Somehow, my feet carry me to him. Thank God something’s functioning properly. For sure, my brain isn’t. Nor is my heart. Not even my pulse. The beats are erratic and thunderous. Everything seems to be a jumbled mess within me.My entire existence has become surreal.I’m in this gorgeous house with this gorgeous view and this way-beyond gorgeous man and I’m doing everything in my power not to smile like a complete, utterly giddy schoolgirl. I’m also trying to breathe normally, but that’s proving impossible.He grabs a spoon from a drawer for me to sample the bisque as he tells me, “In addition to the soup, we’re having Blue Point oysters, soft shell crab, white fish carpaccio, lobster tails, and stuffed filet mignon, Oscar style.”I stare at him, astonished. I still can’t find my voice. And my heart is doing this odd fluttering thing now. My stomach is also getting in on the action.Eventually, I manage to say, “That’s the six-course tasting menu I proposed to Cristoff when he intervie
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