“It feels so different,” Palmer whispers, looking up at the ceiling. We’re still lying on the floor of his restaurant, my head resting against his chest as he holds me close.

“What?” I ask him, slowly moving my face so that I’m looking at him.

“The restaurant,” he replies, his eyes still focused on something that I can’t quite see. Maybe he isn’t looking at anything. Maybe he’s just looking inward, rummaging through all the thoughts he guards so well.

“It’s always full, you know?” he continues, distractedly running one hand through my hair. “It’s different when it’s empty. It feels like an empty shell.”

“Tomorrow it’ll be full again,” I tell him, turning to him and placing one hand on his chest. “You’ll see.”

“I doubt that,” he whispers, the tone of his voice so casual and indifferent that I can’t quite decide what he’s feeling right now. It almost seems like he’s trying to detach himself from his restaurant, the one thing in the world he seems to care about.

It breaks my heart to see him talk like this.

“You can’t doubt yourself,” I try and tell him, my mouth going dry as the words leave my lips. How can I be telling him all this when I’m the one that took the leash off Percy?

It’s my fault The Pearl on Park is having issues. If I hadn’t behaved like I did, complaining about a man I knew nothing about, none of this would be happening.

Sure, the slow march of progress would eventually force me to close down my restaurant, but so what? That’s the cycle of life. If it isn’t Palmer’s restaurant, it’ll be a shopping mall next week, or some high-rise condo.

But no, I had to bitch about the competition to Percy, and he took it upon himself to start a war against a man who doesn't deserve any of it.

“It’s over, Nicole.”

His voice... so casual; cold even. It’s almost as if he doesn’t care about what happens next. It hurts to hear him speak about his restaurant like this; I know that, more than anything, he wanted it to be a success.

And now his dreams seem to have been crushed.

“It doesn’t need to happen like this,” I insist, not sure if I believe my own words. What do I know about anything?

I’m just the owner of a small bistro restaurant; I never had to deal with investors or anything like that. I know absolutely nothing about the inner workings of a multi-million dollar enterprise.

“Forget about it. Whatever happens, happens,” he whispers, his vacant gaze reaching for some place where I can’t reach him. I just stay there, nestled against his body and staring at his face, the dim lights of the restaurant making his features sharper.

He’s smiling, but there’s a certain sadness to it.

It’s almost tragic.

More than just it being about the restaurant, I see a deeper worry in his eyes. He feels as if the clock is running out on him, and I know he believes his next breath might be the last one. I can’t even imagine how it must feel to know he won’t have the time to see his dream come true.

Then, almost as if we we're commenting on the weather, he simply shrugs and sits up. He stretches his arms and then goes up to his feet, jumping inside his boxer briefs and pants.

He starts making his way toward the kitchen and I follow after him, throwing his button-up shirt over my shoulders.

“Hungry?” he asks me, opening the large fridge that seems to take over half the wall of his industrial kitchen, large enough to house a small army of cooks and waiters.

“I’m fine,” I reply offhandedly, still thinking about how I should tell him. Because I have to tell him that I’m to blame; if it weren’t for me, The Pearl on Park would be a success.

“No, you’re not,” he chuckles, more to himself than to me. “Nothing good happens on an empty belly, you know?” He continues, grabbing a couple of eggs and bacon from inside the fridge.

He grabs one of the frying pans hanging overhead and lights up the stove, and I just watch as he cuts a small square of butter and lets it fall from his fingers into the pan.

“Palmer... there’s something I must tell you.”

I don’t even know how I summoned the courage to tell him that. But, somehow, I did. He raises his eyes, his gaze meeting mine, and then he just waits for me to continue.

“I was the one that -”

The words lose themselves on the way up my throat as I catch a glimpse of something on the counter next to me. There’s an open notebook there, a fountain pen resting between pages, and my eyes are immediately drawn to what’s written in there.

“Nicole?”

I hear Palmer’s voice, but I’m not even processing what he’s saying. I’m just reading what’s written on the notebook; it’s a long list of ingredients and procedures, all of them a step toward reverse-engineering my grandmother’s recipe.

No, it can’t be.

I try and tell myself that I’m dreaming, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s all there, in his little notebook. He’s been trying to figure out my family’s recipe, and without telling me.

But why would he do that? Unless... unless he was planning to use it as a hail Mary attempt at saving his restaurant. Maybe he hasn’t given up on The Pearl on Park. Maybe he’s still trying to save the only thing he cares about, even if that means stealing from me.

Even if that means betraying me.

“Nicole, are you okay?” He asks me, taking one step toward me, but I can’t even look into his eyes. I just purse my lips, throw his shirt over the counter, and walk back to the dining room.

He follows after me, surprised, but I remain silent as I pick my clothes up from the floor and get dressed.

“I just remembered,” I tell him, lying with every single tooth I had, “there’s somewhere I need to be right now.”

“Nicole—” he calls after me, but I don’t stop. I just walk out of his restaurant, tears stinging my eyes.

How could I have been so wrong about Palmer?