Page 150 of With a Cherry On Top

“It’s not my place.” She takes another bite, all innocence.

“Just say it.”

She grins. “Well...people who are having a casual thing certainly find the time to answer their friends’ texts.”

“That’s not—” I huff. “I’ve just been busy.”

She masks a chuckle with her hand. “Busy with a verynon-casualwoman,” she teases.

“We haven’t even been on a single date,” I insist, trying to convince her.

She gasps. “And you’re already this into her?”

When I glare, she raises her hands.

“Okay, okay. I’m letting it go.”

“Thank you.” I scrape the bottom of my bowl. “So what other flavors did you try?”

Amelie taps her spoon on her bottom lip. “Let me just say one thing.”

Oh boy. Here we go.

“You came into my life at the right moment.” Caught by surprise at the shift in her tone, I listen. “After my dad died, all I wanted to do was throw myself into cooking. Not the restaurant, not Ian’s business—just cooking. Rediscovering it from the basics, like I did with my dad when I was a kid.”

She beams. “And as much as I love myperfecthusband, he doesn’t get this the way you do.” She exhales a chuckle, but there’s nothing dismissive about it. “He tries, really, but...to him, food is just ingredients mixed together.” Her smile lingers, then fades. “Anyway, my point is...during the last year, you let me confide in you more than once. You told me about the loss of your father when you were a child. You made me feel better about my grief.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

She watches me closely. “Well, the least I can do now is tell you that if you need space, time...you got it, Aaron. But when you’re ready to talk to about this totallycasualwoman you blush over, I’d be happy to lend an ear.”

I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I?

Here she is, telling me how much she values our friendship, and I’m putting it on the line like she doesn’t mean a thing to me. I’m puttingherhusband’sbusiness in danger.

I swallow hard. “Hammond was your dad on top of everything else, but...you understand that gratitude, that respect you feel for the person who taught you everything you know about cooking.”

She nods, eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Then you know how I feel about you.”

She reaches out, squeezing my arm before she shifts back into the familiar, confident Amelie. “So you approve? Artisanal ice cream is going on the menu?”

“Hell yes.”

“Great.” She grins, grabbing my empty bowl and setting it in the sink with hers. “Maybe you’d be open to teaching the cooks?”

Me? Teaching Daisy’s professional chefs? “You know I’d do anything for you, but?—”

“Then it’s settled.” She presses her lips together, clearly deciding whether to say more. Finally, a barely concealed squeal escapes her. “Okay, okay. There’s something else I need to tell you.”

I arch a brow. “All right.”

“You know Rhett?”

Her sous-chef? Yeah, of course.

“He’s quitting. His wife got a job in Mayfield, and he’s going to work for a friend of mine.”