Page 11 of This Is Who I Am

I add a touch of cream to the pot, just enough to mellow the sharper notes and bring a silky texture to the broth. I toss in a handful of fresh parsley for brightness and a dash of saffron for a hint of the exotic. The golden threads bleed their color into the sauce, like sunlight pouring into a room.

I taste the broth with a spoon, closing my eyes as the flavors unfold on my tongue. It’s close, but not quite there. It needs something else—something to pull it all together.

I get a lemon from the fridge and slice it in half. A few generous squeezes, and the dish is transformed. The acidity lifts the flavors, sharpens them, gives them clarity.

As the clams fully open, I plate them in a shallow bowl, ladling the aromatic broth around them. With a few slices of crusty bread on the side for soaking up the sauce, the dish will be complete. It’s simple but thoughtful. Elegant but comforting.

The plate looks like a celebration of the ocean itself—a tribute to the Pacific that stretches beyond Savor’s walls.

Estelle walked me home out of kindness, and this dish is how I walk her back. How I let her know that there’s something in me that wants to connect.

I make a note to run this new dish as a special on Friday, not just for Estelle but for anyone willing to taste a little piece of my heart. The thought makes me smile, even as a small voice in the back of my head warns me to be careful. At least my kitchen is a safe place to take risks. If only matters of the heart were as simple as a recipe.

A knock at the back door startles me. I’m not expecting any deliveries and my staff won’t be in for another hour, unless someone has decided to show up early. Wiping my hands on my apron, I swing the door open.

It’s Sarah. She looks good. The way people do when they’ve truly moved on and built something new and beautiful. When she was here with Rose last Friday, she was beaming as well.

“I saw the light was on,” she says, shifting slightly, as if debating whether coming here was such a good idea after all.

“How are you?” For her to drop by like this is definitely out of the ordinary.

“I wanted you to hear it from me.” A humungous smile—the kind that looks unstoppable—takes over her face. “Last Friday, when we were here.” A pause. “Rose and I were celebrating that, um, I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations.” Of course, I’m happy for her. It’s what she wanted. It’s also the other reason we broke up.

A short silence falls. It’s full of everything we were and everything we couldn’t be. But her news doesn’t hurt me. Not in the way I once thought it might.

Sarah lets out a nervous laugh that catches in her throat. She puts a hand on her belly and doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to.

Despite the love we had, and all the ways we tried, we couldn’t make it work. We both knew it had to end. And now, here she is, stepping into the life she always wanted. And here I am, finally at peace with not being the one to give it to her.

She studies me for a second longer, then bridges the distance between us, tentative but somehow sure. “Can I?—?”

I don’t let her finish. I pull her into a hug.

She melts into it, and for a moment, we’re just two people who once knew each other in a way no one else did. There’s no bitterness—just the understanding that we mattered to each other once, and maybe, in some way, always will.

When we pull apart, Sarah smiles. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

“I am,” I say, which is true enough.

“I should go, leave you to whatever smells so delicious in here.”

“Thanks for stopping by and telling me in person. I appreciate it.”

Sarah squeezes my hand briefly before turning away. “Take care, Cass.”

“You too.”

Once she’s out the door, I let out a deep breath. Although I’m happy for her, I will need a little time to process this news.

Meanwhile, I go back to my dish. I taste it again and adjust the seasoning a little. Because that’s the thing about cooking—it’s never truly finished. There’s always room for a little more depth, a little more balance. And maybe, if I get it just right, someone will take one bite and understand exactly what I’m trying to say.

CHAPTER8

ESTELLE

It’s different when I arrive at Savor this week. I’m still at my table for one by the window, and the maitre d’ is the same as last time, but I can’t help but look out for Cass in the open kitchen. I’ve been thinking about her more than I’ve wanted to. Despite myself. Despite how I am and what life has taught me. And then I had to decide what to wear.

---