Page 19 of Lessons in Lemonade

“I’m glad you liked it. I almost didn’t make it thinking you would just want pie, but we made it in the restaurant this week and it was well received.”

“So you finally admit you were thinking about me,” I tease her.

She rolls her eyes. “How could I not? Every day this week you were harassing me and demanding to know what I was making that day.”

“It gave me something to look forward to, and boy did I. Can you blame me?” I stretch my arm out across the back of the couch. “And I didn’t just like it—I loved it. It was melt-in-my-mouth delicious.” Her smile grows a little larger. “Thank you for cooking today, by the way. I appreciate it, and I appreciate being included.”

“I have an open door policy for my table. You are always welcome at it.”

I don’t respond, just soaking in the details of her face, and pink slowly tinges her cheeks. Without thinking I reach over to tuck a piece of loose hair behind her ear, and her head tilts my way an infinitesimal degree.

Damn, she’s beautiful.

“Tell me about your restaurant. How did that happen?” I ask her.

The muscles in her face relax and she shifts to face me more, pulling her legs underneath her then letting out a deep breath. She doesn’t look excited to talk about it, more resigned; my guess is that this story is somehow tied to her previously being sick and she knew this conversation was coming.

“Meg,” I say quietly, and her eyes rise to meet mine. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. Ever.”

“I know, but I knew this was coming. And I don’t mind, it’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

Across from us, the fireplace lets off a crackling sound.

“It always changes things.” Her eyes break contact with mine and look down at her hands. She’s scrunching the blanket back and forth between her fingers, and after all these months of her firing off fun jabs and insults, it’s strange to see this moment of vulnerability in her. Given what I know of her, her take charge and live each day to the fullest mentality, I didn’t expect this.

I bump my shoulder into hers, bringing her gaze back my way. “I can’t see how anything you tell me is going to change the way I feel about you.” There couldn’t be anything more true than that statement. I pretty much think this girl walks on water.

“I hope not.” She gives me a pressed-lip smile.

Stretching my fingers, I loop them around a few strands of her hair that didn’t make it into the messy bun and roll them between my fingers. Her hair is so soft, and if I was allowed, it’s possible I would bury my face in it and breathe her in.

“As I mentioned at dinner, I was twenty-one when I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. My parents had moved to Fort Myers, Florida, when I graduated from high school, and I’d moved to the college dorms. Fortunately for me, I was on track to graduate early, so after the surgery, when the chemo started, I found myself living with my aunt, my mother’s older sister. I already had a great relationship with her, but this experience took us to a whole new level. She was amazing, and just the person I needed.”

“Your parents didn’t come home to help you?” Irritation at this settles into my muscles.

“They visited, but it was okay that they didn’t stay. I had it in my mind that if they fussed, things were dire, but if we moved forward with business as usual, all would be okay. And my aunt . . . well, she’s a rock star like that.

“During the treatment, there’s a plan. Everything becomes regimented, scheduled. We knew what we had to do, and it was like checking boxes and moving forward: surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, reassessment, then oral chemotherapy. And then suddenly it was done. All over. At least that’s what they told me, but I didn’t feel that way. I felt lost. Like, I’d survived this thing, and suddenly I was expected to throw myself back into normal society and live amongst people who didn’t know, didn’t understand.

“Anyway, my aunt helped me push forward with a new plan. She knew Shelby and I had talked about culinary school. On the sly, the two of them applied for me, and then the next thing I knew, Shelby and I were packing up and heading out. It was smart of them to keep me going. Believe it or not, there are a lot of dark places one can go to after something like surviving cancer. And when we were done with culinary school, my aunt handed me a check and said, ‘Go make me proud.’”

“Wow. I hope to one day meet this aunt of yours. She sounds amazing.”

“She is. You would have liked my grandmother, too.”

“Would have?” I ask her.

“Yeah.”

Meg looks across the room, not really at anything in particular, just lost in thought. Given this moment, I take in the details of her profile, even though it’s cast in shadows: full eyebrows, long curved eyelashes, smooth-looking skin, and earlobes that are attached versus dangly and pierced with diamond studs. The spot under her ear, on her neck, is open and inviting, but not for me. Internally I sigh, hoping to suppress some of the attraction I feel for her.

“Where’s your aunt today?”

She looks back at me. “She’s two hours south of Charleston, over on Hilton Head. She loves to golf.”

“Golf?” My brows shoot up, and she grins. “A woman after my own heart.”