“Here we go,” he says with a smile.
I’VE JUST FINISHED CLEANINGup my station around 10P.M.when Ethan sidles up beside me.
“Any big plans for the weekend?”
“Not really.” I shrug.
“Well, I noticed that we’re both off tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you would want to go see a movie or something.”
Color rises to my cheeks as I stare down at my knives. “Oh… um. I don’t know.”
Ethan frowns. “Sorry, that was way too forward of me. You probably have a boyfriend.”
“No, I don’t. The complete opposite, actually.”
“Sorry to hear that. Recent breakup?”
“Not exactly.” How would I even begin to explain Jake?Well, I met this guy who I thought might be my soul mate, but then he became a rock star and never spoke to me again.Oh, and did I neglect to mention he wrote a hit song about me?
“I was seeing someone a while ago. It… didn’t end well,” I say.
Ethan nods. “I get that. My girlfriend and I broke up two months ago. Completely broke my heart. We’d been together since our first semester at Le Cordon Bleu.”
“Yikes. That sucks.”
He shrugs. “After school, she took a job as a private chef for some ex–boy bander with a bunch of tattoos and a suspiciously uneven British accent. Last I heard, they’re sleeping together and he’s hired a new chef. I can hardly blame her. It isn’t easy to date someone with our work hours. Plus, how could she resist? The man’s got great hair.”
I smile. Despite how hard I’ve resisted dating, I can’t deny thatI enjoy Ethan’s company. Besides, it’s been over a year since Jake. It’s time for me to get back on the horse.
“You know what? Let’s go see a movie,” I say. “There’s a new one out that I think you’ll enjoy. A love triangle, where a British bad boy steals someone’s girlfriend.”
I throw my hands up to protect my face as Ethan flings a dish towel at me, and I laugh—really laugh, for the first time in months.
THE FIRST THING Ido when I open my locker is check my phone. Panic rushes through me when I see it’s flooded with messages from Ali. Not bothering to read them, I call her immediately. She picks up on the first ring, crying so hard that I can’t quite make out what she’s saying at first.
“Dev broke up with me,” she finally musters through muffled sobs. My heart twists at the misery in her voice.
“I’ll be home in thirty minutes,” I assure her, whipping off my jacket and clogs as quickly as possible. “Come over, okay?”
“MEN ARE TRASH,” ALIsays, launching herself into my arms the moment I open my front door. I squeeze her tightly, breathing in the familiar smell of her Moroccanoil shampoo.
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur, rubbing small circles in her back. “I promise, you’re going to get through this.” Ali sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her hands.
“I thought this was it,” she says softly. “I thought he was the one.” I’ve never seen Ali in this state. Her small frame, usually full of larger-than-life energy, is deflated. I lead her to the sofa and wrap a blanket around her shoulders.
“What can I get you? How about a Johannsson Special?” Ali nods, wiping a hand across her tear-streaked face.
I head into the kitchen, switch on the Keurig, and pull twomugs out of the cabinet for hot chocolate. Then I gather ingredients for the sandwich Ali and I invented the semester we took Contemporary Desserts. Our instructor, Chef Johannsson, had an inexplicable hatred of Nutella. After class, Ali and I would head to my place where we’d slather bread with hazelnut spread, bananas, and strawberries, just so we could rave about our creation within Chef’s earshot the next morning. It’s been one of our go-to snacks ever since. I might not be able to fix her broken heart, but I can offer my best friend the next best thing: comfort food.
When I return, Ali accepts the plate gratefully and shoves a huge bite of Johannsson in her mouth.
“Tell me everything,” I say, placing her mug on the coffee table and taking her hand.
“He left me a voicemail.” She sniffles. “What kind of person dumps someone over voicemail? I don’t even check mine half the time.”
She picks up her mug and peers inside, as if the Keurig dregs hold the answers to life’s great injustices. She lets out a heavy sigh as the steam curls around her face. “Do you have anything stronger than cocoa?”
I nod, heading back to the kitchen and returning with a bottle of amaretto.
