“It’s okay. She was having a bit of trouble growing recently, but she’s doing better. It’s fine.” I will simply spend some extra time with her today for some post-pruning recovery.

I smile to prove it. “Thank you,” I say. “Breakfast has never looked more beautiful.”

“This was fun,” she says, like she wasn’t quite sure it would be until just now.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” I ask. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this?

She stands on the edge of the kitchen. Suddenly, she seems so far away, remote.

“The next time you make eggs Benedict, I’ll be here, but I should go. My cat has probably eaten through all her kibble by now.”

“Sure.” I didn’t even know she had a cat.

After a moment of me nodding she steps forward, placing her hand on my hip, and reaches up to kiss me, just under my jaw. “And listen.” She takes a deep breath. “I want you to know that I’m happy to keep this casual. I get that you want to keep things cool between us for the show. So you don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

I swallow twice, a third time. My mouth is so dry. “Right,” I say. “Cool.”

“Is it okay if I wear these home?” She plucks at the sweats. “I’ll wash them and bring them into the restaurant tonight.”

I nod. I don’t think I’ll be able to get any more words out without at least a liter of water. I’m not even upset with her. She’s only doing exactly what I said she should.

Sophie grabs her stuff and blows a kiss from the door. It clicks shut behind her and I’m left alone in the middle of my kitchen, the bacon cooling on the plate, the whipped ricotta losing its form, the coulis pooling at the base of the pancake stack.

At certain times of day, when the sun hits all the plants in the windows just right, the room gets a hazy green quality to it. It’s fitting now because I feel a bit hazy. What the fuck did I do?

“Well, shit,” I say to my plants. Rule number one of fucking your business partner is not to catch feelings. But if the pain shooting through my chest is any indication, I’ve caught something. “Now what am I going to do?”

But of course they don’t answer.

Chapter Fifteen

Sophie

This is for the best.

I tell myself that when I pull up to the restaurant. Amy’s car is already there, without snow tires—a death trap in weather like this.

It’s for the best, when the first thing I hear when I walk in is her laugh, a hard cackle that sounds mean, sharp, and unkind to an unfamiliar ear but is actually the most unrestrained version of herself.

This is for the best, but I don’t quite believe it even as I push open the door to the front of the house, grocery bags filled with seafood paella ingredients banging my knees. Amy stands in the kitchen with her back to me, and I take the opportunity to stare unabashed at her strong shoulders and the slight curve of her waist. Her undercut always thrills me. It’s edgy and irreverent in a way I’ve never been able to be. But mostly it’s the feel of the short hair against my fingertips and the way it sends goose bumps down her neck when I trail my fingers through it that I love the most.