Page 150 of The Nanny Goal

“Welcome to our pop-up,” she says professionally, setting a plate of bread between us, and a separate plate with two egg-shaped rounds of butter. “Each course today has been worked on by yours truly and my colleagues. Do either of you have any food allergies we should know about?”

“We do not,” Russ says.

“You look great,” I murmur.I missed you. Sit on my lap. Feed me bread and butter and never leave my side again.

Except that’s not how life works, and Russ doesn’t need to see the rest.

She winks at me.

She knows.

We’ve talked every day, and she’ll come back to my hotel tonight.

“The butters today are ancho chili, nice and smoky, with a hit of flaky sea salt, and honey thyme, which is sweet and fresh. I need to work on a later course, so one of the other chefs will serve you the starter course. Do you have any questions?”

Is it too soon to ask you to marry me?I shake my head. “Not yet.”

She points to the open kitchen, where people are working. “I’ll just be in there.”

We watch her set up at a station. Another chef comes over, who looks like the instructor, and they discuss something that is lost under the productive hum of diners and service.

Russ glances around. “How often do they do this?”

“Twice a week.” I tell him what I read on the school’s website.

He grins. “Does she talk your ear off about this stuff?”

I shake my head. “No. I read about it myself.”

He gives me a surprised nod of approval. “Nice.”

I don’t want to talk out of turn about Emery’s secrets, when Rusty is a family friend, but at the same time, I see an opening here to learn more about her early years. “She seems like the only foodie in her family.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where that came from. Maybe college. Until we reconnected at Camden’s wedding last summer, I hadn’t seen her in years. She’s really grown into her own.”

“Did you ever see her play hockey?”

He whistles. “Oh yeah. She was like lightning.”

“I know.”

Concern darkens his expression. “You can’t push her?—”

I hold up my hand. “No, don’t worry. I don’t want to push at all. I just want her to be happy.” I look back at where she’s working in the kitchen. “This is a different kind of spectacular display.”

He laughs. “You really are in love if you think that when all we’ve seen is bread and butter.”

Except I’m not wrong, and it doesn’t take long to prove that.

The first course is nice, some mushroom dish that wakes up our palette, apparently. But it’s not Emery telling me about it, so I’m impatient.

She brings out the second course, though, and she’s a complete pro.

“This is pan-seared black cod,” she says, her voice steady and practiced. She pulls a note card from her pocket as she tells us about the presentation. “We marinate it first in blood orange and fennel, then sear it off to give it a really nice, crisp skin. It’s served with charred scallions and a finger lime vinaigrette that brings a nice bright blast of acid on the finish.” She sets the plate in front of me, then Russ. “Enjoy.”

“Fucking will,” Russ mutters under his breath, already reaching for his fork.

I elbow him, but he’s not wrong.

---