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“It’s a lot, no doubt,” she concedes. “The plus side is there are a lot of different paths to reaching that goal. There’s room for flexibility and adapting as your life changes.”

“Culinary school is a must, though, isn’t it?”

“Plenty of research chefs never attended culinary school. But I still think it’s the quickest way for you to get where you want to go.”

“I hate school.”

Her eyes flicker with amusement. “I can tell. Yet you turned your grade in my class completely around in just weeks, and you’re about to finish the semester with an A.”

But I don’t think she understands how hard I had to work to do it. I’m not sure I could do that once I have a full course load.

When I don’t answer, she says, “Ruby, I’m certainly not here to convince you to do something you hate. I have no skin in the game. I’m only here to tell you that if you want to do this, you’re completely capable. Be willing to work hard, adapt, and go where the opportunities are. If you push yourself out of your comfort zone, you can do this.”

Her words land hard, and if I was a different person, they’d land with a burst of motivation. But after I thank her and head toward home, they only weigh me down. I know Wythe is right. If I want to be a research chef—if I want to be anything except Lorenzo’s girlfriend—I have to be willing to be far from him, to do the long-distance thing and have faith that we’re strong enough to withstand it. The thought brings on a wave of heartsickness, and suddenly the last thing I want to do is go home. I want to go to him but, for once, I won’t.

My phone vibrates from my back pocket, and when I take it out, Lorenzo’s name scrolls across the screen. With a pang of guilt, I silence the call. I haven’t seen him since the Rossi party over the weekend and I miss him, but I can’t talk to him right now. He’d sniff out my despair immediately and rush in tosoothe me and make it all better, and even though that makes him the perfect man, I can’t have that right now. I have to make it better on my own. I have to stop depending on him so much.

Everything I wanted for us is happening: Lorenzo is preparing to start interviewing agents, and I finally have some direction. But now I have to prepare for the reality of it. If I don’t want my life to fall to pieces, I need to make sure that all the strength he sees in me doesn’t disappear when he goes.

FORTY-ONE

lorenzo

“Did you get taller?”I joke when Ruby walks in a little past eight. The sun has lightened the top layer of her hair to a pale blond, like it always does by the end of summer. It’s been almost a week since I last saw her. Even when we were just friends, that was too long.

She hugs me, holding on an extra-long time. She smells like sun and fresh grass, and I wonder what she spent her afternoon doing. “I’ve missed you too. And I think you’re the one who’s grown,” she says, easing her hands up my back and gripping my shoulders. “How are your traps bigger already? You’ve been exercising for like a day.”

“They aren’t. You just haven’t touched me in too long.”

Her gaze turns warm and feline. “Let’s fix that,” she says softly against my ear. My cock roars to life and I wrap my hands around her waist, waiting to feel her lips against my ear. Instead, I feel her pause. “Is that ... ?” She quickly escapes my grip and heads for the counter, her eyes glittering. “Chocolate pie? Oh my god, I haven’t had one of these in forever!” Just like that, my traps are forgotten.

I give in and follow her to the kitchen. “That’s dessert. Dinner comes first.” I pop open the freezer, where I’ve stood up four frozen dinners for her to choose from.

“Ooh!” she says, which makes me smile because her delight is totally genuine. “Choices.”

“Yeah, they were four meals for ten bucks, so I really went all out.”

“The fact that you allowed this garbage freezer space next to your green smoothie mixes is truly proof of your devotion.”

“Wait until you see what’s in the snack cabinet.”

Her eyes go wide, and she rushes to open the cabinet next to the fridge. “Hot fries!” she squeals. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just hoped I could bait you into spending some time with me if I threw a junk food party.”

Her face softens. “I know I’ve been busy lately.”

I nod, but something about her acknowledging the distance between us makes me uneasy. I wanted to believe it was all in my head.

She grabs the bag of hot fries and grins. “But I’m all yours tonight. Let’s eat.”

“That wasthe best meal I’ve had in weeks,” Ruby says later, surveying the empty plastic containers littering my small kitchen table. When I make a face, she adds, “I mean it! I’m either not eating lately or I’m stress-cooking these intricate meals that I’m too tired to enjoy by the time I plate them.”

“So where’s your mind at? You’re stressed about career stuff?”

I regret the question as soon as I see the way her face changes. “Mostly.”

“What’s tripping you up?”