Chapter 1 - The Eggs Were Burning
“What?”
“The eggs,” Olivia said. “They’re becoming a building material.”
Ethan looked down at the pan. A thin ribbon of smoke rose between them.
He turned off the burner.
“In my defense, you were distracting.”
“I was standing here.”
“Apparently that’s enough.”
Olivia took the spatula from him before her face could reveal too much. Outside the kitchen windows, Chicago rain glittered against the courtyard lights. Somewhere upstairs, Vanessa was recording a video about finding peace in beautiful spaces.
Olivia scraped the ruined eggs into the trash.
“Your girlfriend might have opinions about that sentence.”
Ethan’s expression changed.
“She isn’t my girlfriend anymore.”
The spatula stopped.
“Since when?”
“Sunday.”
“Today is Wednesday.”
“Yes.”
“She interviewed me yesterday about whether butter was an inflammatory toxin.”
“She’s moving out Friday. Her apartment renovation ran late.”
Olivia set the pan in the sink.
“That sounds complicated.”
“It was over before you came here.”
“Then why did she introduce you as her boyfriend?”
“Because I’ve spent too long letting other people describe my life.”
There was something in his voice that made Olivia look at him.
For a moment, the easy humor disappeared. He looked tired in a way sleep would not fix.
Then his phone vibrated.
MOTHER.
He turned it facedown.
Olivia noticed, but she had spent enough years around wealthy clients to know curiosity could become unpaid labor.
“Lesson two tomorrow,” she said.
“Even after this disaster?”
“Especially after this disaster.”
He smiled.
Friday arrived with three garment bags, a moving service, and Vanessa crying only when Ethan stopped being accommodating.
Olivia stayed in the kitchen, preparing meals she intended to refrigerate before leaving. She heard no shouting. That somehow made the conversation more uncomfortable.
“You’re going to regret this,” Vanessa said.
“I regret pretending we wanted the same things.”
“You never even told me what you wanted.”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
A few minutes later, Vanessa entered the kitchen.
Her eyes moved over Olivia’s apron.
“Don’t look so pleased.”
Olivia put down her knife.
“I’m working.”
“Of course you are.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“Whatever you think is happening here, remember that men like Ethan get bored.”
Olivia met her gaze.
“Then I hope you find someone who doesn’t.”
For the first time, Vanessa appeared uncertain what to do with an answer that contained no insult.
She left without another word.
Ethan came downstairs after the movers departed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Her behavior belongs to her.”
“I still brought it into your workplace.”
Olivia appreciated that distinction more than she wanted to.
Over the following weeks, the house changed.
There were fewer flowers chosen for photographs. More books left open. Ethan began eating at the kitchen island instead of carrying meals upstairs to his office.
He asked about Bennett Table.
Not the polite questions people asked before changing the subject.
Real ones.
How many events could she manage alone? What did she charge for labor? Why did she hesitate to hire help when exhaustion was limiting her growth?
One evening, she answered too honestly.
“Because if I hire someone, this becomes a business I can fail at instead of an experiment I can explain.”
Ethan leaned against the counter.
“You left a law firm. You didn’t become incapable.”
“My father hasn’t received that memo.”
“What does he want?”
“For me to return to a life I was good at surviving.”
Ethan looked toward his silent phone.
“I understand that.”
She asked about his family.
He gave her fragments.
A father in finance. A mother devoted to appearances. A grandmother who had taught him that feeding people was a legitimate reason to spend an entire Sunday in the kitchen.
“What happened to her?”
“She died when I was seventeen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She left me her recipe box. My mother called it an impractical inheritance.”
“Your mother sounds exhausting.”
He laughed, but there was pain beneath it.
By October, Olivia knew the sound of his footsteps. Ethan knew she hummed when pastry behaved and went completely silent when a sauce needed saving.
Then he asked her to dinner.
She looked down at the cutting board.
“I work for you.”
“I know.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“If this becomes something else, I need a different employment arrangement.”
“Tell me what would make you comfortable.”
They discussed it without flirting. Olivia finished the following week’s contracted meals, referred another chef, and sent her final invoice.
Only after he paid it did she accept dinner.
At a small neighborhood restaurant, Ethan asked what she wanted.
“A life I recognize when I wake up in it.”
He reached across the table.
“That sounds like something worth building.”
May you like
She took his hand.
And because she was falling in love, she did not notice that he still had not told her his last name.
