Page 33 of The Seven Year Slip

“And if you show it to anyone else, you’re afraid it might spoil.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“But you did—obviously. Since you cooked for me.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I thought I just wanted it to be a pastime, but then I decided... what the hell?”

I looked down at the tiny bit of paint still stuck under my fingernails. “Do you regret it?”

He cocked his head in thought. “Ask me in a few years.”

If I find you, I thought,I will.

Though I couldn’t imagine that he would—there was a certain kind of person who took hold of their passion and never let it spoil. He’d never lose sight of why he wanted to be a chef in the first place.

I admitted, “The painting in the bathroom? Of the moon? It’s mine.”

He thought, his eyebrows creasing as he recalled the painting, and then his eyes lit up. “Oh, that one! It’s lovely. Do you have others around the apartment?”

To that, I smiled and tapped a finger to my lips. “I do. I’ll show them to you next time,” I said, “if you remember to ask me.”

“Deal,” he agreed. “They’re probably right under my nose.”

I thought about the travel guides in my aunt’s study. He had no idea. I cocked my head. “You know, it’s weird. Today was the first time I’ve painted in... half a year? Yeah, that seems right.”

He whistled. “That’s a long time. Why did you stop?”

I felt my body tense. “Someone broke my heart,” I said softly.

“Oh... I’m sorry, Lemon.”

I shrugged, and tried to play it off. “It’s okay. My last boyfriend tried to get me to paint again, but I just didn’t have it in me. I didn’t have it in me to do a lot of things with him, to be honest. He said I was too closed-off.” I put the words in air quotes. “I didn’t even cry when we broke up.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t love him.”

“It was three months,” I replied, dismissing his idea. “I’m sure I didn’t. My aunt always said you know the moment you fall.”

He studied me for a moment. “Maybe you do.”

“Haveyouever been in love?” And then I asked, trying to joke with him, “Is that why you’rereallyin the city? To chase after someone? It’s okay,” I added conspiratorially, “you can admit it to me. I won’t tell a soul.”

To which he smiled, crooked and charming, as if he was about to tell me a secret he’d never told anyone else in the world. He leaned toward me. “And if I have?”

I sat up a little straighter. “Do they know?”

“Sadly, yes,” he replied. “But alas, pommes frites are a cruel beast, and my body rejects them with...heartburn!” He dramatically clutched his chest, and I rolled my eyes.

“Okay, I guess I deserved that.”

“Mm-hmm.” He took my hand and pulled me to stand. “And if you have time to plot out my fictitious love life,” he said, pulling me into the kitchen, “you have time to—”

“Pleasedon’t say dance.”

“—to whip some cream for me while I take the pie out of the oven and chill it for a bit.”

The dread quickly turned into relief. “Oh,that.” Then I realized what he’d said. “Wait,I’mhelping you?”

“It’ll be easy, I promise.”

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