Twenty minutes into the movie, just as Julia Roberts is delivering her first big scene, a thought strikes me with sudden urgency. I gasp, shifting on the couch.
“What?” Flick’s eyes are wide with alarm. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I set my barely touched plate on the coffee table. “I just remembered I need to feed my starter.”
“Feed your what-er?”
“My sourdough starter that Noah gave me. I guess it’s my homework? It’s supposed to be fed twice a day.”
“I’ll do it.” Flick pushes herself up from the armchair. “Where is it?”
“On the kitchen counter. It needs water and flour... and a name.”
“A name?” Her laugh echoes from the kitchen.
“Noah says that when you name them they grow faster.”
“You’re sure he wasn’t kidding?” I hear the sound of a lid unscrewing. A moment later she appears in the doorway, holding up the mason jar containing the bubbling beige mixture.
“I have no clue.”
“How about Stan?” Devin suggests without looking away from the TV. “Starter Stan?”
“That’ll work.”
“How do you know it’s a boy?” Flick calls back, already returning to the kitchen. I give her detailed instructions about the ratio of water to flour, which she follows while providing running commentary about the starter’s appearance and smell.
“You know what it really needs?” Devin suddenly sits up straighter, digging through her bag. She produces a skein of red yarn and knitting needles. “A sweater.”
“Perfect.” The absurdity of it makes me laugh despite everything.
Flick returns with the freshly fed starter, and Devin immediately starts taking measurements of the jar, wrapping her measuring tape around its circumference with scientific precision.
“Are you singing to it, too?” Flick’s tone is teasing.
I roll my eyes. “Totally. Every hour on the dot.”
“I think this color matches it well.” Devin holds a strand of the red yarn against the glass, considering it with an artist’s eye.
“I’m sure Noah will love it.”
The moment his name leaves my lips, my heart does an unexpected flip. I grab the remote and hit play, desperate to focus on anything else. But even as the movie continues, I can’t shake the swirl of emotions in my chest. Noah is a client. A professional contact. Someone with whom I share a complicated history that should serve as a warning against getting too involved.
My career depends on this cookbook’s success. If things go well, if the publishing house is impressed with my work, it could lead to the full-time position I desperately need. A steady job with benefits, regular hours, the ability to work from home when my health demands it. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.
Getting romantically involved with Noah would complicate everything. Even if the cookbook project continued smoothly, what happens when the work is done? What if things between us go badly? Any personal drama could poison my professional reputation before it’s even fully established.
And if that happens, I can kiss my dream of a full-time editing job goodbye. One bad reference, one whispered warningin the publishing world’s tight-knit community, and I’ll be back to scrambling for freelance work, sitting through endless restaurant meals that leave me in agony, pushing my body past its limits just to pay rent.
No way in hell will I let that happen. Not for any guy. Not even for the cutest baker this side of the Mississippi.
Chapter Ten
Noah
“Need anything before I head out?” Lawrence lingers by Rye Again’s front door, one hand already on the brass handle.
I glance around the dining room, taking in the empty tables with their mismatched chairs, the display case that needs one more wipe-down, the afternoon light slanting through windows still bearing fingerprints from the morning rush. I already know I won’t be keeping him any longer. After the way he handled the chaos of today’s rush, he deserves a long break.
