I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my gown. Graduation day has finally come. I stare into the eyes of the woman watching me. She’ll—I’ll—be twenty-seven in three weeks. Not only that, but I’ll be seven months pregnant and days away from opening our new restaurant. It usually takes most people ten more years of life to accomplish all that I have—even to end up as a single mother who defies all obstacles to make something of herself.

“I’m proud of you, Gina Gilbert.” I rub my stomach.

I’m having a son. Hopefully, one day he will be proud of himself too. After all, raising an emotionally healthy and happy human being will be my greatest challenge of all. I’m still not sure I have what it takes to be a successful parent, but I’ve already carried my child a month longer than my mother carried all three of hers before miscarrying, so it seems I’m going to make it to full term. Also, I won’t be raising our child alone. I love that Randy has continually stepped up. We’ll be a modern family. Business partners, once lovers, deep down still in love with each other—probably.

I sigh and put on my cap. Now that I have a look at the completed outfit, I’m even more satisfied. I smile. Today is not the day to think about how I really feel about the father of my child. Today, I become a chef.

“Chef Gina Gilbert.” My grin is so wide that my cheeks ache more than my ankles.

* * *

I drive to my school for the ceremony. It’s nearing the end of October, and the brisk feel of fall is in the air. My car has now started shaking, and I suspect engine problems. At least my tires are nice and new. The most horrific thing that could happen would be if my tires lost traction and I drove off the road, killing the both of us.

“My baby,” I whisper while sitting at a red light.

I rub my stomach. The child inside me is going to be his own person. I should give him a name. Lawrence? No. My dad is Walter, but not many people name their children that these days.

“Walter,” I say as the light turns green. I love my dad, but gosh, his name is passé.

My mother’s name is Terri Anne. There’s no way I can find a boy’s name from that combination that I like.

“Randy Jr.” That would imply that he’s supposed to somehow live up to Randy’s standards. Nope. Our kid is going to live by his own heart. I could call him Maverick, but that’s too specific. I also once read that Hayden means strong.

“Hayden it is.” From now on, I’ll call my baby by his prebirth name of Hayden.

As I get closer to school, I consider other things I want for Hayden. I want him to be strong but not so much that he doesn’t feel safe crying. I remember Dusty Lyons. We were all around eight or nine at the neighborhood block party. Dusty went flying off the tire swing and scratched his leg pretty bad. My friend Kent and I helped him walk to where his parents were sitting in a circle of other parents, drinking beer. Dusty’s father shot out of his seat and instantly commanded him to stop crying like a girl. That confused, brokenhearted look on Dusty’s face—I’ll never forget it. All I wanted to do was kick Dusty’s father in the shin and call him a fucking quack. My dad taught me that people cry—boys and girls. It’s what you do after you’re all cried out that makes the difference. He used to say, “Have a good cry, kiddo, and then pick yourself up and learn from the pain.” Gosh, I was so glad I had my dad instead of Dusty’s.

Now that I think about it, Hayden might be pretty lucky to have me as a mother. I rub my belly with one hand, navigating into a handicap parking spot with the other. Since I’m officially on bed rest, Dr. Reinhart wrote me a note to receive a temporary handicap placard. When I park in the handicap space, no one ever looks at me as if they’re wondering if I really need the special parking. The sight of me holding my lower back as I get out of the car says it all.

“Oh, Hayden.” I stand up. “You’re definitely making this hard for me.”

I snicker as I reach into the backseat for my purse, cap, and special tassels. I’m graduating with honors.

I stroll to the auditorium like the proud graduate that I am. Every so often, I wave to a classmate. We’re all happy, and that sentiment is in the air. Just for a moment, I wish I had invited my parents at least. I just didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it. Seeing me graduate from law school was their crowning glory. This culinary-school graduation is my crowning glory.

My heart is filled with such contentment that everything on my body that normally hurts feels a lot better—my back, my ankles, and the pinching feeling in my stomach. Hayden always lets me know he’s inside me and will be joining us one day.

Good vibes continue to rule the day. There are many hugs and excited chatter. Phoebe Lau is leaving for Paris on Monday to study the art of French cooking. She’ll be in training for six months. I toy with the idea of doing the same, but I remember both Hayden and the restaurant are going to need me, so I can’t go traipsing to Paris, Lyon, Madrid, and Rome to perfect the art of regional cooking. Oh, how I want to. If not now, then one day I will.

I don’t reveal to my classmates that I’m opening a new restaurant, at least not yet. I’m pretty friendly with Lacy Howard at the marketing and development office. Once we open, I’ll pay her visit and ask her to send a blast to the students, asking them to try Sauce. I’ll even sweeten the deal. If they let us know they’re from the school, then they’ll get half off their meal. I’m confident students will love our food and continue to come back for more.

Soon it’s time to line up and file out to the graduation march. We take our seats. Cameras are flashing through the auditorium, and every so often, the spark catches my attention. First Chef Sweet speaks, congratulating all of us, wishing us well, saying one day he hopes to taste our food and pay for it. Chef Grant encourages us to never give up. Chef Carlisle urges us to expand our horizons, be forever learners, which is the key to becoming award-winning chefs. My head is spinning, not because my pregnancy has thrown my hormonal balance off but because my heart is so inspired and my mind is filled with so many ambitions.

