I switch off the mixer and inspect the bowl to check on the consistency of the batter. “You want to make sure you don’t over-mix the batter because that will leave you with a dense cake. But you also want to make sure the batter doesn’t have any chucks of butter or sugar left in it because that will cause pockets of caramelization. You want to avoid that too.”

“Sounds like a tricky balance.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it,” I assure my new assistant. Her name is Amy and I hired her last week to help in the kitchen. Due to the surprising success of my cafe, I’ve had to double my staff in a matter of weeks just to meet the insane demand for my pastries and desserts.

It’s been a little crazy these last few months, but I’m not complaining. My dream has come true: I’m now the proud owner of my own bakery and cafe. I never imagined it would be so successful right from the start. By the end of our third week, we already had lines around the corner. Probably because that food critic, Nicholas Turner, called my new cafe “one of the crown jewels of the city’s dessert scene.”

The minute that review came out, I called my dad and told him the good news. Because of the generous amount of money I received from Jackson, my mom and dad were able to rebuild their house and moved in a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, many other families weren’t so lucky.

My parents couldn’t be prouder of my successful cafe – especially my mom. After all, she introduced me to the art of baking and cooking when I was younger.

“Okay, now let me show you how to properly grease and flour a pan,” I say to Amy.

“Rebecca, you need to come out front immediately!”

I look up. Kristi is standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She’s incredibly excited.

“In a minute. I just need to show Amy one more thing,” I reply.

When she’s not narrating audio books, Kristi helps out at the cafe manning the counter. I really appreciate her help while I go through the process of hiring more staff.

“This can’t wait. You need to come right now.” Kristi hurries toward me and whispers excitedly, “He’s here.”

I look at her confused. “Who?”

“Him,” Kristi broadcasts with a smirk.

I roll my eyes. “Kristi, who is him?”

She tilts her head and motions toward the front of the cafe. “You know, Mr. Wonderful. Man of your dreams.”

“Jackson’s here?” I reply, suddenly nervous.

Kristi nods enthusiastically then declares, “And he’s looking even hotter than I remember him. He’s got the most perfect tan. He’s like a Greek God,” she adds dreamily. “I’m so jealous.”

I quickly take off my dirty apron and ask her, “How do I look?”

“Honestly? Like you’ve been in a kitchen for hours,” Kristi replies as she wipes some flour off my face.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

Kristi then grabs me by the shoulders and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about that. Just get out there.”

“I just wish I looked a little more presentable,” I gripe.

Kristi leans in and whispers. “He’s already seen you naked…many times. He obviously likes what he sees.”

“Good point,” I acknowledge. I look at her and take a nervous breath. “Okay. Here I go.” Before stepping out, I turn to Amy and instruct, “Start greasing that pan, Amy, and then pour in the batter, and make sure the oven is set for 350.”

“Yes, Chef,” she replies with a curt nod and gets to work.

I’m still getting used to people calling me chef. After all, only a few months ago, I was an assistant, just like Amy. Before stepping out of the kitchen, I turn to Kristi one more time.

“Why do you think he’s here?”

“Because he heard you made great desserts, so he decided to stop his cruise around the world to try one of your muffins,” she replies sarcastically. “He’s here to see you, Rebecca. Now get out there.”

Kristi points with her finger toward the front of the cafe.

“Right,” I nod nervously. I take another deep breath and step out of the kitchen and walk toward the front room.

He’s standing in front of the register, a long line of people behind him. The minute our eyes meet, I feel that familiar tingle rush through my body. Kristi wasn’t lying. Jackson looks even hotter, if such a thing were possible. He’s got a warm golden-bronze tan from his months at sea. He smiles as I approach the counter.

“Hey,” he says, his dark eyes fixated on me. His stare isn’t as intense as I remember. In fact, his entire presence appears more relaxed.

“Hi, stranger,” I grin.

He motions to the long line behind him. “You weren’t kidding when you said there were lines around the block.”

“It’s all because of you. The money you gave me financed this place and also helped my parents rebuild their lives. I can’t thank you enough.”

