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“Want to grab lunch and then go together?”

“I can’t. Wythe set up a meeting for me with a former student who’s hosting a booth at the fair. I want to be early.”

Bree gives me an assessing look. I can practically see the instant she musters up some respect for me. “Nice.”

I soften and give her a smile. I’ve been on edge all day, waiting to see my grade and anticipating the meeting with Wythe’s student. It’s only an informal chat meant to give me some insight into career options, but it feels like more. Every day that passes without a plan for senior year and beyond suddenly feels like a massive waste. And in a few days I’ll see my parents to celebrate their anniversary, and I need to be armed with good news from the academic front or I’ll spend dinner on the receiving end of a lecture. None of that is Bree’s fault. “I’ll see you after the fair,” I tell her. “Let’s grab food together.”

“Good luck with your meeting.”

If only luck was all I needed.

After the career fair,I head to Lorenzo’s, where he surprises me with his sling-free arm.

“Done with it for good? You were supposed to have another week at least!” I run my fingers along his forearm, which is comically pale in comparison to his brown, olive skin. “God, even your bones and tissues are overachievers.”

“You know what this means, right? Now I can get on top.” He leans against the kitchen counter and flashes a wicked smile.

Instantly, I’m buzzing with desire. I’m a seasoned pro at resisting Lorenzo—we’ve now done basically everything but sex—but the idea of his sweaty, tattooed body hovering inches above me makes me weak. “Is that a question?”

His gaze warms. “Do you want it to be?”

Every time I’m near him, I wonder what we’re waiting for. We’ve held out so many years, I don’t even know the point anymore. “Maybe. But can I tell you my good news first?”

He cups his hand over his crotch like I’ve hurt him, but he nods. “Always.”

“I think I know what I want to do after college. Research chef.”

“Okay, I know the meaning of the wordresearch, and I know what a chef is ...”

“It’s basically developing and testing recipes and food products.”

“A chef. You mean the job I’ve always said you’d be amazing at that you shot down every single time?”

“Every once in a while, I’m wrong.” I swat at him, but he snatches my arms and pulls me against his chest. “Anyway, you can get over yourself; it’s not the same as being a traditionalchef. Research chefs need a science background, and I could work in any number of settings: for a restaurant or a food company, doing consulting, working in a test kitchen.”

“All right, I like your enthusiasm. Where’d this idea pop up?”

“That student of Wythe’s that I met with today? That’s what she does.”

“Ruby Hayes, research chef.” He nods approvingly.

“Impressed?”

“Impressed?” He looks at me like he might have misheard. “Since when is that your criteria for anything?”

“It’s not. But I know career talk is going to come up at dinner with my parents this weekend, and I want them to know how wrong they are about me.”

Lorenzo’s expression turns serious. “Why does it matter what they think? Do what you want.”

I feel scolded. “I know, but it might be funny to see their shock. Maybe I’ll even witness a heart attack if I’m lucky.” When he says nothing, I add, “I just need to get them off my back.”

He looks doubtful. “So is this an ‘any midsize city’ kind of deal or ... ?”

“Well, it’s a pretty niche career. So I might not have my pick of cities, at least in the beginning.”

“So there’s a chance we end up on opposite sides of the country.”

“A chance, sure. But there was always that chance, right?”