Palmer

I must be going insane. First, my restaurant is under attack by some asshole critic, and now, here I am, volunteering to drive some girl to her parent's place.

Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I should be going to the Pearl. I should be rallying my staff, and countering Percy's review with a PR blitz of my own. But am I doing any of that? No.

What's going on? Am I falling for Nicole?

No… it can't be. I don't just fall for women. And I have a plan for my life, and this scenario isn't a part of that plan. Not even close.

Falling for Nicole is impossible.

But as we're driving, and the music is blaring, and my fingers are tapping the steering wheel, and Nicole's hair is dancing in the wind that's blowing across my open convertible, she looks so happy… and I feel so happy…

And I can't help but wonder.

Isn’t it true that sometimes life is unpredictable, and no matter how well you plan it out, sometimes plans change?

I shake my head. I can't get ahead of myself.

I'm the kind of guy that writes everything down and plans it out. And I'm even talking writing lists for the lists I already wrote.

Do you see what I mean? Everything is organized. This isn't on any of those lists.

So right now I just need to recognize that I'm simply spending time with Nicole. We're having fun. It's nothing more than that.

"There it is," Nicole says, pointing to a small house on the side of the road.

I haven't been outside of the city in ages—has it been years?—so to be driving through the suburbs feels weird.

"This is my childhood home," she says. "Nothing fancy, and as much as I couldn't wait to leave it, I have to admit… I still miss it sometimes."

"It's nice," I say, and even though it looks like every other suburban home I've ever seen—a flower garden, a tree in the front yard, a driveway, and a white fence—I mean it. It is nice.

It's kind of refreshing to not be walking into another crowded high rise. This is somehow more… personal.

As soon as I get out of the car and open Nicole's door, a large dog runs out of the house barking. Its shaggy red coat is getting lifted in the wind.

"It's OK," she says. "He doesn't bite."

The dog recognizes her and immediately wags its tail. She pats his head, scratches behind his ears, and gives him a playful pat on the back. He licks her hand in excitement.

"That's a good boy, Rusty—a good boy," she says, leaning down and showering him in playful kisses.

"You're quite the animal lover," I say.

I've never owned an animal. It's not that I don't like them, it's just that I've admired them from a distance.

"I love them," she smiles, her eyes still fixed on the dog. "If I didn't go to culinary school, I think I probably would've become a vet."

"I can see that," I smile.

As she finishes petting Rusty, we walk up to her parent's house and before we reach the door, Rusty is all over me. First, he's jumping on me with his two front paws, and I'm trying to pet him, hoping that'll calm him down and he'll get bored with me, but it doesn't seem to work.

"Get down, Rusty," Nicole urges, but the dog only listens for a few minutes before going right back at it. Then, when no one's looking, I feel him shoving his nose in the crotch of my pants, sniffing for God knows what. I shoo him away, and luckily he listens this time, taking the hint.

"Baby, is that you?" a woman says, approaching the door.

Nicole embraces her in a hug. "It's good to see you mom."

Immediately, her mother looks over at me. "Oh, and who do we have here?" she smiles.

"This is Palmer," she says, introducing us. "He's my… um, he's my friend."

Her mother eyes me suspiciously, wondering if I'm a friend as her daughter says, or if I'm something more.

"It's a pleasure," I say, extending my hand.

"Palmer is a chef, mom," Nicole says. "He owns The Pearl on Park."

"Well, isn't that nice," her mom says. "Come in, come in."

We walk in and immediately to our right is the living room. A game of football is playing on the TV, and people are shouting.

"C'mon—make that catch!" someone yells, and another says, "Did you see that? That was almost a QB sack!"

"This," Nicole says, pointing to one side of the room, "is my dad, and this over here is my brother."

They both turn to me, and give me a nod and a welcome handshake.

I look back at Nicole. "I should go now," I say. "I'll let you guys enjoy your lunch."

I turn to leave and then feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, no—stay!" her mother says.

"No, no, I don't want to be a bother," I say.

"It's no bother. We have plenty of food," her mother insists.

"No, he's busy, mom," Nicole says.

"Nonsense, no one is too busy to eat a home cooked meal," her mother says, practically blocking my exit.

Nicole looks at me with eyes that say I'm so sorry about this, but I just smile.

"OK, why not—I think I can join you for a meal," I say.

"Great!" her mother beams. "Now please, sit down."

There's no escaping now.