Page 85 of The Nanny Goal

“Because we live in Minneapolis? Except you live in Calgary and Logan lives in Buffalo and Wyatt lives in Utah, and if any of you couldn’t make it in the NHL, you’d one hundred percent be playing on pro contracts in…” I draw my hand out between us, asking him to fill in the blank.

“But you’re the baby.” He makes a face. “I’m still struggling with you being old enough to drink.”

“Fuck right off,” I mutter.

He dips his head in acknowledgement. “Fair.”

I pull the three dips that I’ve made out of the fridge and take them to the veggie tray, making a bit of room for them. And once they’re nestled in, I add a few herbs in around the bowl to give the tray a bit of complexity.

“Is that a rainbow?” Forrest asks, his head tipping to the side.

I grin. “Yep. Saw the Duchess of Sussex do it on her TV show and borrowed the idea. I’ve been making little food rainbows for Inessa all week and she gobbles everything up.”

“And what are the dips?” He deftly swipes a purple carrot spear.

I point to them one by one. “Whipped feta ranch, known simply asranchif Dad asks. A sweet beet dip because Inessa likes all things pink and Alexei’s mom loves beets. And the last one is caramelized onion hummus with a spiced olive oil drizzle.”

“Damn.” He scoops some of the hummus, pops the carrot in his mouth, and groans low and long. “All right,” he mumbles. “Go to Europe and get even more amazing.”

I blush. “Thanks.”

He washes the bite down, then leans in close. “Hey, so… is Arty dating someone?”

My hand slips and a celery stick falls into the ranch.

He sees it.

“Emery.”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” My voice shakes. “I, uh, haven’t asked.”

I cross the kitchen and grab my notebook, pretending to make a recipe note just so I’m doingsomethingother than being completely, pathetically transparent.

Forrest follows me. “So youhavenoticed something’s up.”

“Why are you like this?”

He grins, all older-brother smugness. “Because I’m good at reading people. And Arty has that look. You know the one.”

Maybe I’m not as transparent as I feared if the only person he thinks he can read here is Alexei. “I really don’t.”

“He’s quieter. Looser in the shoulders. That’s a man who’s gotten laid recently.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks so fast it feels like my ears are ringing.

“I’m serious,” he goes on. “He looks like he’s not carrying the whole world on his back for once. Like maybe he’s got someone who makes it a little easier to breathe.”

I swallow. “Like your older woman?”

“Oh yeah.” Forrest whistles and gets a dreamy look in his eye. “She makes it aloteasier to breathe, let me tell you.”

Alexei was right. Forrest is easily diverted into talking about himself, and that saves me—for about seven minutes, as he waxes eloquently about his situationship.

“It turns out, the longest and best relationship in my life is one where it’s someone else who puts all the boundaries up, because it’s just sex?—”

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