He stares at me through friendly eyes. “I’m glad to hear your parents are doing okay and to see you in such a good place.” He then notices my hair. “You changed your hair back. It looks good.”

I push one of the loose strands of my hair back in place. “You think? Kristi says I should go back to being a blonde. She’s convinced I was more fun as a blonde.” I don’t know why I mentioned that last bit. I’m just so nervous and not sure why. I guess I’m just so happy to see Jackson again, but I’m unsure what his re-appearance signifies. Does he want to hire me again? Or is he here for another reason?

“I like the chestnut brown. It’s who you are.”

“Thanks,” I reply, looking at him. Our eyes lock in a quiet, warm stare.

“Would you two mind taking this conversation elsewhere,” a woman behind him suddenly says. “I’m late for work and I can’t get through my day without one of Becca’s muffins.”

“Sure. I’m sorry,” I say to the customer and motion for Jackson to follow me to a corner of the dining area – where we can talk in private. Kristi returns from the kitchen and shoots me a playful look as she takes the woman’s order.

“So, what brings you back to town?” I ask Jackson, hoping the answer is me.

“I have an exhibit.”

“Oh,” I say a little disappointed. “That’s exciting.”

“I want you to come to it. I did a painting of you.”

“You mean her,” I correct him.

He shakes his head. “No. You.”

“Really?”

He slowly nods, his eyes still staring at me in that unguarded, honest way he has. “I hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” I confess. “I like everything you do.” On the canvass and off, I think to myself.

“It’s this Friday night. I’ll text you the address. Will you promise me you’ll be there, Rebecca?”

I feel the butterflies flitter in my stomach. I love hearing him say my name. I begin to realize this is one of the few ‘real’ conversations we have had together. Most of the other times we’ve talked, I was pretending to be her.

“I promise,” I assure him. “I’ll be there.”

His face breaks into a wide grin. “Great. I’m really looking forward to seeing you there.”

“Me too.” Just being in his presence is making my body warm and tingly all over. It’s incredible the affect he has on me.

“Well, I guess I should let you get back to work. I’ll see you Friday.”

He offers me one last smile and then turns and walks out of the cafe. I follow him with my eyes through the glass display window. He’s so fuckin’ hot. And with that bronze tan he’s even more tempting than one of my desserts.

“What did he want?” asks Kristi when I join her behind the counter.

“He invited me to a gallery opening this Friday night. He said he did a painting of me.”

“That’s so romantic,” Kristi whispers. “You got to wear something hot to the gallery.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t worry. I got this,” Kristi assures me.

* * *

I step out of the Uber wearing a burgundy colored spaghetti strap, backless dress.

“You sure I look okay?”

Kristi nods her head vehemently as she joins me on the sidewalk, pulling down the hem of her short skirt. “Jackson won’t know what hit him the second he sees you,” she swears.

I’ll have to take Kristi’s word on this. I’ve never been very good at being fashionable.

We walk toward the gallery. The paparazzi are standing outside, filming and snapping pictures of the celebrities and elite. I take a nervous, deep breath as I approach the man in charge of letting people in.

“Rebecca Wilson,” I say to him as he checks for my name on a list. “And guest.”

“Enjoy your evening, Ms. Wilson.” He removes the velvet rope and motions me and Kristi inside.

When I step into the gallery, I take another deep breath. Everywhere I turn, I see a who’s who of the media and entertainment world.

“Oh my God, that’s DJ Mendacity talking to Channing Davis,” whispers Kristi excitedly. She then snags two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter and hands one to me.

I take a sip as I survey the crowded room, looking for Jackson. Then I feel Kristi tugging on my arm. “Rebecca, look, it’s you!”

I turn in her direction. My jaw drops. Hanging in the center of the room – surrounded by people – is a large painting of me, with my chestnut brown hair.

Gripping my glass of champagne, I walk in a daze toward the painting. This isn’t like the painting Jackson did of me in his studio, when I was pretending to be Ashley. Although that one looked like me – except for the different hair color – there was something about it that didn’t truly represent me. This painting is different. Jackson has not only captured what I look like in beautiful and brilliant colors, but with his masterful skills, he has also expressed who I am. I see myself in the painting. It’s not just a physical representation of who I am, but an emotional one as well.

