Chapter 20
W hen we got home last night, I went straight to my room, unable to quiet my thoughts—my weekend with Harrison kept replaying in my mind, every moment together still as vivid as ever. I always knew our bond was rare, and now I find out that he felt the same way. Still, it’s difficult to escape the resentment I’ve carried for so long, assuming he ghosted me, and now I’m left trying to reconcile my perception of the past and what actually happened.
Harrison had a family emergency.
He left a note.
He wanted to see me again.
It’s hard to wrap my head around the idea that a note existed all along, and I never knew it. The what-ifs mock me like a cruel joke.
After a restless night, I leave my cocoon of blankets, ready to ease my mind with the one thing that always calms me: cooking.
I’m in the kitchen testing a new recipe for gluten-free bagels when my phone chimes with a text.
Harrison: I’ll be home by 6pm.
Fallon: Is everything okay?
Harrison: Yes. Just decided to leave work early tonight.
Harrison: Will you join me for dinner?
I don’t respond right away.
He’s never asked me to eat with him. In fact, he’s complained whenever I’ve interrupted him while he’s at the dining room table.
That was before he decided his main reason for disliking you wasn’t warranted.
I’m not blameless in this situation, but it doesn’t soften the blow. It’s not as simple as flipping a switch when he’s made me feel unwelcome since the day I moved in. A part of me wishes things could have stayed the same. It was simpler when I had a justified reason to despise him. Now I’m left facing the possibility that he was never the villain I made him out to be.
If I’m not careful, the lines could blur, and the looming fear of getting hurt again could quickly become all too real. A single kiss has already left me second-guessing every wall I’ve built to protect myself. The way his hands felt secured around my waist, and his lips molded to mine, a perfect fit. My phone chimes with another text.
Harrison: It’s okay if you’d rather not.
Harrison: Why don’t I eat out tonight so you can have some space?
I groan. How am I supposed to resist him when he’s being so considerate? If he had been this thoughtful when we saw each other in Aspen Grove, I would have been done for, despite thinking he had left me high and dry after our weekend together.
Fallon: No.
Harrison: To which part?
Fallon: Don’t eat out.
Fallon: I’ll have dinner with you.
Harrison: Perfect. I’m looking forward to it.
Determined not to overthink my decision, I set my phone to the side and wash my hands. Once I’m finished, I sprinkle a gluten-free flour blend on the counter and ease the dough I prepped earlier onto the surface. My palm presses into it, stretching and folding, the steady rhythm grounding me. Cooking is my safe space, where the outside world fades away. I especially enjoy trying new recipes—never knowing how they’ll turn out but trusting the process anyway.
I’m startled when my phone rings.
My hands are now covered in dough, so I use my pinky to answer the call, then lean down, managing to wedge the phone between my shoulder and chin. I slowly straighten up, pressing the phone closer to my ear.
“Hey, Lila. Is everything okay?” My tone is tinged with worry. “It’s still early there.”
After a whirlwind Christmas romance with Brooks, her brother’s best friend, she and Winston
moved to California. She says it’s a trial run to see if they’ll like it, but there’s no question she’ll stay. Brooks is head over heels for her, and she’s equally as smitten with him. I’m so happy for them both.
I’m quick to squash the tinge of jealousy, reminding myself until very recently that a relationship was the last thing on my mind. Still, it’s hard not to envy how Lila and Brooks fit together so effortlessly, making me long for that kind of bond.
“At the first hint of daylight, Winston insisted we wake up so I could let him outside,” Lila says, the sound of a car starting in the distance carries through the phone. “The only downside to apartment living is the long trek to take him outside.”
I press my hands into the soft dough, sprinkling a dusting of almond flour across the top when it starts sticking to my fingers.
“How is everything else?” I ask Lila. “Are you and Brooks still in the honeymoon stage?”
I hear a dog barking in the background followed by Lila’s scolding voice. “Sorry, Winston’s having a meltdown over some squirrels.”
“No worries,” I say, kneading the dough with more pressure to incorporate the almond flour. “Now, back to my question,” I tease.
“I’d say so. Yesterday, Brooks took me to a lingerie shop and we lost track of time in the dressing room.”
I pause what I’m doing, nearly dropping the phone in the dough. “Oh my god. That’s so hot.”
“Why does your reaction not surprise me?” Lila laughs. “Now, enough about me. Are we going to talk about the kiss?”
“There’s nothing more to talk about,” I hedge.
On my way home from the hockey game, I caved and texted Lila. It was a weight lifted off my shoulders to tell her. My emotions are in a tangled mess. There’s no easy way to process the fact that my version of events of the day Harrison left me at the hotel was wrong. If he’s telling the truth—and I believe he is based on the genuine confusion in his eyes—he left me a note, and I missed it.
