“Diego… Mmm, cool name. What does he look like?”

“Julia.” I use my best older sister tone. “I don’t have time to chat, but I’m sure you’re going to like him.” Maybe a bit too much, an evil little voice adds inside my head. “I really have to go now.”

“You’re a buzz kill.”

“Love you, too. Bye.” I hang up and lean back in my chair, massaging my temples.

Another twelve days to C-Day and I’m already about to explode. I just hope this mastermind plan of mine won’t epically backfire on me.

Seven

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

When I get home that evening, the house smells like… mmm… my mom’s kitchen. For a second I panic, thinking she couldn’t resist meeting my boyfriend and decided to drop by unannounced. But I let out a breath of relief as soon as I step out of the hallway and see there’s only Diego seated at the kitchen bar, eating dinner.

“Hey,” I say. “What smells good? Did you make dinner?”

“No, the chef at the restaurant always feeds me scraps. Sorry I didn’t wait for you, but I was starving.”

“Don’t worry, I usually don’t get home this late. What are you having?”

“Homemade lasagna, best in New York. There’s plenty left, and it’s still warm. Marisa always gives me way too much. Want some?”

My dinner plan was to order something from the Thai restaurant down the street, which is what I usually do when Blair isn’t home to prepare a healthy dinner for the both of us. But homemade lasagna beats that a hundred to one.

“Sure there’s enough for two?” I ask.

“Yeah, even three or four.”

“All right, then.”

I grab a plate, a glass, and a fork from the cabinets and sit at the kitchen bar next to him.

Diego scoops me a generous helping of lasagna out of the aluminum tray. “Here’s the best lasagna you’ll ever have—unless you meet my mom. No one beats my mom’s.”

I take a bite and… “Mmm… this is delicious.” The lasagna is both creamy and rich, but not overwhelming. I could devour a whole tray of this.

“Told ya.” Diego smiles. “So, how was your day?”

“Stupid, yours?”

“A regular shift at the restaurant, nothing exciting,” he says, then smirks. “What happens on a stupid day?”

“Your boss poaches an unhappy client from another agency, and delivers the pitch but only brings the creative team with him…”

Diego finishes up his plate and rounds the bar to rinse his dish and drop it in the dishwasher. Gosh, he really is tidy. I would’ve dropped the dirty dish in the sink and maybe splashed water on it. I tend to postpone house chores until they become overwhelmingly necessary.

“So.” Diego leans against the counter as I scarf down the last bites of lasagna. “Did the creatives drop the ball?”

“Oh, no, they wowed the client.”

“And that’s bad because?”

“Every creative pitch has to be vetted by a producer because we’re the reality check. We understand what can be done in how much time, and at what budget… You leave the creatives free, and they’ll go overboard.”