I wanted to say that I didn’t think she was invisible to Evan, or that he saw her as a hologram. But it also was a heck of a long time for Evan not to make his move if he wanted to. “I don’t feel like I’m wise enough to give you advice,” I said softly. “I mean, look at me, I’m supposed to be an architect, but I’ve ended up a nanny. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’ve studied and invested huge amounts of money and years into getting a job my dead father would have approved of, and the man my mom married after him threw it all into jeopardy. The last guy to ask me out ghosted me after one date. And before that someone dumped me because of who my stepfather was. Utterly humiliating. And worse, I’m really damn attracted to my boss. I mean, God, could you get any sadder than that? I’m crazy about my boss.” I shook my head with a cringe. “I’m setting feminism back a hundred years.”

The sooner I got that resignation letter written, the better.

I could tell Andrea wanted to say something but didn’t know what.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to make it about me. Can I say one thing though?”

“Hit me.”

“I don’t think you’re invisible to Evan.” There, I’d said it.

Andrea went pink, and then pale.

“Shit, sorry. Are you going to pass out?” I asked.

“No. No, I’m fine. But since we’re being honest, I don’t think you’re invisible to Mr. Pascale either.” She took my arm. “I could tell from the beginning that there’s something between you. And maybe it’s just a physical attraction. Maybe it’s more. But it’s there. And that man deserves some happiness. Some joy. And if you leave tomorrow, he’s going to be a grouchy mother fucker. And you are so fantastic with Dauphine. Not that you should throw your own life plans away for a widower and his daughter. But I’ve never seen him even have the twinkle in his eyes he’s had the last few weeks. Even when he’s not in a good mood he has … spark. He hasn’t had that in a while. And never mind the laughing. My God. The man hasn’t found anything funny in years. Years. Long before she died.” She let go and stepped back.

The silence that followed felt like the heavy, deafening aftermath of a resounding explosion.

I realized I was stunned still, my pulse pounding. I closed my mouth, my jaw snapped shut.

“Yeah,” she said. “I can’t believe I dropped that bomb on you. I blame the champagne.”

We both turned by unspoken agreement and went to the bathroom stalls to do our business.