“Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ll be there.” I hang up, feeling the weight of my double life—the life I left behind and the one I’m struggling to build. It’s a constant juggling act, and sometimes I drop the ball. As if on cue, my phone buzzes again, pulling me back to the present. This ti
The city lights blur past us as Karl drives, the tension in the car so thick I could slice it with a knife. My mind is still spinning from the events of the last hour—the creepy guy on the subway, the group of leering men, and then Karl, showing up like a storm, sweeping everything away. My eyes s
“It’s nothing,” I say. “It’s a nice shirt. I’d hate to see it get ruined.” Karl smirks. “I could just buy another. But thanks.” We’re close, too close, and my thoughts betray me, drifting to places they have no business going. Memories flicker through my mind—the feel of his arms around me, the
I’m standing over a steaming pot of ragù, stirring as I listen to the sizzle and pop of ingredients melding together in culinary harmony. The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, the dinner rush in full swing. But amidst the orchestrated chaos, a discordant note strikes my ears. It's John, my head
I lean back in my chair, my mind racing. The atmosphere in the restaurant, especially the kitchen, is like a finely tuned instrument. Each individual, from the dishwasher to the head chef, plays an important role. Disharmony in one section can disrupt the entire composition, and right now, we’re o
It’s Friday afternoon before the dinner rush, both the best—and worst—time to get this over with. The idea, planted in my head by Ethan, has been rolling around in my head for two days. Finally, I decide to set it into motion. I lean against the door frame of my office, taking a deep breath before
The door to Abby’s office swings shut behind me, and my mind races as I walk back into the kitchen. First, she asks me to make nice with Chloe, and now this? Apprenticing under John, of all people? A guy I can’t even stand to be in the same room with? “Karl, grab the veal from the fridge. Now.” Jo
I’m standing by the stainless steel counter, doing my best to look like I’m occupied with inventory and prepping the dough for our fresh bread in the morning. But my real focus is on the fiery dance unfolding in front of me—Karl and John, circling each other in the kitchen like two alpha wolves in