A year ago.
30th Ave, Astoria, New York City.

Chapter dedication: SloanBrady

Song of recommendation for the chapter: Fleetwood Mac - Go Your Own Way. 🎶 🎶

She was fashionably late.

Lee slammed the car door and sprinted for the door. Without pausing, she tossed the keys to the valet.

"Ma'am, you forgot your. . ." The valet attempted to give her the parking stub.

"Oh, crap!" Lee huffed. She sprinted back to the valet and snatched the sticker from his hand. "Thanks."

She ran towards the doors and only skidded to a halt when she got to the foyer. She paused to catch her breath, since she couldn't go into the restaurant looking like she'd just ran the four-hundred meter dash.

Lee took a look at the upscale restaurant's decor and experienced a moment wave of panic. She couldn't go through with this.

What the hell was she doing here? What made her think that she would ever fit in somewhere like this?

She was just small potatoes.

She tugged self-consciously at the jacket of her blue two-piece skirt assemble.

She hadn't had the time to Google any information about the restaurant Oliver Green — her boyfriend of four years— asked her to meet him for a last minute date. Since she'd been busy all week, they'd barely seen each other and spoke a few times on the phone. So, when he'd called that morning asking her to meet him at The Butcher Bar, she'd agreed instantly thinking she would close to bakery early since there were less customers.

Big mistake.

Today had proven to be one of those days where tourist came to explore the depths of New York city and the demand for her sweet pastries were high enough to keep her busy all through the morning to the evening. By the time the shop was empty, it was well past seven p.m. and Ledia didn't search for the restaurant like she'd told herself to, and here she was.

A glance at her watch told her she was already thirty minutes late. If there was anything Oliver hated, it was tardiness.

Lee ran her fingers through her Reddish cinnamon hair, took a deep breath and gave herself a pep talk.

Come on, girl. You can do this. This is just a jazzed-up version of Lee's bakery.

In her mind, she tried to superimpose the more familiar surroundings of her bakery over Butcher's Bar. She looked to the left and thought she saw Emma taking the pastries order at the counter. She thought she heard the familiar rattle of China, imagined Mrs. Robby reading in that corner closer to the door while sipping her iced tea.

She looked to the right and could have sworn that she saw Ruthie, with that obnoxious, kiss the cook apron, elbowing her way through the swinging doors of the kitchen, carrying a steaming tray filled with sugar and healthy pastries. The low hum of conversation echoed in her ears as the low hum of music from the ceiling speakers enveloped her.

Suddenly, she didn't feel so out of place. The knot of tension between her shoulder blades drained away. Her stride lengthened, her expression became more confident as the approached the hospitality host standing behind a small podium near the restaurant entrance.

"Good afternoon. Welcome to Butcher Bar. Would you like a table?"

"Actually, I'm here to meet someone. Reservations for Oliver Greene." Lee spoke up.

"Yes, I believe Mr. Greene has already been seated."

The host signalled to an assistant. "Table twenty-two, the mezzanine level."

"Right this way, please." A young woman in a starched white blouse, black skirt, and low-heeled pumps smiled prettily and gestured for her to follow.

"Thank you." Lee murmured. Unconsciously, she glanced at the Gothic-styled arches as she passed beneath them. She wasn't sure what she expected when she walked through the door. She feared that as soon as she walked through the door, she'd trigger some sort of alert.

'Warning! Warning! Warning! Peasant alert! Salary under six figures!'

Lee lowered her chin, taking her voice several octaves as she imitated a security officer. "Excuse me, ma'am. Can you show some sort of identification to prove you're in the six figure income bracket? Check stubs? Tax returns? Secret handshake known only to the disgustingly well-off?"

By the time they'd exited the freeway, Lee was laughing to herself so hard, she thought she'd have a wreck. But, as she drew nearer to the restaurant and noticed the time, her amusement turned to panic. As they approached the table, Lee swallowed.

The table was located at the darkest and private corner of the mezzanine. Two chairs bracketed the table and on the table sat a bucket of ice with a bottle of wine nestled deep in it. A single red candle sat in a crystal shaped glass cup and two champagne flute stood stall beside it. But she only had eyes for the man standing by the table, who looked every bit sophisticated as his salary figure boasted of.

He was garbed in a navy blue tuxedo, his dark hair was gelled back to the nape of his neck; he was quite and well built. He polished off his dressing with his favourite shoes; Christian Loboutin's Zewar flat.

Oliver Greene was a fine specimen and he knew it.

Oliver worked as a Surgeon at the SoHo Square Surgery and his family were rich to a fault. But that was not what attracted her to him in the first place. It was his eyes. They were a vibrant shade of blue that almost seemed violet under the right lightning. Ladies chased after him, but Lee wasn't bothered.

He was hers, after all.

Lee felt a little of her courage shrivel when she saw the expression on Oliver's face. He'd put on that game face mask again— tight-jawed and steely gaze.

As the hostess escorted her to the table, Lee put on her most charming smile.

