Sophie rushes past me and unlocks the front door. “You’re here, too.” She sounds as nervous as I did moments ago.

“I thought I’d join the crew. I realized I’d never seen Amy & May’s in person.”

His voice, of all things, triggers the memory. He’s called before, during a dinner service, but that was months ago, well before he and Sophie broke up.

“This is Amy. Amy, this is my...” Sophie stutters over her introduction, her cheeks turning red. I’m sure she meant to finish that sentence with fiancé. “He’s...”

“The producer,” I offer. “Nice to meet you.”

Paul laughs amiably, and if Sophie keeps looking at me like I’m made of sunshine for that save I’m going to have to kiss her in front of her ex-fiancé-producer and I’d prefer not to give the straights a show today.

I shrug. “Now what?”

She narrows her eyes, the look reminding me that we were in the middle of a conversation. Rather, she wanted to be in the middle of a conversation.

Sophie spins on her heel. “I’m Sophie Brunet.” She introduces herself to everyone in the crew, shaking hands and smiling like she hadn’t just emotionally backed me into a corner. “Shall we?”

The crew, three guys with cameras and what look like meters for measuring EMF readings in an episode of Ghost Hunters, follow her like obedient baby ducklings. Sophie stands in the middle of the dining room, describing the layout and how many guests we expect on our busy days, Thursday to Sunday. She transforms into the head chef that can wrangle a kitchen of misfits into a team excelling at their craft.

“She’s got something special, doesn’t she?”

I jump, not realizing that Paul has been standing beside me this whole time.

“Yup.”

“She’s made for this,” he says. Maybe the reason I never noticed him is because, like me, he hasn’t taken his eyes off her.

“A chef?” I ask.

His smile flattens and he hums. The sick feeling I get this time is real. He didn’t mean chef. If not chef, what else could Sophie be made for? I look back at her where she peers over the shoulder of a photographer, studying something on his camera’s screen.

This? This. Television? Does Paul mean she should be a producer? Paul hasn’t stopped staring at Sophie.

He’s still in love with her. He consumes her with his eyes, and a slick surge of jealousy unfurls in my belly. As if I have any right to her. And yet, I want to scream at him, she was coming on my hand last night.

Stupid.

“I’ll just...” I point at Sophie, but he barely acknowledges me, looking at her like she saves birds and woodland creatures. I’m just going to get away from your Disney prince energy, sir.

“Hey.” These are my only pair of dress pants with pockets, and I slide my hands into them now so I won’t bite my fingernails.

Sophie ignores me, watching the crew move around the kitchen. From their conversation it seems this space will be the hardest to light for television. I reach for a container that’s been shoved aside by some of the crew’s equipment. My arm brushes against the side of her breast and Sophie freezes, halfway through a breath. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t say a word. Touching her is like putting my tongue to a live wire, thrilling and dangerous.