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Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound against the front glass makes my heart leap straight into my throat. I toss the empty bread trays onto the prep table and sprint back to the front, frantically wiping flour off my nose as I go.

Maybe it’s Max. Maybe he’s forgotten his sunglasses. Or his keys. Or he just needed one more reason to come back inside.

I reach the door and open it, a “hey, you’re back” already forming on my lips.

Only this time, it really is the delivery guy. He’s leaning against a stack of produce crates, looking profoundly bored with life as he checks his watch.

The adrenaline dies down. “Hi, the pantry’s open,” I say, offering a sheepish smile. “The usual spot’s fine.”

He shrugs and pushes the dolly down the alley to the back.

I lock the front door and start humming the opening chords of “I Dreamed a Dream.” My morning hasn’t exactly gone as planned. I have a lot of catch-up work to do. But for the first time in weeks, I don’t mind.

Three

“I’m telling you, Katie, this guy must have a crush on you,” Lina says, glancing in my direction.

Even after thirty years in the States, her rich Italian accent is still fully intact. She’s my boss, mentor, friend—basically, my second mom. If you spend enough time in her orbit, she adopts you whether you asked for it or not. Randy, Theo, and I are all living proof.

“He does not have a crush on me,” I say, clicking my turn signal. “We’ve barely spoken.”

“You didn’t see the way he was looking at you before those party animals left, cara.”

I shake my head, focusing on the road. “Believe what you want, Lina. Anything between us is strictly one-sided. We’ll see the play, say thank you afterward, and then we’ll all get on with our lives.”

It’s not that I don’t want to go on a date with him. I would. In a heartbeat. But I’m also a realist, and the math just doesn’t quite add up.

Max is a dance captain on a Les Mis tour, with a real future in theatre. I’m a tennis player losing more matches than I’m winning and counting every dollar just to stay afloat. If it weren’t for Lina and her restaurant, I’d be in serious trouble.

“Mm-hmm,” Lina hums, tapping her manicured nails against the dashboard. “We’ll just have to see what Zoe thinks.”

I pull into the complex parking lot, kill the engine, and shoot Zoe a quick text.

Katie

We’re here. Can we come up?

Zoe

Yup. Door’s unlocked.

Zoe and I have been best friends since college. We were roommates and doubles partners on the University of Orlando tennis team until I left to turn pro five years ago. Back when I thought I’d have things figured out by twenty-six.

While I’ve been grinding it out on the ITF circuit—basically the minor leagues of tennis, where the prize money barely covers your hotel and you’re constantly clawing for enough points to improve your rank and qualify for big tournaments like the U.S. Open—she’s been finishing up her physical-therapy residency.

“Knock, knock,” I say, pushing the door open to Zoe’s place. “I have food and Mamma Lina herself.”

“Lina!” Zoe squeals, making a beeline for the door. The towel wrapped around her damp hair slips to the floor as she throws her arms around the petite woman.

Lina laughs, patting her back. “I missed you too, cara.” She pulls back and gives Zoe a quick once-over, nodding in approval. “When are you coming to the restaurant? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“You can thank the university hospital for that. My schedule’s been all over the map,” Zoe says, fanning her face. “But hopefully things will start to stabilize now that I’m done with my residency. My last shift was Wednesday.”

I grin, setting the heavy bags on the counter. “I think we’ve all been waiting for the end of those twenty-four-hour shifts.”

“Well, I have good news . . .” A triumphant smile spreads across Zoe’s face. “I’m officially jumping into the private sector starting next week.”