Page 116 of The Nanny Goal

“Papa,” she whispers happily.

“I’m home,” I say, rubbing her back as I blink my eyes open. “What time is it?”

Emery has slid over in the bed, but she didn’t bolt, so that’s a good sign. “Just after six.”

I groan. “I got in at two.”

“She must have sensed your presence. Think she might go back to sleep with you?”

I nod sleepily.

“Okay. Send her out to me if she doesn’t let you rest. And I’ll come check on her after my workout.”

Wait, I want to say.Come back and cuddle with us. But my eyes are already sliding shut again, fatigue and exhaustion pulling me back under.

* * *

When I wake up again, it’s half-past nine.

Inessa is no longer asleep next to me. I find her downstairs in the kitchen. My mom and Inessa are working at the table, and Emery has an assembly line of food on the island.

“What’s all this?”

Emery looks up from where she’s piping something white onto what looks like a rectangular piece of Russian black bread. “We’re recipe testing sandwiches for Ani Hale’s baby shower.”

“Delicious breakfast,” my mother says, then giggles.

“Hi, Mama,” I say, crossing to drop a kiss on the top of her head. She looks so much better than when I left last week. Her cheeks have more colour in them, and her eyes are brighter. “You look like you have lots of energy today.”

“I do. It's all of Emery's excellent cooking,” she says in Russian. “Oh, exciting news. I taught her to make borscht. And it’s even better than mine.”

“Did you?” I groan and pat my stomach, then switch back to English. “Tell me there’s leftover borscht, Emery.”

She laughs. “In the fridge.”

While the soup heats up, I ask about everything laid out on the island.

“Fresh pickles for sandwich toppers.” Emery points one by one. “Shallots, radishes, tiny cauliflower florets. Do you want to try some?”

“If you’re making it, I’m eating it.”

“The black bread is an unexpected base for fresh cream cheese with chives and garlic.” She grabs a long pair of tweezers and carefully layers on three pickled radishes on top of the cheese before finishing it with a garnish of pea sprouts.

I open my mouth as she lifts the sandwich and holds it for me to take a first bite. Flavours explode in my mouth, fresh and tangy and sweet all together.

I groan and lunge forward, taking the rest of the finger sandwich before kissing the tip of her finger.

She laughs, a delighted peel that goes straight to my chest.

I swallow and gesture for more. “Yes. Make me another one.”

The next one is ham and mustard.

I’m already in love and I haven’t tried it yet. I lean in as she prepares it. “And how did you make ham and mustard fancy?”

“Well, the mustard has some honey in it. Just a little sweetness. And underneath that is a smoked butter.”

“Smoked…” I blink. “Did you make your own butter?”

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