“I’m a chef. Not an actor.”

His chest heaves on the kind of beleaguered sigh that reminds me we’ve had this conversation too many times.

“I hope this doesn’t cause problems for you,” I say. “If you’re dating someone else or something...”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. The man beside us pauses the clacking on his keyboard to peer over at us. “I’m not dating right now,” he says, just for me.

We stare at each other across the small table. This is the part where I say I’m not dating anyone, either. Because I’m not. But I am quietly obsessed with the woman I work with and I’m afraid if I open my mouth while remembering the press of her breasts against mine, the memory will make the words sound like a lie and I’m not ready to talk to Paul about anything even remotely related to women. Especially women named Amy.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say, my voice garbled and strained. “I know you’re really busy.”

Paul is quiet for so long, like he’s waiting for me to look at him before he speaks again. When I finally do his smile is understanding, kind.

Paul stands, chugging the rest of his coffee in three long gulps. I follow him, untangling the sleeves of my coat from my sweater, spending far too long examining the piling on my mittens. I leave my coffee, cold and full. Paul steps into me, one hand on my hip, kissing my cheek, in the most routine way that for a second I am flashed back to eight months ago when it was exactly that. He smells like this coffee shop and the warm undercurrent of his cologne.

All I crave is a lighter, fruity scent.

“There will probably be scouts coming into Amy & May’s this week,” he murmurs quietly into my ear.

I pull back. “I thought you weren’t allowed to say anything.”

He shrugs, winks. “I didn’t say a word. But one of the restaurants we’d already chosen had to pull out—some issue between the owners—and we have an empty spot so...”

If location scouts are coming to the restaurant that means we’re almost assuredly going to be chosen. I squeeze his hand, smiling up at him while nerves grip me.

“Thanks, Paul.”

Chapter Five

Amy

I hear her before I see her. Sophie’s bubbly giggle winds its way down the hall before she pops her head around the doorway. “Do you have a sex?” she asks.

I cock my head as Sophie’s face slowly morphs from friendly to shocked to horrified. Her eyes widen, her face turning a deep shade of red.

I’ve had plenty of crushes on women I work with, but this one is bad. Even her extreme embarrassment isn’t enough to deter my overactive imagination from wondering how far down that blush goes.

“A sec? A second? Do you have a second? To speak with me. And not...no, no sex. Just seconds. Probably more than one. Do you have a few seconds?”