“What did Paul want to talk about?” My pulse thrums in my throat, like her answer could make or break me.

“He offered me a job,” she says, so casually, like her taking another job wouldn’t just ruin me professionally but would devastate me personally more than I care to admit.

I will not bad-mouth her ex to her face. I will not bad-mouth her ex to her face. I will not...

“That motherfucker poached you? Right out from under my nose?”

“He only poached me if I said yes.”

I don’t move, as if that will help me hear better. “You didn’t?”

She shakes her head. “No. Of course not.”

She sets her cup down on my desk, rising out of her chair and scooting between my legs and the desk. She perches on the edge and runs her finger along my bottom lip.

“I work here, Amy. I’m your head chef.”

I reach for her, pulling her mouth to mine. She leans into me, her arms coming around my waist as I stand between her legs. The relief at hearing her affirm her place here, beside me; I don’t have the words to tell her what it means to me. That she trusts me despite us staring down the barrel of closure.

I kiss her again, brushing my tongue along her lips. I pull at her hair until it falls down her back.

“What are we doing?” she whispers into the skin over my heart. And I think she’s asking more than her words say. But with her in my hands, cheeks flushed and pink, lips bee-stung, a gift only for me, I don’t think I can say the words that I want to. I’m afraid once I start speaking, I won’t be able to stop.

Her eyes close in my silence.

“Hey.” I brush my thumb over her cheekbone. “Look at me.”

She blushes as she meets my eyes. “You’re beautiful,” I say. The words are too simple for what she is. But they’re all I have. “You lay me out, Hollywood. Every time I get to touch you. To work beside you. That you chose...” Me. “This restaurant over...” I shake my head imagining what kind of gig Paul could have lined up for her in some swank, five-star, à la carte restaurant. “What was undoubtedly a better restaurant?”

She pulls me down to her mouth again, presses her forehead to mine. “This restaurant. You. You’re worth it, Amy.”

I close my eyes, on fire from her. How she can go from shy to strong in moments. “Amy, I...”

I kiss the words out of her mouth, far gentler than before. Her face is sweet and flushed as I pull away and we right our clothes where we’ve pulled at them. She stays on the edge of my desk as I sit again, planting her feet on my thighs.

“I want to come out on the show.” She reaches for my hand, entwining our fingers. “I want us to come out on the show.”