“Do you like it?”

I turn. Jackson is standing beside me.

“I’m at a loss for words,” I admit.

“A bunch of people tonight want to buy it, but it’s not for sale. It’s for you.”

“It’s breathtaking. I love it.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. I was worried you might not like it. I had to base it off memory. I just kept replaying that moment when I first saw you in that bar over and over again. Trying to get at the truth of that moment.”

I look at him confused. “But I thought when you saw me in that bar, you thought I was Ashley?”

He looks at me with those beautiful, honest dark eyes and admits, “Rebecca, I’m an idiot. I’ve been misreading the signs this entire time. I thought when we ran into each other, the universe was giving me another opportunity to be with Ashley. I never stopped to consider it might be offering me the chance to meet someone new. Someone who might make me happy. Someone I might discover real joy with.” He then lowers his head and sighs. “My only fear is that while the universe was hitting me over the head with these signs – and I was just too stupid to see them – I might have let too much time pass.”

He reaches for my hand.

“Rebecca, I know you and I have had a really strange relationship – to put it mildly – but I was wondering if you would like to start over again? On different terms. Just you and me. Jackson and Rebecca. No one else. No more memories.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My heart is pounding in my chest. He’s saying what I’ve always wanted to hear.

“When do we start?” I ask with a grateful smile.

“How about right now?” he says leaning forward. He kisses me, and I savor his lips against mine.

“I always wanted you to see me when we were together, and not her,” I confess after we kiss.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he says softly. “I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.”

“Better late than never,” I reply with a grin.

He pulls me closer. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“But don’t you have to stick around? You’re the artist?”

Jackson shakes his head as he keeps staring at me. “Another thing I’ve learned from all this, Rebecca, is that time is precious. If you want something, grab it, and don’t let go. And I want you, Rebecca. All of you.”

I notice desire creep into his eyes. Or is it just a reflection of my own craving as I feel his arm around me. “If time is precious,” I reply with a smirk. “Then let’s make sure we don’t waste any more of it.”

I disengage myself from his embrace and turn away from him. I shoot him a coy look as I walk toward the exit. I can feel Jackson close behind. Unlike our first memory – in the museum – I know Jackson is now truly after me and not her. He’s not chasing a memory, he’s pursuing the future. And the future is me. It feels awesome!

When we step outside, Jackson has his limo pick us up.

“Where to?” the driver asks.

“Back to the hotel,” Jackson replies.

“You’re not staying at the apartment uptown?” I inquire.

Jackson shakes his head. “I sold it. I sold everything.” He pulls me close and gives me another heavenly kiss. “I told you, Rebecca. I want to move on from the past and start the next chapter of my life.”

He stares at me with a warm, loving smile. He glides a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Then he kisses me again. As our lips touch, I feel that familiar yearning in my body. It feels so good to be in Jackson’s presence. But as our kiss lingers, I realize my body wants something more. It wants him back where he belongs, inside me.

I reach over and press the button that raises the divider in the car – so we have privacy from the driver. I then quickly climb on top of Jackson and unbutton his shirt.

“You know one of the most important things I discovered from our little arrangement, Jackson?”

I notice Jackson’s astonished look as I hungrily glide my hands over his firm, tan, muscular chest.

“What’s that?”

I glide my hand toward his crotch and feel the wonderful gift stirring underneath his pants. As I look deep into his eyes, I slowly unzip his pants.

“I got in touch with my naughty side,” I say with a mischievous smirk. I place another kiss on his lips as I tug on his shaft.

Jackson growls and leans forward, passionately kissing me.

“Rebecca, you know just what I like to hear.”

As the limo heads toward the hotel, Jackson’s hands reach underneath my dress. He pulls down my panties.

A few seconds later, Jackson is back inside me, where he belongs. We make love in the back of the limo, and when we arrive at the hotel – and finally make it our room – we continue the journey.

We spend the rest of the night fucking and loving – grateful to be in each other’s arms. But most importantly, we’re both excited about the future and the prospect of creating new memories that we will cherish forever.

* * *

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