The gravy is so creamy, rich, with just a hint of acidity. The potatoes are crisp and the cheese... I’d never say this out loud, but I might like it better than the real thing.

“Hollywood,” I say with my hand over my mouth. “This is...” I close my eyes; chewing and tasting and swallowing sometimes needs to be done without the distraction of sight. “Divine.” I pile my fork higher. “How’d you do this without real cheese?”

She pulls her own fork out of the roll up and sets her elbow against the counter, taking a delicate bite. Sophie closes her eyes, too. She hums as she chews, her mouth turned up at the corners. She presses her lips together, sighing as she opens her eyes. “Cashews,” she says.

“Magic,” I counter. She meets my gaze. I’ve been staring at her for too long. I take another bite of food. Food is the best distraction.

“I weightlift,” she says after a few quiet moments of chewing.

“I can tell.” Fuck. That was stupid. “You’re just...” I gesture to my own arms, my hips. Double fuck. This is stupider. “You’re very fit.”

“I know.” Her shoulders shake and her voice bubbles with laughter.

I nod. Take another bite. Triple fuck. I shouldn’t be this flustered around my head chef. My straight, heartbroken head chef.

“Why are you telling me about your brother?” she asks. She doesn’t know she’s saving me from this conversation but I’m thankful anyway.

I savor my last bite before swallowing. It practically melts in my mouth. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry. In a very roundabout, convoluted way. I pushed you to apply for that show without thinking about how you might feel about returning to it, and I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse for my behavior, but I know I can be a bit of a bull sometimes. I’m trying to find a way to make this place great, like I know it can be. I get overprotective sometimes and it clouds my judgment.”

Sophie’s eyes look dark green in the bright overhead lights of the kitchen. “So wait. In this analogy am I your brother that needs to be protected or is the restaurant your brother who needs protecting from me?”

“Neither. You’re merely a victim of my stubbornness.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a victim. I should have explained how I was feeling instead of yelling at you. But yeah, I guess, to be fair, I didn’t think you were that interested in listening to what I had to say about it.”

I wince. “Can we be honest with each other?” I ask. “I feel like we haven’t been fully ourselves since this arrangement started and maybe that’s one of the reasons why we’re having trouble working together.”

Sophie looks down, pokes at the food. That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting or hoping for when I asked if we could be honest. “Yeah, I mean, what do you want to know?”

“Are you happy here?” I gesture to the quiet, dark dining room. “Do you like cooking here?”