It doesn’t erase the hostility and disdain we’ve harbored, and there’s no way to hit rewind. All we can do is navigate a fragile truce, where we decide if our shattered trust and unresolved feelings can be mended or if the walls between us are too insurmountable to climb.
Silence stretches on the other end of the line. “Are you still there?” I ask.
“Yup. Just waiting until you cave and give me more than that.”
I leave the dough to wash off my hands before adjusting the phone next to my ear.
“The kiss was electric. That’s not the problem.”
“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” Lila reminds me. “There’s nothing wrong with taking it day by day to see where it leads.”
I lean against the counter. “He just asked me to have dinner with him, and I said yes.”
“Fallon, that’s great,” Lila exclaims. “Just warn him that if he dares to hurt you again, I’m flying out there to kick his ass.”
“At least that would be highly entertaining. Although there’s no way Brooks is letting you get that close to another man.”
“Good point. He doesn’t even like when I hug his brother,” she complains.
My mind drifts to how possessive Harrison was last night before the game. Initially, I was furious at his attempt to tell me what to do, but I can’t deny that there was something undeniably sexy about the way he reacted to me wearing another man’s jersey. It proves that he cares, making me all the more conflicted.
I hear more barking in the background. “Winston is chasing another squirrel, so better go, but keep me updated, okay?”
“Will do.”
I set my phone on the counter and look over at Cat, who’s lounging on his bed in the corner.
“Harrison and I are having dinner, so you know what that means? You’re spending another night in my bathroom because I’m not letting you make an already precarious situation worse. Don’t worry, I’ll make you some salmon delight. Your favorite.”
As I finish pouring the wine, I hear the front door open. I found a bottle of Dom Pérignon at the store and couldn’t resist picking it up as an ode to the night Harrison and I met. I take a final glance at the spread I’ve prepared—seared duck with pomegranate glaze, Brussel sprouts, and a grilled pear and blue cheese salad. Heat rises to my cheeks as I take in the lavish spread, realizing I might have gone overboard. I don’t want Harrison to misinterpret my efforts. It doesn’t mean anything… at least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of.
The sound of Harrison’s footsteps coming toward the dining room has me yanking off my apron and shoving it into the cabinet in the corner. I turn around just in time to see him walk into the room. He looks irresistibly charming in charcoal-gray slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a cobalt-blue tie. His hair is tousled, like he’s run his hands through it all day, and he shoots me a smile.
That’s new. I like it.
“Something smells delicious,” he says, glancing at the food. “These are for you.”
He comes to stand next to me with a vase of white tulips and a six-pack of Diet Coke.
He bought me flowers and my favorite drink?
“Thank you. What’s the occasion?” I take the vase with shaky hands and set it in the middle of the table.
Harrison’s fingers twitch at his side, his eyes darting around the room. “Dylan’s fiancée, Marlow, is a famous artist, and flowers are kind of her thing. She once told me that white tulips symbolize forgiveness and peace, so I figured they’d be a good icebreaker for tonight.”
“They’re beautiful. Why the soda?”
“Because it’s your favorite, and I noticed you were running low this morning when I grabbed a water from the fridge.”
His thoughtful gestures catch me off guard. I’m more accustomed to practical jokes and indifference from him than acts of appreciation or kindness.
“Let’s eat before everything gets cold,” I suggest.
Harrison nods. “Good idea. You really outdid yourself tonight.”
“No more than usual,” I shrug, not wanting to admit I spent an extra two hours to make it perfect.
When I move to sit, he unexpectedly pulls my chair out, making me look at him with a raised brow. “Thank you, but since when are you a gentleman?” I tease.
He takes the seat next to me. “Never claimed to be one. Just trying to be on my best behavior.”
“I was half expecting a whoopie cushion on my chair or for you to cancel altogether,” I admit.
“I’ll always show up for you, trouble.” He leans in, a playful glint in his eye. “And if you want something to sit on, I’m happy to oblige.”
My stomach does a flip, a slow burn spreading through me. Wanting to shake off the rush of nerves, I reach for the spoon to serve the food.
Harrison places a hand on my wrist. “Allow me.”
I settle in my seat, watching as he serving me like he’s the one working for me, and not the other way around. The gesture may be small, but it speaks volumes, showing me that he’s trying to rebuild our trust, one meal at a time.
We sit in silence for a few moments while we eat.
I attempt to sort through the thoughts crowding my mind, mulling over what to say.
Luckily, Harrison takes the lead.
“I should’ve asked this sooner, but what made you come to New York?” he asks, swirling his wine before taking a sip. “Cash mentioned, as Theo’s protégé, you could have had your pick of running any one of his restaurants. What made you leave that all behind?”
I concentrate on my plate, slicing the duck as I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “It sounds silly to hear it out loud. Who would turn down such an incredible opportunity to work as a private chef in a city they’ve only been to once, and no clients up before they arrived?” I plop a piece of duck into my mouth, savoring the tender texture as it melts on my tongue.
