Page 31 of The Kitchen Contract

All of a sudden, my fingers feel like they’re on fire, and I release her wrist. Clearing my throat, I avert my eyes and step back, giving her some room.

“You’re welcome.” Her response is so quiet I barely hear her, but the warmth in her shy smile is loud and clear. “Do you want some help cleaning up?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of us, plus Grant and Chris, to bring the leftover food inside and stow it away while Maddy changes Ileigh and Annie excuses herself to go recline on a pool chair to rest. Watching her settle in with one hand cradling her belly sends a pang through me. Obviously, I’ve been around expectant mothers before. Maddy has birthed two children, and I have friends and coworkers who are mothers. But this pregnancy has been hitting me differently. I feel a sense of longing every time I think about the tiny person nestled safely inside her, and for the first time in my adult life, I feel a strong desire for children of my own. I’ve always known I want kids someday, but it’s becoming more real to me. More like something I want soon, not at some unspecified time in the distant future.

I shake away that thought as I run a damp cloth over the table. Now isn’t the time to dwell on such serious thoughts. There are still several hours to go before the fireworks and I know the colossal caloric intake my niece and nephews require, so I bring out a box of assorted chips and a cooler of sports drinks to keep everyone happy once their burgers and cake wear off.

With nothing else pressing to take care of, I follow the rest of the family to the pool. Olivia shrieks when she sees me pulling off my t-shirt.

“Watch out!” she calls. “Uncle Alex is going to cannonball!”

She retreats out of the line of fire, and the boys cheer. I catch Nora’s eye and return her grin just before my feet leave the ground.

20

NORA

Another in a long string of smiles stretches my lips as I recall the previous evening on my way to work the next morning. I don’t remember the last time I had that much fun. Hanging out with Alex’s whole family, eating the supper and snacks he’d so thoughtfully prepared, and watching the fireworks from the pool when the sun went down—it was like a scene from a movie. A romantic movie, where the couple lives happily ever after surrounded by loved ones.

Life is going unusually well for me right now, both personally and professionally. I’m almost afraid to think about it too much for fear of jinxing it. The viewership of the show is continuing to grow more rapidly than I ever would have predicted, and I have a feeling that my attraction to Alex might not be unrequited after all, if his attention last night was any indication. If I concentrate, I can still feel his thumb gently grazing the skin of my wrist and it gives me the same tingly feeling it did when it happened.

And to top it all off, I get to have lunch with a family friend today, one I haven’t seen in a long time. I can’t wait to tell Sammy about the show and catch up. It’s been at least a year since I’ve seen him, so when he texted me a couple of days ago to let me know he’d be in town for a work trip, we made plans to meet up.

By the time my lunch break arrives, I’m starved and hyped to see Sammy. Once upon a time, I would have said Samuel Hanson was my best friend. We never got enough of each other when we were kids and stayed close through high school, only to drift apart when Sammy went off to college and I didn’t. My choice to come to Nashville to work and put myself through a culinary program was nearly as unfathomable for him as it was for my parents. None of them could understand why I would pass up the chance to be a first-generation college graduate to pursue cooking. Ultimately the years away from each other took us from the “current best friends” category to a “fond childhood memories” designation.

But even though we aren’t close anymore, we didn’t end on bad terms and I’m excited for our lunch. I walk the two blocks down from the restaurant where I work to a cute little café that has great sandwiches and caramel macchiatos. I spot Sammy the instant I walk through the door, seated at a table for two, his dark head bent over his phone while he waits.

He looks up as I approach, and his face lights up in a grin. Standing quickly, he greets me with a warm hug.

“Wow, Nora, you look great! It’s so good to see you.”

“You too! I can’t believe how long it’s been. How are you?”

He draws back, and we both take a seat. “Really good. I got promoted recently, which is part of the reason for this trip. What about you? What have you been up to?”

A wave of delight surges through me at this question. “I actually started a new project that’s going really well. It’s a YouTube cooking show teaching people how to make easy meals at home, and it’s been getting a lot of views.”

“That’s great! I guess you’re getting good use out of your chef certification, huh?” He smiles at me as he reaches for a menu.

I force a laugh so I don’t have to answer, my throat constricting. I wasn’t expecting this to come up so quickly. In fact, I was kind of hoping it wouldn’t come up at all. Because I really don’t want to say anything untruthful, but I also don’t want Sammy—or anyone else, including my parents—to find out that I didn’t actually finish my program.

I’d rather not have to relive the whole traumatic experience. Or see the look of disappointment on his face when he realizes I skipped college for half of a culinary education that has me working in the kitchen of a mid-level chain restaurant, instead of living out my dream of owning and managing my own restaurant. But I do have the show, I remind myself. It’s not like I haven’t made any progress over the last few years.

The thought gives me confidence, and I sit up straighter, determined to steer the conversation away from my education, or lack thereof, to safer topics.

“So tell me about this promotion,” I say, and Sammy doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He tells me about his new responsibilities and hefty raise at the marketing firm he works for. I congratulate him and remind him of how sure he was in first grade that he wanted to be a cowboy when he grew up.

“Oh gosh, how could I forget?” Sammy smiles at the fond memory. “I wore that cowboy hat every day for at least a year, even to church. I’m surprised Mom let me get away with that.”

“I remember she drew the line at the spurs and six-shooter you also wanted to wear, so maybe she felt like the hat was a fair compromise.”

It’s a special kind of feeling, dropping into a comfortable, familiar rhythm of conversation when you get around someone you have a lot of history with. It’s like slipping on a favorite pair of shoes and going for a long walk on a sunny day. I can’t stop smiling as we reminisce, my heart full.

The waitress comes and goes, bringing us a delicious meal, and the hour passes far too quickly for my liking. I’m disappointed when it’s time to say goodbye.

“Don’t be a stranger. We need to do this again next time you’re in town.”

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