And then—definitely for the first time—how good she would be for him. How good they could be for each other. He would take care of her. She would admire him.

Maybe Trey had fallen for the wrong sister.

Huh.

“Get out,” I said. “I have work to do.”

He held up his hands in an I-come-in-peace gesture. “Come on, Jo, don’t be like that.” He flashed his boyish, ingratiating smile. “I’ve missed you.”

The words, the familiar smile, went straight to my heart. I grabbed the pasta off the stove and drained it in the sink, raising a cloud of steam. My cheeks flushed from the heat. Or maybe that was annoyance.

“I missed you, too,” I admitted.

He propped his lean hips against the counter, hanging around the way he always did. Teasing. Distracting. In my way.

I hefted the pot. “Move your ass, Laurence.”

He shifted a few inches to avoid getting burned. “So you’re a cook now.”

“Among other things.” I banged the pot onto an empty burner. Adjusted the heat under the roux. “I write a food blog.”

He nodded. “Hungry.”

I was pleased. Surprised. Hungry: Taking a Bite Out of the Big Apple was the name of my blog. “You read it?”

“Your sister said something about it.” He plucked a shred of cheese from the bowl. “Mm. Good. What happened to the newspaper gig?”

I slapped his hand away. “The paper downsized. I was let go.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

I shrugged. “You were ignoring my texts. Anyway, I figured it was better if you didn’t know.”

“Better for what? Your pride?”

He had never understood my determination to stand on my own two feet. Never accepted my decision to move to New York in the first place.

I looked up from the cheese sauce to meet his gaze. “Our friendship.”

Our eyes locked. He smiled a little crookedly. “Fair enough.”

I took a quick survey of the kitchen: turkey resting, green beans and gravy keeping warm, butter melting on mashed potatoes. Glanced again at the clock. “Tell me about you,” I said. “How was Italy?”

“It was all right.”

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. I thought you were looking forward to seeing Europe.”

“I was looking forward to seeing Europe with you.”

I sighed. “Trey, we’ve been through all this. I have to work. I have a job.”

“Not anymore. Not a real job.”

Ouch. My teeth gritted. “Thanks, pal. I appreciate your support.”

He pushed away from the counter, catching my hands again. His were warm and firm. “Come on, Jo, I didn’t mean it that way. I want to support you, I swear I do. Let me prove it. Let’s do it. It’s not too late. Let’s take that trip we always talked about in college.”

I tugged on my hands and snatched up a set of pot holders. “Trey, I can’t do this now.”

“Then after the holidays,” he said, following me. “Think about it. You’ve always wanted to visit Paris. Rome. Barcelona. We can go anywhere you want. Dine our way through Europe, eat at every Michelin-starred restaurant, any weird hole-in-the-wall you say. You could write about them for your blog. I can give you that. Let me give you the break you deserve.”