“Yeah. That.”

“You’re not going to believe this, but we’re getting along great.”

“Really?” Dawn pushed her mug aside and placed her hand on his arm. “That’s great, Andrew. I’m so glad. He really has mellowed a lot the last couple of years.”

“I probably have too.” He pressed his hands against the counter. “I really thought we’d never have a relationship again. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Stay longer. Please.”

“I can’t. I have to be in New York on the seventh. It’s a nine-hour drive, so I have to leave the day before. I can’t arrive dead on my feet.”

“You came all the way from Paris to help some friend open a restaurant?”

“Yeah, but it’s turned out to be so much more. I’m so glad this trip fell into my lap.” He wanted to tell her the real reason so badly.

“He must be a good friend. What exactly is it that you’re going to do for him?”

He kept his attention on breakfast. Dawn would see right through him if he made eye contact. “I’ll do whatever he needs me to do.” He poured the egg mixture into the pan, pretending to concentrate on the omelet. She always asked a million questions. It was hard to not tell her the truth.

“This is just so out of character for you. One…to just drop in unannounced. Two…to not have a plan. You always have a plan.”

Same old Dawn. Nothing got past her. “Maybe I’ve loosened up a little.”

“Or you’re just playing it close to your chest. This restaurateur wouldn’t happen to be a woman, would she?”

He laughed out loud. “No. There’s no woman waiting for me in New York. End of story.”

“Did you meet this chef friend in Paris?”

“I did. We went to culinary school together.”

“But unlike you, this guy finished his training and then came back home.”

He knew exactly where she was going with that. “He did.”

“Why haven’t you come back?” Her eyebrow lifted. “The studying I get, but you finished all that years ago. You’ve proven yourself, and this is home. Don’t you remember all the good times we had here?”

“I do. We had a great childhood.” He flipped the potatoes in the pan and removed them from the heat.

His phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket, thankful for the interruption. “Sorry. Have to take this.” He turned his back to her and put the phone to his ear. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s a mess. I fired that good-for-nothing—” Francois, his boss and mentor for the past seven years, was up in arms again.

Andrew backed the phone from his ear. That man had a set of lungs on him. Much worse over the phone where there wasn’t a loud kitchen to tone him down. “What happened?”