When I found out I was going to be a contestant on Pop-Up Kitchen I felt nothing. No heart beating out of my chest or cold sweats. I was numb. Excited—beneath the nothing I knew it was what I wanted and I was ready—but numb.

That’s how this feels. Except this time, there’s no excitement underneath the nothing, waiting for its big reveal.

Paul must feel it, the flat oozing numbness that’s seeping out of me like molasses, because he grabs my shoulder and gives me a gentle shake. “Are you hearing me, Soph? This has the potential to catapult you to the top. Everyone is going to want to work with you after this.”

After? “How long will this take?”

“Right now, we’ve got a twelve episode season planned. You’ll be going all over the world. Buenos Aires, Sicily, Nairobi, Seoul, Auckland.”

“That sounds...” Long. It sounds like a long time to be gone. “But the restaurant.”

He shrugs. “You’d probably have to quit your job at the restaurant.”

The numbness vanishes, replaced with the kind of panic that has me fighting tears. He takes my hand in his, squeezing. “I’m telling you this as a man who’s been in this industry for a long time and not as your former fiancé. You are a talent, Sophie. You have the potential to do great things and this opportunity can make that happen. I need you to ask yourself if you really think you can reach your full potential at Amy & May’s. Does it have the funding to grow with you? I know you’re loyal to Amy but at some point you’ve got to put yourself first.”

Maybe the wine is getting to me. My stomach churns and I’m lightheaded. “It’s not just about loyalty,” I say. And it’s not just about potential. It’s about what I want. Not what my mother wants or what Paul wants.

Me.

I don’t aspire to the type of greatness that Paul is talking about, even if it’s flattering to know he thinks I could reach it. The things I want are quieter than that, closer to my mother’s dreams for my life than I’d ever really care to admit.

I want a kitchen that’s mine. I want the freedom to create. And Amy. I want Amy.

“I know you like Amy,” he says and I blush so hard I can feel it in my toes. “Oh.” He drops my hands. “Oh.”

“No,” I say, though why bother denying it.

He presses the back of his hand to his mouth, smiling against it. “I should have known.”

“What?”

“When we spoke about you today, it was obvious.”

“What was, Paul?” I want to grab him by his artfully rumpled collar and shake him.

“How she feels about you. But it just never occurred to me that you might feel the same way.”

“How does she feel about me, Paul?” This time I do grab him. I pull him around to look at me. If there was anyone who might know what Amy is thinking, the last person I would go to would be him. And yet, here I am.