Page 69 of The Artist and the Muse

I sighed. “Georgia—”

“No, I’m just kidding. I do believe you. But next time, would it kill you to respond to one of my texts?”

My shoulders slumped with relief. I squeezed her free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching her coffee like a lifeline. “Thank you. I promise, next time I’m being interrogated by the FBI, I won’t let them take my phone until I’ve talked to you.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is a lot to take in. I mean, Sebastian? Really? The big, bad mafia guy who also does papier-mâché turned out to be a restaurant owner?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” I pulled his business card out of my pocket. “I think he offered me a discount on a meal.”

“Does that mean our first date in New York can be at Cavalli’s?” Georgia said, waggling her eyebrows just as her mom exited the kitchen with a tray of what looked like lasagna. After my mad dash around New York from the airport to the university, and now from the florist to her apartment, I was hungry enough that my stomach growled.

“It definitely can. But I was hoping this could be our first date. I did bring you flowers, after all.”

She spotted them on the living room table and smiled. “I love them.”

We all dug into the food, the room growing warm and homey as we made easy conversation. I couldn’t help but think of the last time Georgia and I had been together on American soil. Our conversations had been tense, awkward, and hostile, even.

They hadn’t been filled with real warmth and joy like they were now. Not to mention, real love.

Chapter Thirty-One: Georgia

One Year Later

The enormous emerald ribbon outsideGeorgia’s Pie Shoppewas ready to be cut, and George stood by with giant shears for me to do just that. Above us, the sky was bright and clear, matching the cerulean balloons tied in bunches outside my new bakery. After graduating with my Anthropology degree, I’d spent the past year getting a culinary and business license, working overtime on both pursuits. Quitting modelling had been the right choice. I’d never been happier.

While at times I still caught myself measuring out what I ate, counting calories in my head, or wanting to hop on the nearest treadmill as ‘punishment’ for having a slice of chocolate cake, I knew thatwith time and prayer, that would fade. I would be able to enjoy life—and food—as God had intended.

George squeezed my hand with his free one before I picked up the microphone and stood in front of the restaurant, where I would give my grand opening speech. Those present were our closest family and friends.

“You’re going to do great.”

“I’m not nervous,” I responded and found myself believing the words. To my surprise, although I’d harboured so much fear over what might happen if I quit modelling and moved onto something else, it was freeing not to have the constant questions about what could happen now that I was finally in it.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed my cheek before I cleared my throat.

“Thank you everyone for coming. As some of you may know, I never thought I would become a chef, let alone a restaurant owner, but here I am. It’s all thanks to those of you who loved and supported me, and encouraged me to pursue my dreams even when I was too scared to do so. I hope you enjoy being my first customers.”

Applause rose up around me as I stepped off the platform, and George handed me the comically oversized scissors to cut the ribbon in half. It fell to the ground in two halves, to the sound of more clapping and cheering.

After I propped open the doors with the makeshift podium remnants, I welcomed people inside.

The bakery was a small space, just big enough for a handful of tables and chairs. Inside, the decoration was a mix of retro fifties diner and the Italian countryside. It was a strange combination, but it made me happy and it seemed to work together. A large counter at the back was filled with savoury and sweet baked goods, from chicken pot pie to croissants to Danishes. The windows were arched, and there was evena cozy nook in the corner with round, overstuffed chairs for reading or studying. And of course, there was plenty of coffee.

“I’m so proud of you, Georgia.” Before turning around, I already knew it was George speaking. “This place is amazing and I know everyone will love it.”

“Thank you.” I sighed as I watched the people crowd around, examining the food in the glass case. I had hired two cooks with plenty of experience, and I’d be popping in to check on everyone and run the cash register and all that, but for one tiny moment, I let myself relax.

George wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Hey, I didn’t know you had that painting in here.”

A Fair Maiden and her Knighthung across from the door, so that it was the first thing customers would see when they walked in. It didn’t quite match the decor, but the bluish green and pink hues blended in nicely with the colours I’d chosen.

“Of course. I want to see it every day,” I said. “It’s the first gift you ever gave me, after all.”

George chuckled. “Don’t worry, I still have another one for you.”

Before I could ask what he meant, Abigail called me over as she and Katerina wavered between getting a round of scones with tea and ordering what Alexander called ‘real food,’ like a roast beef sandwich.

I told him that carbswerein fact real food and informed him of the tons of butter that had gone into making the scones. George just laughed; I saw him leave to chat with my mother, then with Uncle Aaron. Hmm. I hadn’t realized he actually liked my uncle, who was a difficult man to deal with. He intimidated his fair share of business partners and family members alike.

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