Page 31 of The Billionaire's One-Night Stand Nanny
“A friend who’s a chef?” I asked, then understood. “Oh, you mean Barrett. He’s not a chef. He’s in VC. His company manages some restaurants.”
“Oh,” Flora said, nodding. “Yeah, Edie said she’s been to some of his restaurants. I didn’t realize he wasn’t the one in the kitchen.”
I chuckled. “No, and thank god for that. You wouldn’t want to eat food he made for you.” AndIwouldn’t want her eating in his restaurants: I thought again of Flora at Mignon, two glasses of wine, a stranger sitting opposite her. No, if I had my way, it would be me and only me making her meals.
“That bad, huh?” she giggled, and I realized my expression must have given away my thoughts.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But he can pick a bottle of wine.” I picked up the bottle, inspecting the label for a moment before pouring a measure into the pan of browned mushrooms. I stirred as the rich aroma of butter and red wine deglazing filled the kitchen.
“My sister is a chef,” she said, and my stirring faltered. Was this the sister who’d asked for money? “Well, a caterer. She wants to start her own restaurant, but for now, she’s catering out of a shared kitchen.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I said, and she laughed.
“Why would you?”
I stopped stirring, turning toward her, leaning over the kitchen counter.
“That’s right,” I said. Her eyes were wide and playful as I stared between them. “This is our first date, isn’t it?”
“Well,” Flora scoffed, raising her eyebrows, “I don’t know if I’d saythat.”
“I would,” I said. “What other dates have we gone on? And don’t say a book launch.”
She flushed and was quiet a moment. “Fine,” she said at last. “This is our first date.”
I stood back, nodding. “So. Flora. This sauce will be done in a couple of minutes, and the steaks will be… how do you like your steak, medium?”
“Medium rare.”
Ilovethis girl,I thought hyperbolically, and then hurriedly backtracked.
“Okay, then the steaks will be done in 7 minutes.” I turned up the heat on the cast iron pan I had on the back of the stove. “Tell me about your family.”
“My family?” she asked, smiling.
“First date,” I reminded her.
“Ah,” she nodded. “Right. You already know about my job,” she said, and I glanced over to see if she was upset by the topic, but she just tilted her head, smiling sardonically, and took a sip of her wine. “Well, it’s just me and my sister. Half-sister.” The sister that needed money. I tightened my grip on the wooden spoon. “Here in the city, I mean. Then there’s our mom, and my dad, and Hazel’s–that’s my sister–her dad.”
“Flora and Hazel,” I said.
“Yeah, my mom is like that,” she said, smiling.
“You’re close with her?”
Flora shrugged, then said carefully, “My parents are divorced.”
I grimaced. Like me.
“They weren’t like you and Maddie’s mom. You seem like you have it together.”
I nodded, clicking the mushroom red wine sauce off. “We do, I think. At least, we’re trying. She’s a good parent to Maddie.” I grabbed a pair of tongs from the drawer and carefully placed two steaks side by side in the cast iron skillet, where they hissed. As they seared, I leaned against the front of the stove. “Most of the time, I think we do a good job. And then there are the times when I come home to find the person who’s been in charge of her all day listening to bad pop music and crying.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. To be fair, that was only like, twenty-five percent because of Maddie. We were having a sewing lesson, and she got frustrated. It was fine.” She was noticeably silent on the other seventy-five percent, but I didn’t have to read her mind to figure it out. I flipped the steaks.
“Why don’t you take your glass and mine,” I said, “and head out to the patio.” Her eyes widened, and I grinned. I’d thought she might like that, and I’d been right. “I’ll be right out with our dinners.” She slid off the stool, taking both glasses with her out through the French doors.
“Oh!” I heard her say, and my grin grew even wider as I set the steaks on a platter to rest while I plated the rest of our food: French bread from the bakery around the corner and roasted vegetables I’d had warming in the oven. Salad I’d prepped during my nervous afternoon and stuck in the fridge next to her coffee creamer and Maddie’s yogurts. I pulled it out, dressed it, and carried it out to the patio, where Flora was standing with her glass of wine in hand. “This is quite the first date,” she said. Her eyes were shining.