Harrison sets down his glass of wine, frowning. “Wait. Why wouldn’t Theo help you find new clientele? He must have connections in New York.”
“Oh, he has plenty, but I refused to let him use them.”
I bite my bottom lip to stifle a smile, remembering the baffled expression on Theo’s face when I turned down his offer to help. He was perplexed as to why I wouldn’t accept his help. He even went as far as to offer me a year’s salary to get started, but I couldn’t accept it.
Theo started as a dish-washer in a diner and now owns twenty-seven restaurants, has written four bestselling cookbooks, and has hosted numerous successful TV shows. Although I’m lucky to have him as a mentor and often ask him for advice, I want to make a name for myself in the culinary world on my own terms, not because I relied on his success to get there.
I glance over to find Harrison staring at me. “What?”
“I’m curious—what inspired you to specialize in allergy-friendly food?”
“My mom had a severe nut allergy, and I watched her struggle for years with limited options for what she could eat. She had to double-check every menu, and item, making the simplest outings stressful.” I pause to take a drink of my wine. “I also had a friend in culinary school who frequently went to the emergency room with crippling stomach pain. I took her several times and it was terrifying to watch her writhe in agony only to be sent home without any answers. When she was finally diagnosed with celiac disease, she was relieved that it wasn’t something more serious, but also overwhelmed by what she could no longer eat and how few restaurants accommodated for it. With food allergies and celiac disease, especially, many people still believe it’s a fad or a minor inconvenience and not worth taking seriously.”
Harrison nods. “You’re right. It was challenging in the beginning. When I was first diagnosed, I pretended it wasn’t a big deal. I was embarrassed, thinking that everyone would brush it off. But after dealing with fatigue, excruciating stomach cramps, and multiple hospital visits, my mom flew into town and tossed everything with gluten out of my kitchen.”
“I’m glad she did. You’re lucky that she cares so much.”
“Yeah, there are pros and cons to her meddling,” he laughs.
“I might not know her well, but it’s clear she wants what’s best for you.”
Harrison’s mom is a stark contrast to my grandmother, who only cares about her image. The only thing I was good for was maintaining the illusion that she was a saint for taking me in, a fact she never let me forget. When I told her I wanted to be a chef, she was mortified, her disapproval unmistakable, as if my career choice would tarnish her carefully crafted reputation in England’s elite circles.
It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced the kind of love only a family can offer, and I hope Harrison realizes how fortunate he is to still have his mom around and advocating for him even when he might not appreciate it.
I’m grateful when Harrison speaks, pulling me out of my pity party.
“Hiring a chef made things easier, but he retired after a year. Lucky for me, that brought you back into my life.” He casually reaches over for my Diet Coke and takes a sip.
A hint of amusement plays on my face. “This is you on your best behavior? I thought you hated Diet Coke?”
Harrison tilts his head, a slow smile forming. “Turns out I was too quick to judge. In fact, I think I’m now hooked,” he adds, taking another sip.
I don’t think we’re talking about soda anymore.
We resume eating, both sneaking glances after each bite. The shift between us is subtle but unmistakable. We’ve stepped into uncharted territory, and now that the truth is out, nothing will ever be the same. The question remains—is it for better or for worse?
“Is being a private chef the end goal, or do you have other plans for the future?” Harrison asks, breaking the silence. “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”
“I want to open my own restaurant, actually,” I say, skewering a Brussel sprout with my fork. It’s savory and delicious, and I swallow before continuing. “One that’s completely allergy-friendly. It’s hard to find places with safe options, and oftentimes, they’re cross-contaminated. My dream is to create a safe space where people with allergies can dine without questioning what’s in their food or worrying about getting sick.”
“That’s impressive.” He takes my hand, his expression tender as his eyes meet mine. “Would you open it here or somewhere else?”
“New York City has won me over, and based on the research I’ve done for Theo’s restaurants, there’s a demand for this kind of place. I’m also writing a cookbook. It’s still a work in progress, but the goal is to help people navigate cooking with food allergies at home too.”
He leans in, closing the gap so our faces are almost touching. “I knew you were up to something in that kitchen besides cooking and plotting my demise with pranks.”
“What about you?” I ask, tapping his chest lightly. “As I recall, you weren’t exactly innocent, doing your best to get under my skin, hoping I’d hit my breaking point and leave. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“That’s what the spiders were for,” he says with a rueful smile. “I’m really glad you didn’t leave.”
“Me too,” I say softly.
I lean back in my chair, letting the comfortable silence settle in around us. Harrison carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s usually drafting emails, constantly on the phone, or rushing out the door. It’s a welcome change to see him so at ease, and to be on the receiving end of his undivided attention, and I can’t help but crave more of it.