"I'm sorry, I'm late. Can you ever forgive me?" Lee stood on tiptoe and kissed Oliver lightly on the cheek as he held out a chair for her. "Traffic was a bear." She improvised. "And it took longer to get away from the bakery than I thought. Tourists and all. You know how it is when services are in such demand."

Oliver smiled wanly, but didn't reply as he settled himself in his seat.

"Rachel would be your server tonight." A waitress, dressed in black slacks and matching white blouse appeared beside the hostess. "Enjoy your meal." The hostess turned and went back the way they came from.

Rachel beamed at them. "Good evening. Welcome to Butcher Bar. My name is Rachel and I will be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink?"

Oliver spoke up. "I will have a glass of Iced tea. Lee would have a glass of sparkling water."

Rachel handed the menu to them. "I'll be right back with your drinks."

Oliver cleared his throat. "I have news for you." He shifted in his seat. "But first things first, how was your day at the bakery?"

"Hectic." Lee relaxed into her seat. "We had a lot of customers today. I had to work double time and even ran out of flour at one point, but Ruthie handled it just fine. What about yours?"

Oliver hummed in answer as Rachel returned with their drinks. "Are you ready to order?"

Again, Oliver spoke for the both of them. "No. You can check back in ten minutes."

"Certainly, sir." Rachel nodded and left.

Lee felt that something was wrong with her boyfriend.

It was quite common for him to order for her without asking about what she wanted. She was used to that. But he was fidgety tonight, which was quite unusual for someone always so collected and calm. Perhaps, something had happened at work or he had another show down with his mother about her.

It was no news that Marilyn Greene wasn't too fond of Lee.

Telling herself she was paranoid, Lee reached for the glass of water and took few tentative sips before sitting the glass on the table. She wondered why he got the wine in the first place if they were only going to drink water and iced tea.

"Ledia. There's something I need to tell you."

She adjusted in her seat.

Lee had watched enough romantic movies to know what would come next.

The guy pushes his chair back and produces a black box— it was always a black box— and goes on one knee.

Because of his love for extravagance, Oliver may just go overboard by hiring a pianist to play a sweet, slow melody. Then he would open the box and say. . .

"I am breaking up with you."

. . . Will you marry. . . wait. . . What?!

"What?!"

Oliver cleared his throat. "I said I am breaking up with you."

Lee gaped at him like he had suddenly sprouted four horns and declared he was an alien from some mutant planet.

He was. . .

A giggle escaped a lips before she could stop it. Then it escalated into a full-blown laughter, alerting the people around them. The low chatter in the room ceased almost immediately.

Oliver stared at her with that steely expression of his. "What's funny?"

"You," She said in between breaths. "You're. . . you're joking, right?" When his expression didn't change, her mirth died down. "Right?"

"Ledia." He sighed as if he was talking to a petulant child. "Let's be reasonable adults and talk about this."

"Wait a minute." She held up a hand. "You invited me here to break up with me and you expect that I would tell you that it was alright and then we'll. . . what, drink wine together, laugh and suddenly become best friends?"

The sheepish smile on his lips told her what she needed to know.

"You sanctimonious bastard!"

"Now, now, Ledia," he held out a palm as of to stop her words. "Don't cause a scene here."

"Now I'm the crazy one? What did I do to you? Was it because I came late? I already apologized for that."

"It's not that." He said through gritted teeth.

"Then why are you breaking up with me?" Lee pushed her chair out and got to her feet. "I tried to be the best for you. I molded myself to be what you want. Isn't that enough? What more do I have to do?"

Oliver jerked to his feet, his brows bowed over the bridge of his nose. "Don't you understand? My parents do not approve of you. I can't even show you off to my friends when we go out for dinner. You didn't graduate from college and you own a small ass bakery downtown." He even went as far as raising a finger as he listed her flaws. "You're unkempt, tardy, and poor!"

Lee wanted to wrap her arms around her body, curl into a ball and cry as the man she fell in love with listed what he deemed her flaws. Her skin crawled with humiliation. Her heart was so tight that it was a miracle it didn't burst into a bloody, pulpy mess.

She thrust out her lower chin in attempt hide their quiver. "Did these last four years mean nothing to you?" She fought back the tears swimming in her eyes by taking a deep breath. "You loved me, didn't you?"

"I don't love you, Ledia. I only stayed with you out of pity." The corner of his lips curled upwards, his eyes glinting with mockery. "You're bad in bed. I was only thinking about you and not myself, but not anymore. I don't want to see you. . . ow! What was that for?" He gestured to the water dripping from his tux.

"For being an asshole," Lee said. "I loved you so much, I stopped talking to my friends for you. But now. . . Now I can see that you're not worth it. You're not worthy of me and my love. " She took a deep breath and held his gaze. She didn't show any weakness. She'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

"I hope you die a thousand miserable death."

Before he could come up with a retort, Lee marched out of the mezzanine and managed to hold it together until she was out of the restaurant.

The valet gave her a concerned look. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Get me my freaking car!"

She didn't have to say it twice. It wasn't until she was safely in her car, far away from Astoria, did she allow herself to cry.

Her dreams of building a happy family, having three cats and a dog, expanding her bakery and being a loving wife and mother. . . everything.

They all just went down the drain.