"Rabe should still be in season...." Sophie pulled up the recipe she'd adopted from the original and displayed it on her laptop.

"Aren't they bitter?" Her jaw clenched at the curtness in Simon's voice.

With Simon in New York at a conference, they'd arranged a video chat between his sessions to review her first draft of the menu she planned to serve for the investors in less than two months. Sophie was grateful they'd turned off their cameras to focus on her proposal, because she was sure her frustration was plastered across her face like a neon sign in Times Square. This was the third of her first five suggestions he'd shot down.

Simon cleared his throat. "They were on the menu at The Waterfront one winter. We ended up throwing them out because no one ordered any."

"Yes, but this isn't a local bar." She winced at her word choice. Presentations and sales pitches weren't on the typical resume of a Sous Chef. While she could pontificate for an hour or two on the difference between a shitaki and a portabella mushroom and provide ten unique ways to cook each, selling her recipes verbally was a skill she obviously lacked. "What I mean is, I thought the point was to show the investors how the new restaurant will be different from traditional French cuisine?"

"Correct. Elevating the experience is the goal, but not at the cost of alienating our patrons." Reverb blurred his last words. Even the speakers on her laptop seemed to be unable to handle the stress in Simon's voice. "Once we've secured the funding, we can broaden the menu, experiment more. For this round, with these investors, the plan is to add a wow factor while demonstrating we can deliver a Michelin Star quality meal."

Sophie dug her nails into her thigh, using the pain to distract her from yelling at her laptop. Restaurants that earned the sought after Michelin star pushed the boundaries of their culinary experiences, using unique ingredients and daring techniques. Anyone could flip a burger and fry potato strips.

She breathed through her eyelids, theoretically, forcing herself to calm down. "Got it. I'll take another crack at it and have something ready for tomorrow."

"I'm treating Mary to a surprise weekend getaway and will be offline. Let's regroup on Monday."

A flush of comfort sliced through the ire burning in her chest at the sweet gesture. Simon loved her friend, one of the most difficult women on the face of the earth, and she loved him back. Thomas had been the same, surprising Sophie by whisking her away to a local lavender farm, a weekend at a butterfly conservatory or the time he borrowed his father's jet, flying her to LA to see a concert because she mention the band was her favourite.

Moisture flooded her eyes, both at the acknowledgement that it had been years since anyone had made a grand romantic gesture in her honour and that she was beginning to forget the thousand little ways Thomas expressed his affection for her, never mind the big ones.

With an attempted to sound as normal as possible, she rubbed her nose, pushing the emotions away. "It's a plan."

Laptop closed, Sophie picked up her phone and checked her texts. One from Evelyn Harrington, Thomas's mother, confirming their annual Christmas high tea at The Crosby. A cavalcade of emotions whirred in her chest, guilt at dreading seeing Thomas's mother after lusting after another man for a month, regret at wanting to skip the event that they had started the first holiday she came home after meeting Thomas and longing for a life she lived in the shadows of what once was and could never be.

She bundled up the pain, forcing the ball of hurt back into the dark recess of her heart where it lived in silence most days, and vowed to return a text to Evelyn when she was in a more stable mood. The other text was from Etienne asking for a status update. Rather than texting back, she opted to call him.

"How's the country sabbatical?" His warm baritone reeked of mirth. Despite being a chef, Etienne had only ever seen farmland from an airplane while city hopping and had never been in a cornfield outside of the fake ones they created in empty warehouses on Halloween.

She stood from her chair and stretched. "Oh, you know me. Living the dream over here." Her gaze slid to the bathroom door and her lips tingled for the millionth time since Max had kissed her yesterday. It had taken all her willpower last night not to cross that tile threshold and sneak into his room, pretending she wanted to talk but really wanting a repeat of his lips on hers, his hot fingers caressing her breast. Or better, more. Much more. This morning she'd missed her post-run Max fix as he and Finn had left early to drive to the nearest hardware store two towns over. She hated the disappointment that coursed through her in his absence.

Etienne chuckled. "Oh, no." The familiar sound of pots hitting a stainless steel countertop echoed in the background. "Wasn't that the point of you staying in that one stop light town? Making your dream of having your own kitchen come true? Is there trouble in paradise?"

"That's the thing. It isn't my kitchen. Or even my vision." Sophie walked into the bathroom, putting Etienne on speakerphone. "The owner of the winery is in control."

"Ah, if there's one thing I know about my friend, she likes control." His voice bounced off the tiled surfaces.

Meeting her own eyes in the mirror, Sophie huffed. "You make me sound like a robot."

The snicker echoed around the room. "You are anything but a robot. But remember, I've seen your colour-coded planners and the calendar you manage by the minute. I'd never had my cappuccino break interrupted by an alarm clock before. Coffee is enjoyed, not consumed in less than 10 minutes."

Sophie adjusted an askew towel on the rack beside her. "We had a schedule to keep."

"My point exactly. Life isn't a schedule. Plans should be able to change." Nausea pitched in Sophie's stomach. Plans and schedules had been how she'd coped with Thomas's death. By planning each moment, she managed to hold herself together with something to do next, rather than shatter to pieces with the ache of missing him. Someone in the background on Etienne's side yelled to close the door. "Like in the kitchen, if the ingredient you need has run out or gone bad, you have to improvise. Go with the flow."

Before she knew what she was doing, Sophie pushed through the opposite door to the bedroom beyond. Muted colors greeted her, the linens on Max's bed wrinkle free and expertly made. Unlike her room, no personal possessions were in sight. A canvas bag, the only indication of him, sat tucked into a corner like it was trying to hide. She inhaled deeply, the cool air holding the faintest hint of the scent of Max. Her blood sang, rushing to places low and deep.

"What if I can't?" Her voice fell to a whisper.

"What if you can?" Since the day they met, Etienne had been the one person who could push her out of her comfort zone. Sure, they'd come up with the dishes to pitch to the owners together, but it had been a partnership where he'd waited for her to find her inspiration or spurred her to get creative.

Sophie ran a finger along the comforter, the soft material nothing like the hard muscles she'd traced on Max's stomach yesterday. She hadn't planned on kissing him. That had been an impulse. The result of which had her buzzing even now. If she was honest with herself, she wanted more of that. More of him. "I don't know."

"Maybe you should find out."

Her body screamed Yes, find out.

Her mind screamed, No, it might hurt.

Air froze in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. She withdrew her hand. Max was due to return to the Navy in a little over a month. A job that was synonymous with danger. An explosion of dread threw emotional shrapnel around her chest. Emily had met him because he'd been in an accident where two members of his crew had died.

A shiver ran down her spine and she sprinted across the hardwood floors, through the bathroom and back into the safety of her own room. No, she wasn't letting her heart anywhere near a man who could abandon her at any moment. Never again.

Sophie cleared her throat. "Simon made it clear he's only interested in tried-and-true items for this dinner. I need advice on what to serve. Do you have time to brainstorm with me?"

On the other end, Etienne let out a long breath. "Always, Sophie."

She sat down at the desk, opened her laptop, and pulled up a fresh document. This was what she needed to concentrate on: a plan she could control.

Hey there DL here. Can you understand Sophie's hesitancy to get involved with Max? Is she over-thinking this?

I had a conversation with a fellow reader who was binging True Blue, my first foray into writing about the military and we were discussing the qualities of those who sign up. Because it certainly takes a brave soul to volunteer to put themselves in the line of duty, be it in the military, on the police force, a nurse in a hospital or any of the other jobs we (and by we I mean me) unbrave folks sometimes take for granted. So in case I don't say this enough, thank you for your service.