmth and openness—that made me want to know more.
It struck me as odd, though. How could someone so sweet and loving have a son who was so grumpy and closed off?
I watched the boy, Gabriel, with a curious mix of sympathy and intrigue.
He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, and yet, there was an intensity in his eyes that spoke volumes.
Could I be crazy for even thinking about offering to nanny for them? The idea bubbled up in my mind, a reckless notion wrapped in hope. But then, wasn’t that exactly the kind of chance I needed? Still, what if they laughed me off? What if I wasn’t enough? My heart hammered in my chest.
“Okay, so one vanilla black coffee… and how about a cinnamon dolce? Does that sound appealing to you?” I asked hesitantly, trying to gauge their reactions.
“Oh! That sounds divine, Dolce Bambino!” the woman exclaimed, her voice bright and full of excitement. I loved how she called her son ‘Dolce Bambino’—sweet baby. It was such a stark contrast to the tough exterior he wore.
As I turned to prepare their drinks, I caught Gabriel gently lifting the baby when she started fussing, his touch careful and tender despite the grim set of his jaw.
My chest tightened. How did he manage to keep such a cool exterior while clearly caring so much underneath?
My ovaries definitely protested at the sight.
When I returned with their drinks, I placed the cups gently on the table. “Here you go! I hope you enjoy your drinks. If there’s anything else you need, just ask.” I smiled, keeping my composure despite the fluttering in my stomach.
They waited, the minutes stretching endlessly. Finally, the door swung open, and a girl strolled in who looked younger than Lucie—barely out of high school, judging by her scant crop top and shorts that screamed “inexperienced.” My heart sank a little. This wasn’t looking good.
She recognized them immediately and slid into the seat without hesitation. For a moment, the conversation was polite, but I could see the tension under the surface. Gabriel’s mother was warm but cautious. Gabriel himself? A brick wall.
“So, what are your credentials?” Gabriel’s voice cut sharply across the room, calm but loaded with skepticism.
The girl rolled her eyes, bored. “Oh, ya know. I just need a job for the summer, and this seemed easy enough. I mean, it’s a baby, so it doesn’t do much.”
I watched Gabriel stiffen. I saw his jaw clench, his fists tightening on the table. He’s trying to stay calm, but I could feel the frustration simmering just below.
“Infants require more attention than you seem to realize,” his mother said, her voice gentle but firm. “We will reach out once we meet with the other applicants.”
The girl stood and left without a backward glance, clearly unfazed by the rejection.
Gabriel muttered under his breath, “That went terribly.”
My gaze flicked between them, then back to the counter. My heart raced—should I just keep quiet? But something stirred inside me.
I’m about to head back to the counter when, suddenly, I find myself walking over to their table, pulling out a chair as I place a plate of brownies on the table.
“Even though we’ve only just met, I’d be happy to look after your daughter while you’re at work. I’m free, and I have experience.”
My voice is steady—miraculously—but my heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure the baby can hear it.
Gabriel’s eyes lift to mine, sharp and assessing. His expression shifts rapidly from surprise to something colder. His brows draw together as he leans back, arms crossing tightly over his chest.
“Are you out of your mind?” he says flatly.
His tone isn’t just skeptical—it’s borderline incredulous. “Are you seriously suggesting that I let you, a woman I’ve known for less than a week, babysit my daughter?”
I feel the heat crawl up my neck, but I hold my ground. “Yes,” I say. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t confident.”
He snorts softly, shaking his head. “You think confidence qualifies you to take care of an infant?”
“Gabriel,” his mother starts, but he cuts her off with a single raised hand.
“No, no, if she wants to play nanny, let’s treat this like a real interview.” He turns to me, his gaze razor sharp. “How many years of childcare experience do you have?”
“Four,” I answer, sitting up straighter. “Two as a live-in nanny during college, and two more as a weekend babysitter for a family with three kids under six.”
He nods once, but his eyes remain hard. “CPR certified?”
“Yes.”
“First aid training?”
“Yes. Renewed last November.”
“References?”
“I have three, all local. I can text them to you.”
He squints slightly. “Ever cared for an infant under six months?”
I hesitate—only for a second—but he catches it. “Not full-time. But I’ve shadowed a NICU nurse during a college internship. And I helped care for a newborn while babysitting full-time during a postpartum recovery.”
Gabriel doesn’t respond immediately. He’s staring, eyes narrowed, as if trying to see through me.
“Why?” he finally asks. “Why would you even offer? You have a business to run. You don’t even know us.”
I pause, because this question matters more than any of the others. He’s not asking out of suspicion now—he’s asking out of something deeper. Fear, maybe. Hurt.
“I guess,” I say slowly, “because I see how much you love her. Because you care enough to ask the right questions when other people don’t. And because… sometimes, when something feels right, you say yes and figure out the details later.”
His mother lets out a soft, “Aww,” but Gabriel keeps staring.
He doesn’t trust me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But there’s something shifting behind his eyes.
“And what if something happens while I’m not there?” he asks, voice quieter now.
“Then I do everything in my power to make sure your daughter is safe, cared for, and happy. And I call you the second something doesn’t feel right.”
Another silence stretches between us.
His mother places a hand over his. “Let her help you, Gabriel.”
He sighs through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Then, reluctantly, he reaches for a napkin and a pen from his coat pocket. His writing is quick and tense, but legible.
“Text me tonight,” he says, handing it to me. “We’ll try it. One day. You show up on time, and if you screw it up, you’re done.”
My heart leaps, but I keep my tone even. “Deal.”
He stands abruptly, scooping up baby Aura, who’s beginning to stir.
And then, of course, he grabs the entire plate of brownies without so much as a glance.
Wait. Did he just… take that plate? Did I really just agree to nanny for the new grump in town? What did I just do?
I stand there momentarily stunned before walking behind the counter to grab my phone to text the girls in the group chat.
Me
911, I just did something and I need advice.
Harlow
Spill all the deets, girl!
Mel
Meet in 15 at Beanstalk?
Me
I’ll be waiting.
Harlow
OMW!
Harlow and Melanie arrive shortly after. They grab a table and wait for me to join them, ready to dive into the drama.
“So, what’s going on?” Harlow questions, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
I debate where to begin and decide to start from the beginning.
I start at the beginning, explaining the whole interaction with Gabriel and his mom, how his mom is so sweet and affectionate, how Gabriel has been confusingly nice recently, and how, somehow, I ended up offering to nanny his baby.
“Wow, babes, that’s a lot,” Harlow says, her smirk teasing.
“Oh, don’t even start with that look,” I warn, pointing at her accusingly.
Melanie’s expression is serious. “Millie, I hate to be the voice of reason, but when are you going to sleep? You work all day here, and then you’re going to nanny at night. I don’t want you to get burned out.”
I hadn’t thought about the exhaustion. I’m so used to being on the go 24/7 that I didn’t stop to think about how this new job could affect me, But I guess it’s going to be something I’ll figure out soon.
“Well,” I reply with a half-smile, “What’s a few feedings here and there, right?”
Sometimes the biggest risks we take don’t just change our lives. They change who we think we are. This could be a good thing if I let it.
1. Dolce Bambino- sweet child
2. Amore Mio- my love
3. Mio Figlio- My son