If only he could roll back the clock about seven years. It probably hadn’t helped that Aunt Claire reminded him constantly how lucky he was to be working in one of Paris’ top gourmet restaurants. He’d been highlighted in a magazine for being one of the youngest American chefs to ever work in a Michelin 3-star restaurant. And all of that had been awesome, but now he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right decision. Maybe he’d known it wasn’t the right one all along.

“Come on in over here,” Lori said, unlocking her room next door. “We can figure out dinner.”

“Sounds good.” He sat on the couch in the sitting area of her room, which was exactly like his, except backward.

“So tell me about your baking experience. You’re a pastry chef, obviously,” Lori said.

“No. I’m really not a baker at all. However, I did study under the very best pastry chefs in France, and finished top in my class. I’m Chef de Cuisine for Francois Dumont. In his signature restaurant.”

“But you’re not a baker now?” Lori didn’t look impressed. “So, why are you here then? You do know this is all about pastries, candy, and cakes right?”

“I do. I’m a good baker. It’s just not my first love.” The loblolly pine tree back in Bailey’s Fork where he’d carved AY + KM popped into his mind. KM was his true first love. “I guess mostly I’m here because someone was kind enough to nominate me and the team here thought I’d be a good competitor. I’m not about to turn my nose up at a chance like this.”

“I guess I can understand that. You’re going to have some tough competition though. I know you went to some fancy schools, but if it’s not in your heart, they’re going to be able to tell.”

I hope not. “About dinner. I’m starved. How about you get us a couple of street vendor hot dogs?”

Lori’s face lit up. “Now you’re talking my language. Chili?”

“All the way.” He thought about the hot dogs he and Kelly used to make. They’d roast them on wire hangers over the fire pit in her folks’ backyard. She loved hers burnt to a crisp. For someone who loved baking, she did have a peculiar palate, and that had made her all the more fun to cook for.

“You’re in for a treat.” Lori pulled on her coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

From the window he watched her jog across the street to the hot dog stand.

When Lori came crashing back into the condo, the onions hit him before she made it through the door.

“Dinner is served. Got you a pretzel too. May as well do it up right.”