Page 42 of The Nanny Goal

A white t-shirt clings to his shoulders as if he just saved its life, and he’s wearing black slim-fit team sweatpants that show off every inch of his long, powerful legs.

“Hi,” he says, his gaze raking over me.

That won’t do. He can’t look at me like that.

“Good morning,” I say briskly. “I’ve got breakfast under way.”

He murmurs something to Inessa.

“Morning,” she says, looking at me shyly.

I beam at her. “Remember the muffins we looked at on my phone?”

She shakes her head and buries her face in her dad’s neck.

“She’s better after some milk,” Alexei says, pulling open the fridge. With one hand, he manages to fill a cup for her.

For all the stress and chaos of yesterday, I think he’s a more capable solo parent than he gives himself credit for.

I return my focus to cooking the pancakes. These aren’t as fluffy as the ones I’ll make for Inessa, but they are macro compliant and pretty tasty.

He fires up the espresso machine, then asks, “Would you like a coffee?”

“I can get one for myself while you two are eating,” I say politely.

He doesn’t answer. He just makes a black espresso, puts a sugar cube in it, and sets it on the counter next to the griddle.

I’m so distracted by watching him that I forget about the pancakes, and the first four are a little dark on the bottom.

Those can be mine.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself not to look back at him again until I have a plate of perfect looking pancakes for my new boss.

I slide them onto the counter in front of his bar stool. “Here you go. Can I get you anything for on top of them?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll get raspberries.”

“Basberries!” Inessa gasped, her eyes going wide.

Alexei frowns. “Really?”

“Papa!”

He switches to Russian, and she pouts. You can practically see the storm cloud gather above her as she shakes her head.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then counts, out loud, backwards from five.

I try to hide a laugh behind my tiny espresso cup, but he notices anyway after he blinks his eyes open again.

“She had a tantrum because the raspberries were too soft two days ago. These are the same berries. They will only be softer today.”

“Bas. Berries! Papa!”

“Why is it when Baba tells you no, you listen to her? But if I say no, you just yell Papa louder? Hmm?” He crouches a little so he’s eye to eye with her in her highchair. “Why do you test Papa so much? You are making Emery laugh at me. That is not nice.”

Inessa swivels her head to me, her face suddenly soft and sad. Waterworks are on their way. “Basberries?” she asks me in the most plaintive voice I’ve ever heard. “Pwease?”

“That’sverypolite,” I say, heaping praise into my tone of voice. “Can I show you all of the fruit options in the fridge?”

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