Page 111 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

She laughs. “That’s exactly the kind of attitude that will make a great chef. And believe me, I’ve seen a great many come through these doors. I know what it takes. That competitive streak will serve you well as long as you keep it under control.” She opens her eyes wider, as if silently asking me if I understand.

“I’ll try.”

She laughs again. “Admissions wants to see that you’re motivated to succeed in the course, that you have evidence of your hard work—either at college or in industry, and that you have a love of food.”

That was what I really wanted to know—how to get in. Misha’s smart.

“But as you probably have guessed, we’re oversubscribed,” Misha continues.

“Any tips?” I ask. I’m acting like I’m definitely going to apply and I haven’t even heard their spiel or even thought of how I could figure out my day job alongside a demanding college course.

“We offer a lot of different courses. Make sure you pick the right one.”

That wasn’t what I expected her to say.

I wonder if Beppe from Serenissima would write me a recommendation. Honestly, he’d probably offer me a job if I asked him. But that’s not what I want. I don’t want to work in a restaurant. I’m sure about that. I have that same passion as my father, but I don’t have to follow exactly in his footsteps. I can take a different path. I’m just not sure what my path will be. But ever since Avril suggested it, I haven’t been able to shake the idea that I should put my energy into what I love. And I love food.

This is where I’m meant to be. And Avril made me see it. It’s like she saw through to the man I am at my core and encouraged him out of hiding and into the light.

When I agreed to help her if she could prove we could keep things professional, I thought she needed my help. But I think it was me who needed her all along.

I was an arrogant prick.

I thought she’d never come and live at my apartment, and somewhere along the line, I did actually think she’d fall in love with me in seven days. I’m an idiot. The way I can’t stop thinking about her, the way I’ve been sleeping in her bed, just so I can feel closer to her, the way that every time anything happens in my day. I want to tell her about it. I think I’m the one who fell in love during those seven days. It’s like she’s spiked my coffee and I’m under her spell now.

I’m not a puppet master when it comes to Avril. I’m a guy who doesn’t know the first thing about relationships or how to do anything but keep people out. Avril deserves better. And honestly, so do I. I want to enjoy my life, and not feel like everything I do is an insurance against disaster. I want more.

THIRTY-FOUR

Avril

I walk into the bar where Ben suggested we meet and scan the patrons. I don’t see him. I check the time on my phone. It’s six thirty-two. He said six thirty. I lift my head up again…and he’s staring straight at me from across the room.

My stomach curls over and a shiver chases up my spine. It’s so good to see him. Better than good. It’s fantastic. It’s like I’m where I’m supposed to be.

I smile shyly and make my way over, never taking my eyes from him. He doesn’t look away either. It’s like he’s reeling me in toward him with his gaze.

“It’s good to see you,” I say, without thinking. But I can’t not say it. It is really good to see him. I’ve missed him. My bed isn’t as comfortable as I thought it was before staying with Ben. And the water pressure isn’t anything like the shower in his apartment. Yes, it’s definitely the bed and water pressure that’s making Ben look so good this evening.

His hair seems to have grown since I last saw him, and it looks a little lighter than before. I hold back an urge to push the hair away from his face.

But what am I supposed to do to say hello? Kiss him? Wave? Hug? I’m not sure how this will go down.

But I don’t need to worry. Ben bends and envelops me in a hug. His arms are warm and strong and his delicious scent of sandalwood and cinnamon permeates my muscles and I sink against him. He feels like home.

Our hug lasts a little longer than it needs to, longer than most hugs between two people who haven’t known each other for more than a few weeks. I wonder if he’s trying to say something, or whether I am.

His hands squeeze my body and desire snakes through me. I want his palm on my stomach. His tongue on my neck. I sigh.

He pulls back and we stand there, staring at each other. I have so much to say but can’t find the words to say anything at all.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod my head. “Yes.” My tone is resolute. I feel very okay. Making the decision about the hotel in Boston was right for so many reasons. Best of all, Worth respects my decision.

Feeling like my brother respects me lifts a burden from me that I’ve been pulling behind me for my entire life. Letting go of Boston was like stepping over a threshold from little sister to business partner. All the while, I thought getting Boston would be the key when the opposite was true.

“Good,” Ben says.