Page 62 of The Seven Year Slip

I coughed into my shoulder to disguise a laugh, and Drew elbowed me in the side as James ambled away to go check up on Falcon House. “I can’t believe you said they looked like hisrestaurant’s specialty!” she hissed.

“Theydo, Drew,” I replied. “Would you rather me say they look like vulvas? Each one of them’s a little different.”

She rolled her eyes and started tossing them into the boiling pot. “You’re theworst.”

I elbowed her back. “You’re glad I came.”

“Immensely.”

The rest of the cooking class went about as well as expected. We finished up our food, and James talked a little about how he ran his kitchen. “A good kitchen runs on excellence, but a great kitchen runs on communication and trust,” he said, glancing over to me as I gave him secretive finger guns behind Drew’s back. He steadfastly ignored it. “I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. I know this is a bit different than what you normally go through to acquire a book, so I appreciate your willingness to explore cuisine with me.”

I wished he sounded a little more enthused, like he had in my aunt’s apartment. I wanted to seethatpart of him—the excited, passionate part, but it felt dulled a little in the harsh kitchen lights of the Olive Branch. My heart felt full and heavy thinking about the Iwan waiting for me in my aunt’s apartment, and the one here with us now, so different and yet so similar.

He didn’t talk about best offers or final bids. He talked about food and technique, and he hoped that we’d all come back to visit him whether or not it worked out.

After the class, he went around and thanked everyone, and we all put our leftovers in to-go bags and exited the restaurant, laughing and picking on Parker for almost setting the entire restaurant on fire.

“I’m a better editor than cook!” was his defense.

And Drew replied, “To be fair, weallare.”

Outside, a blond woman waited, and she rushed up to Benji Andor when he came out. He bent and kissed her on the cheek, and handed her his terrible ravioli, and they split off toward the subway station. Parker grumbled as he and his team caught a taxi. Drew’s Uber came first.

“I can wait for yours,” she said, but I waved her off.

“Nah, it should be here any minute.”

“Okay.” She hugged and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you for being on my team. I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Clementine.”

“You’d still kick ass. Here, you can take mine for Fiona,” I added, handing her my food, after she got into the Uber.

“Fiona will love you forever.”

“I know.”

The car drove away, and soon enough I was the only one left outside the Olive Branch. My Uber was circling the wrong block for the second time, and I began to get the feeling that the driver was about to cancel the ride and flag me as a no-show. I should probably take the train home, anyway, and save my money. Besides, it was such a lovely night. The moon was round and large, framed perfectly between the buildings like the main character in her own film, reflecting off the windows, cascading silvery light into the warm orange of streetlights. For a few hours, I’d been so focused on cooking that I hadn’t thought about Rhonda’s retirement or the pending disaster that was Strauss & Adder Publishers if we didn’t get James. No,focusedwasn’t exactly the right word. My jaw didn’t hurt from clenching it; instead, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I hadn’t had that muchfunin... a very long time. Especially where my job was concerned.

Even before this James Ashton business, I couldn’t remember the last time I actually hadfunat work. I used to—I know I did, I wouldn’t have stayed at Strauss & Adder if I didn’t—even when I was working myself to the bone. There had been something invigorating about mastering the job, being surrounded by people who loved the same things, but over the last few years... I wasn’t sure. The job never changed, but I think what I enjoyed about itdid. My job used to feel like chasing the moon, and now it just felt like planning out how to give it to other people.

But thatwaswhat a job you loved was supposed to feel like, right? When you’d been there a while?

As I stood, wondering, watching my Uber takeanotherwrong turn, someone came up beside me on the sidewalk.

I glanced over. It was James, having locked up for the evening, swinging his keys around on his first finger. He looked just as pristine as he had a few hours before, and I resisted the urge to scrub my fingers through his hair to make him a little less perfect. I certainly felt like a mess beside him.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said in greeting.

“We?” I echoed, turning to him. “Don’t drag me into your bad decisions.”

He snorted a laugh, and put his hands in the pockets of his dark-wash jeans. They fit him too terribly well, hugging every curve. It wasn’t the first time that night that I thought he had a nice ass, after all. Not that I’deversay that to a prospective author. Or say it aloud at all. In fact, I probably should not have thought it in the first place. “Fine, fine,” he said, his voice light and warm. “Istarted off on the wrong foot.”

“Better.” In the app, my driver kept circling and circling. Brad wasn’t going to come pick me up, was he?

“You know,” he said, and gave a frustrated sigh, scrunching his nose, “this part was a lot easier in my head.”

Surprised, I glanced up at him again. “What are you talking about?”

He turned to me then, and I wished he didn’t look as handsome as he did in the streetlight, the way the oranges and browns in his auburn hair glimmered, a few streaks of silver at his widow’s peak, but he did and I couldn’t quite bring myself to look away. It struckme then, how strange it was to see him out in the world and not in a small, cramped apartment on the Upper East Side. He washere, real. In my time.

---