I twirl a little piece of heaven around my fork, slide it in my mouth, and close my eyes to savor it. There's nothing like a helping of freshly made anchovy pasta. Pasta cooked al dente, mixed with anchovy and Roma tomato pasta sauce, and topped with a little arugula and Romano cheese. It's a simple, authentic, Italian dish that makes my mouth water and almost brings tears to my eyes.

My name is Ariana Carter, known to close friends and family as Tiny, and exclusively to my father as baby girl. Enjoying good food is almost like a spiritual experience for me. In another life, I would have been a food critic, traveling the world trying dishes from all over, and then writing about what or what didn't make the dish special. Too bad I can't write.

Instead I have a much different career that thankfully doesn't involve the written word. I make a great living as a registered ER nurse at Pennsylvania Memorial Hospital. It's a meaningful career which impacts lives, pays well, and luckily for me is in demand all over the world.

Today I'm out for a late lunch with my ex, Doctor Bill Rappaport, at one of my favorite Italian restaurants–Trattoria. A small place under the radar with fresh ingredients and superior customer service. I asked him here because I need a favor, not because I'm trying to rekindle anything between us, because that would be absolute insanity on my part.

Bill definitely doesn't want to be in a relationship. In fact, I'm not even really sure what Bill wants. We rarely went on actual dates, he hardly ever called, he didn't want people at the hospital to know we were dating, and we never even had sex. He doesn't even know that I'm a twenty-five year old virgin, because the subject didn't even come up. Frankly, I'm not sure that the man even ever liked me, and the whole relationship has me second-guessing myself at every turn. It was a complete confidence crusher.

"I think it's safe to say that you like the pasta," he says with a fair amount of snark to his comment. Reminding me yet again of another one of his unfavorable traits. Making passive aggressive comments about my relationship with food.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I challenge. "Don't you like your meal?"

"I don't even know. I was too busy staring at you eat yours."

I quickly remember what I'm here for, and it's not to get into some sort of pissing match with Bill about what I eat or the way that I eat. I really could give two shits about what he thinks. Those days are thankfully over. I roll my eyes and then look away from him for a moment wiping the corner of my mouth with my napkin.

Don't kick him in the shin under the table. Remember why you're here.

"I didn't mean anything by it, babe. It's just the cardiologist in me. You wouldn't understand."

Another thing about Bill I don't like. I know, the list is kind of long. Always throwing up the fact that he's a doctor and I'm a nurse in a derogatory way. As if I took the "easy" way out. As if I'm lesser than him. Never mind that nurses do all the heavy lifting in every hospital all over the world, and the doctors get paid twice as much as us to "supervise" the work that we do. Work in my opinion that they should be doing too.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that I already know what you meant by it. Let's drop it," I say. "That's not what I asked you here for."

"This meeting isn't about us?" he asks as if he can't believe I would want something from him other than pursuing a reconciliation. As if I'd ever do that.

"No, Bill." I sigh.

"Oh, I thought you might have been a little lonely tonight. Maybe wanted some company." He grins. "I know you typically spend the Friday nights that you're not working curled up with one of those dirty books of yours."

"What are you my grandma? They're called romance novels and no, this isn't about a booty call. I asked you here to talk about your sister's agency."

It's time I get to the point of this dinner, because he's getting on my nerves and I really need to dine and dash anyway. I promised to be home by at least seven.

"The agency?"

"Yeah, I'm thinking about applying for a traveling nurse assignment."

Bill raises one of his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"You're going to leave your dad to ramble around in that house by himself?"

Another dig at the fact that I still live at home with my father. Something I've never felt I had to explain to anyone until I started messing around with Bill, but now have begun to question myself. Not because I don't think a woman in her twenties can't live with her parents, but because my house is actually a difficult place for me to live in.

Every corner.

Every closet.

Every hallway.

Every picture on the wall reminds me of my mom and makes me extremely nostalgic and terribly sad. I miss her in a way that must be different for my father. While he chooses to live deep in a life full of constant memories and reminders of her, those same memories are crushing me. I feel like I am literally being smothered by all of the reminders of my mother in this house. That's why I'm looking for a traveling nurse placement. I need to get out of there before I suffocate.

