While she reads over the menu, I stroll to the window and glance out at the kids on the playground, shrieking and running wild during recess.
I used to stand here at this exact window, counting the minutes until my students returned from specials, dreading the second half of the day. I wanted to love this job—god, it would’ve made everything simpler if I had—but there was no joy in it for me.
I’ve looked back on that time, wondering if I was just lazy or selfish or ungrateful, but now I can see that it’s just not where I was meant to be. And that’s okay. Emily—she was built for this. Her whole heart lights up when she talks about lesson plans and the design of her classroom themes. I’ve always admired that about her. But the only part of this job I loved was being around her.
For a long time I thought I didn’t fit the job. But now I think maybe it didn’t fitme.Maybe I’m not a quitter or a failure, maybe I’m actually pretty good at listening to my heart.
The fear I have now—that being a chef will turn out the same way as my other jobs and I’ll have to start over again—still lingers. But it’s quieter. And I can thank Zora for that.
But just as soon as I gain some confidence, my eyes snag on a particular little redheaded boy playing on the swing set.Jeanine’s son.My mind flies back to the thought of James dating her and my stomach twists.
Did he end their relationship, or was it Jeanine? For some reason, that fact is very important to know. Because Jeanine and James—it makes sense. I can see it perfectly. The three of them as a happy little family, rooted here in Rome. Jeanine is someone you take home to Mom and Dad. Jeanine is someone to build traditions with.
So what happened between them?
“Okay . . .” Emily cuts into my spiraling thoughts. “These are allgreat options. I’ve had several variations of these dishes from you and they’re all incredible.”
“But?” I narrow my eyes.
“No buts.”
“But?” I ask, firmer, more intentionally, and Emily relents.
She treats me to a massive eye roll along with a groan. “You need to mix and match these two menus until the greens are with the—”
I hold up my hand and stop her and then point my finger like a wand. “Use that favorite red pen of yours and mark it up.”
While Emily draws little circles and connecting lines across the paper (and tiny hearts to soften the blow), I wander back into my thoughts about Jeanine and James and have the most startling revelation so far:They could even be a J-name couple!
“Emily . . .”
“Hmm?” She’s finishing up on the menu but giving one last note.
“Did you know James dated Jeanine?”
Her pen drops to the desk and she looks up at me, attempting to blink her shocked expression away. “Yes. Why are you asking?”
I shrug, taking my turn at nonchalance. “No real reason. He mentioned it to me the other day, and I thought it was curious.”
“Curious that they dated?”
“Curious that they broke up.” My eyes drop to the floor, pretending to scuff a nonexistent smudge off the tile. “She seems perfect for him. Beautiful. Funny. Reliable. A redhead.”
“And James just screams ‘I love redheads’?”
“You know what I mean! On paper they seem great.”
She hums a light understanding sound and sits back in her chair, crossing her legs. “I think Jackson could tell you a thing or two about trying to make it work with someone who is great for themon paper.” Emily’s boyfriend was in a multiyear relationship with a woman—even getting engaged and moving away with her—until he realized he didn’t love her and she wasn’t the one for him. “Despite looking good on paper, maybe James realized early on he could never love Jeanine.”
“So you’re saying James broke up with her?”
“I don’t know,” says Emily with a measured calm, tapping her pen softly against the desk.
I step closer. “How long did they date for?”
“Also don’t know.”
“Who asked who out first?” I’m right up at her desk now, chin angled down at her.
