Her smile is wry. “But then I got to LA and started up the business. I became stuck with the strange whims of my clientele, worrying about parties and how they would go. My creativity faltered.” Shaking her head, she shrugs. “I found I didn’t want that, either, which makes me wonder. Do I have what it takes? How can I if the thought of constantly working turns me off?”

A frown works across her face, and she ducks her head as though she doesn’t want to meet my gaze. She probably thinks she’s said too much.

“When we’re filming,” I say. “We have such long hours I lose track of days. Hell, sometimes I’m so tired I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s exhausting. Sometimes, I want to say, ‘Fuck it, I’m done.’ But then I think of not working anymore and feel empty. I never expected acting to fill a void in me, but it does. So I keep going.”

The moment the words are out, I feel the truth of them. I love what I do. And I’ll be damned if I hide away because of one bad incident. No more hiding out. No more fear.

My breath comes easier than it has in weeks. “That you want more out of life than constant work doesn’t mean you aren’t a chef. It means you are human.”

The expression on Delilah’s face is one I haven’t seen before. It almost looks like gratitude. I don’t know what to do with that. She shouldn’t feel grateful. I’m the one holding her back. The knowledge wraps itself around my throat and squeezes. She shouldn’t be here in Sam’s place. I should let her go. I should say it. But I can’t seem to make my mouth form the words.

Delilah takes a long breath and lets it out slowly. “In a weird way, being here has helped put things into perspective.”

“What do you mean?” I ask through stiff lips.

She tilts her head back and sighs. “A chef has to discover who she is and how she wants to express that to the world. What is the story she wants to tell?” Her big soft eyes meet mine. “I closed the shop because I realized I didn’t exactly know the answers to all that.”

“And being here helps?” I want it to be true, but I can’t believe it. I’m a hindrance, not an asset.

“I don’t know if help is the right word,” she drawls with slight humor. “More like I’m learning about myself through adversity.”

I wince. “Ouch.”

Her laugh is light and oddly carefree. “Don’t look so pained. It was my choice.”

Sadly, that doesn’t help a bit.