"Are you going to tell me about the agency or not, Bill."

"All right, all right. You're so touchy tonight. Are you on your period?"

"Bill!" I exclaim. Completely exasperated with him in the all of forty minutes we've been in each other's company.

"Fine. My sister Stephanie is the one with the agency. She's been a nurse for over thirty-five years and opened the agency about twelve years ago. A lot of good nurses have come through there."

"Your older sister, right?"

"Yeah, the one who lives in Merion with my oldest nephew, Josiah. The one who plays soccer."

"Yes, I remember you talking about them. I really like that an experienced nurse owns the agency and not just an administrative person."

"Right, well she has a lot of solid relationships with human resource departments at every hospital within a fifty mile radius of Philly. Thanks to me of course."

"Of course." I roll my eyes.

"So, she should be able to find you a good assignment. I'll actually see her over the weekend at a family thing. I'll mention to her that you're looking. Where are you thinking about going?"

"Maybe out west or even down south. I just kind of want to stretch my legs. Get out of the metro area for a while and see what's out there."

"You've never lived outside of Philly, right?"

Yet another subtle jab.

He's on a roll tonight.

"You know that I haven't, Bill. I went to U Penn straight after high school and then started working at Memorial three weeks after graduation."

I take another forceful bite of my pasta and eat it with angry swallows.

"Would it be a little inappropriate to say that I hope things don't work out for you? I mean I'd hate to see you go."

"Yes, Bill, that would be totally inappropriate to say and selfish as hell."

His phone vibrates on top of the table. Disrupting our conversation. Thank God.

"Sorry about this. I'm on call."

"No problem. Take it."

I'm used to it. Bill is always on call. Even when he was off shift and hanging out with me, his mind was always at the hospital.

"Dammit, I've got to go. Some guy just came in with a steel rod in his chest. Punctured his heart."

"Not a problem. Sounds like your type of case."

"Actually, I think it may be kind of a problem. It took me a month to even get you to talk to me again, and now I have to go. I'm afraid that you won't talk to me for another month now that you've gotten what you wanted out of me."

"What are you talking about. I'm just following the rules that you laid out between us. No personal chitchat in the workplace. No exposing our relationship to coworkers. Etcetera, etcetera."

"It was the professional thing to do. We'd have been such a cliché if everyone knew. The doctor and the nurse having a thing," he says while he obnoxiously snaps to grab the attention of our server.

A thing is just about all it was between us. It wasn't even worth mentioning to my coworkers, but that's not the point. He was keeping our relationship hidden like it was some dirty little secret. The jerk.

"I'll text you my sister's information later, and give her a heads up to expect your call."

The server still hasn't come to our table, so he dramatically drops several twenty-dollar bills on the table to cover the bill as if it's some grand gesture.

"We can split the check you know," I say flatly. Wondering if asking him for this favor was even worth the trouble.

"Don't insult me. You know I've got it."

After he leaves, I'm relieved because that means I get to polish off my bowl of pasta and my remaining glass of wine without judgment.

My judgment in men truly stinks. I'm always just friends with all the good ones, like my pal Jagger from Penn, and attracted to the losers.

I check the time and decide to turn down the offer to look at the dessert menu and head home instead. My father should be arriving back soon with our new guest, and I need to straighten up the place among other things. I'm a little anxious about this visitor.

Stone Barringer.

Family friend turned bad boy turned hardened criminal, and now he's coming to live with us after his release from prison. Mr. Jack's son or not, I made sure to share with my father just how much I don't agree with this living arrangement.

Honestly, I barely remember Mr. Jack and certainly don't remember much about his son. Why my father feels like he has to do this is beyond me. It's not smart and it's not safe.

I get about two blocks from the restaurant when I hear the blaring sound of a police siren behind me. I look in my rearview window, wondering if I need to pull over, so that the car can get by me to continue their pursuit. I definitely don't want to be rear ended by a police cruiser.

I slow down and swerve over toward the side of the road, but when I do, I become thoroughly confused when the police car pulls directly behind me and stops.

Are they stopping me?

* * *