Then my eyes gravitate toward a late arrival. I grab my chest as I watch him walk down the aisle confidently as if he owns the auditorium. It’s Randy. As usual, he makes heads turn. He sits in the third center row in an empty seat between two people. After he locates me in the sea of graduates, he waves. I wave back. I can’t stop smiling. I thought I wanted to have this day to myself, but now that Randy’s here, I’ve changed my mind.

Dean Stewart gets up to call names. When my name is called, my classmates cheer the loudest. Randy stands and whistles. He’s so overtly animated that I can’t help but laugh. Gosh. I don’t know what has been going on between us, but the way my heart is fluttering says what I feel for him is more serious than I’m willing to admit.

Randy and I smile at each other a lot during the ceremony. I even receive the Dorothy Pritchard Great Chefs Award, which is unexpected. Tears roll from my eyes as I take the trophy with my name engraved on it. This may be the best day of my life.

The ceremony ends with us tossing our caps, giving hugs, and referring to each other as “Chef.” When I set my eyes on Randy again, he’s standing at the back of the auditorium, arms crossed and stance wide while talking to Chef Sweet and Chef Carlisle.

As I make my way to the crowd, he touches Chef Sweet on the shoulder and says something. Here he comes. Five more feet, and now we’re facing each other.

“Hi,” I say, unable to stop smiling.

“Congratulations.”

I love his full-white-teeth smile and that twinkle in his eyes.

“Thanks.”

We’re gazing giddily at each other.

“Oh,” he says like he’s finally remembered something. “I have something for you in my car.”

“Oh yeah?” I sound just as excited as I feel.

“Yeah. You want to see?”

“Yes, I do.”

Randy points his head toward the exit, puts a hand on the small of my back, and guides me through the crowd until we break into daylight.

“So how do you feel?” he asks. His hand is still on my back.

“The day has been so euphoric that I forgot just about everything hurts.”

He laughs delightedly and massages my back. “How’s the baby?”

I look down at my stomach. “Oh. Hayden is probably a little hungry, but other than that, he’s fine.”

“Hayden?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t name him officially without you.”

“No. I like it.”

I feel my eyes shine as I look up at him. “You do?”

“Yeah. Why Hayden, though?”

“Because the name means strong and independent. That’s how I want him to be.”

He lifts one side of his mouth into the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen. “Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Strong, sexy, independent. You’re a winner, Gina. That’s why I chose to go into business with you.”

I gaze up at Randy. I can hardly believe he feels that way about me.

“Remember my first day at the Calypso?” I ask.

“Do I ever.”

The first day I reported for work at the Calypso, he almost bumped into the wall when he saw me walk into the café.

“I thought you were cute until you morphed into an asshole.”

He tosses his head back and laughs loudly. “I thought you were hot and even hotter when you morphed into a stubborn-ass woman.”

I laugh. “I am stubborn, aren’t I?”

“At least you keep me on my toes.”

We arrive at his SUV. He opens the back door and takes out a healthy bouquet of red-and-yellow flowers. “Ah,” I say, fawning over the floral bundle.

“They’re painted daisies. They remind me of you.”

“How so?” I take a sniff.

“Their beauty is rich and deep.”

It’s been a while since he’s made my heart go pitter-patter. Actually, he’s making me feel a new emotion by doing something sweet like showing up at my graduation with a bouquet of flowers.

“Thanks so much, Randy,” I say, letting my eyes show how sincere I am.

“How about…?” His phone rings in the front of the car, and he lifts a finger. “One second.”

Randy trots around the large vehicle to answer the call. I probably need to buy an SUV like this one in the near future.

“Hello,” he says. I watch him through the open door. After a moment of hugging the phone against his ear, he slaps his forehead. “Aw, shit. I forgot. What time?”

I can hear Deanna nearly screaming on the other end of the phone.

“Calm down. I’ll be there. Where are you?”

He glances at me and, for some reason I look away. “With a friend.”

She must’ve asked what friend because Randy says, “No one that concerns you. I’ll be there. Talk to you later.” He ends the call.

I’m no one? I listen to his footsteps as he walks back around. When I see his face again, I force myself to smile.

“You have to go?”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I have an interview with Kings of Culinary magazine. They’re doing a feature on the top three finalists of last season’s Head Chef Total Domination.”

My throat has grown thick. I nod and swallow. “Well, thanks for showing up, and thanks for the flowers.”

Randy stares deep into my eyes. His lips part as if he wants to say something, but then he closes his mouth and smiles.

I smile back.

“I’ll see you soon?” He raises his eyebrows as if he’s waiting for my answer

“Yes.”

He rubs my belly like it’s a lucky bowling ball. “Feed Hayden for me?”

I chuckle. “I’ll feed Hayden for Hayden.”

He laughs. “You do that.”

It feels like we’re supposed to kiss or something, but instead, I lift my hand to say good-bye one more time and walk away. I can feel his eyes on my back for a few seconds, and then I turn a corner without looking back. Instead of returning to the celebration, I go pee and then drive home. The euphoria of earlier has definitely worn off, and now all I want to do is sleep and figure out how in the world I really feel about Randy.