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“You’re compassionate,” I continued. “You care about people. Clearly, you’re a problem solver too.”

“I do like problems that can be solved with wine.”

“I’m serious, Will.”

“I am too.”

Normally I’d drop it. But all my barriers were down right now—I had no restraint. “If it’s something you always wanted, you should do it. Especially if the only thing stopping you is feelings.”

“You could take your own advice,” he said.

I pursed my lips. But I knew telling Will all this—that he could still see an old dream through—was a joke. Like I could make him some kind of proxy for my burnt-out dreams. It was the blog that was real. It had seen me through the hardest times and it was the thing earning me at least some semblance of an income now.

But the temptation of thinking about my old dreams—at least for a moment, was too strong.

I swallowed. “I used to carry around this little notebook, drawing diagrams of the seating chart at my future restaurant. Planning menus. I even glued paint chips onto the pages. I actually thought I could do that once.”

“You still can.”

“I know you think so. But that was an old dream, for the old me. It died a long time ago.”

“What happened, Michelle?”

I considered. “Joe. It wasn’t his fault,” I said quickly. “He supported me no matter what. But after I got pregnant, it got harder to think of what it would be like to launch a restaurant at the same time as a family. Plus, I was happy then. The happiest I’d ever been.”

Will was looking at me with an unreadable expression. If I had to guess, I’d say… sorrow.

I looked away, making my voice bright. “So, I started the blog instead. I still thought I might do it, somewhere in the back of my mind. Until… everything.”

“Michelle,” he said. “It’s okay to still have that dream. We could… you could figure it out if you wanted to.”

I’d heard the slip. For a moment, our eyes locked. Why wouldn’t he let it go? Why wouldn’t he let me settle for what I had? Suddenly I felt defensive. “What about you, Will? Why aren’t you doing what you always wanted to do.”

Will barked out a laugh, sufficiently surprised to shift the focus from me and my failed dreams.

“You should run for mayor. Your kids are almost grown. You’d have the support of the whole town.”

Will shook his head. “My dad always said I was too damn ambitious for my own good. That I thought I was too good for honest work or something.” I could sense the hurt in his voice.

“You work harder than anyone I know,” I said.

“Even you?”

Suddenly, I was brought back to the reason I’d asked him here. I opened my mouth to say something, but Will had procured a bottle opener from seemingly nowhere, screwed the corkscrew into the cork and pulled it out in one swift, easy motion. His competence was… distracting.

Sexy.

I swallowed. I was losing my mind.

Will must have felt me staring at his hands, because he said, “Graydon and I used to have competitions to see who could open a bottle faster.”

Will had told me awhile back that he’d worked at Gastronomique right after high school with his friend.

“Could you still beat him?”

“Absolutely.”

He poured the wine. “You’d like Graydon,” he said. “He’s a family man. Two little kids. His wife Lucy is almost as feisty as you.”