Chapter 1

MADDIE

“You don’t have to do this, ya know.” My best friend for the past four years seems to have a soft side after all.

“I know I don’t have to, but why would I not? I mean, yes, it is a huge city. How bad can it be?”

“New York? Are you kidding, Maddie? You have never lived anywhere that didn’t consist of a pasture full of animals at least a few miles from you.”

“I lived here for four years. That has to account for something.”

“This is college. A dorm room doesn’t count.”

“Ali,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “I’ll be fine. I promise. It will just take some getting used to. That’s all. It can’t be that much different. Instead of a pasture full of cows, I’ll be dealing with a parking lot full of cars.”

“Yeah, but the cows here don’t try to run you down.”

“You’re being melodramatic.”

“Only because I care about you. Promise me that you’ll call me when you get there?”

“Of course, I will.” I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly, almost not wanting to let go. I have to admit, the security of Ali and this small dorm room held onto me. I’m nervous but I am good at hiding it. When we finally let go, I force a smile and before the stinging of tears fill my eyes I am turning away from her, picking up the last of my bags and jetting out the door to a new chapter in my life.

With my culinary arts degree still crisp in my portfolio, I board the plane bound for the Big Apple. As the flight attendant goes over the take-off procedures, I look out the window to the gates and wonder if I am doing the right thing. Maybe it is a mistake moving to the city that never sleeps, when I have never slept with anyone to begin with.

“Stop second guessing yourself, Maddie,” I tell myself. “You can do this.” I close my eyes and clutch my bag as the plane begins to move forward.

***

The city traffic is insane, and the taxi driver weaves in and out of the lanes, coming dangerously close to other taxis and bicyclists. I learn quickly to keep my eyes in my lap and trust that nothing will come into contact with the bright yellow taxi before it pulls up to my new apartment.

“Forty-two ninety,” the driver says as the cab comes to a jolting stop.

I look up for the first time and notice buildings with the occasional tree planted under cement. No grass, no open spaces and definitely no farm animals.

“Um, is this the Seaman Apartment Complex?”

“Yes,” he says abruptly. “Forty-two ninety.”

I dig through my purse and pull out fifty dollars. Once he has it safely in his grasp and has handed me my change, he quickly gets out and pulls my bags from the trunk.

“Can you help me take my bags into the building?”

Without a word, the cab driver sets the last of my bags in the road next to the parked cars on the side of the road and gets into his cab.

“Sir?”

When he drives off, I look around and begin to believe the rumors.

“Be careful, Maddie. New Yorkers are nothing like the people back home.” I can still hear my father’s voice over the phone when I called and told him about the job I accepted. “They aren’t nice or friendly. They move way too fast, they keep to themselves and they live in their own world, which is what I highly recommend you do.”

And, although my father tried his damnedest to talk me out of moving here, he knew I was going to make up my own mind. And here I am, in the middle of the busiest city in America with all my belonging stacked up in front of me.

I shoulder what I can and drag the rest of my bags, as I struggle to make my way between two parked cars. Dad is right. Out of the sixty-some people who pass me as I grunt and drag my things, not one person stops to help or even ask. No one looks in my direction, except for one older woman who scoffs at me because she has to walk around me.

“I’m sorry,” I called out. “I dropped my case.”

She continues on her way without looking back.

“Have a good day,” I say, shaking my head.

My apartment is quaint. A small bedroom off a slightly larger room that looks to be my kitchen/living room/dining area. The bathroom is so small I can pee, while putting my feet up on the side of the tub, as long as I don’t lean over and hit my head on the sink.

I plop down on the bed and look around. “Yes, quaint. We’ll go with that.”

I pull out my phone, double check that I have the right directions to Bistro Italiano, take a deep breath and begin my new life.

***

“Hello?” I walk into the restaurant between meal hours, I am hoping it isn’t too busy to meet my bosses and get familiar with where I’ll be working. A waitress looks at me as she neatly rolls two forks, a knife and a spoon into a dark blue cloth napkin.

“Welcome to Bistro Italiano,” she says with a smile as she stands. “Will there be anyone joining you this afternoon?”

“Um, no. I’m here to see the manager? Is Mr. or Ms Santoro in?”

She loses her smile and sizes me up. “What about?”

“I’m starting work here tomorrow.”

“Waitress?”

“No. I’ll be in the kitchen. Pastry chef. I kind of wanted to get a feel for the place before I start.”

“I bet you do.” The woman smirks at me before walking away.

What just happened? I’m starting to feel like I made a bad choice coming here. Maybe New York City isn’t the right place to start my culinary career. I look around the dining area. I do have to admit, the place does have a certain high-class feel to it. The deep blue curtains are gorgeous against the creamy white walls. Tables and chairs made of a dark wood and beautiful lighting accentuated the art on the walls. I am definitely in the right place. I just need to learn to adapt.

“Joanne just popped out for a moment and Rocco is busy.” The woman returns from a hallway and sits back down to resume her silverware wrapping.

“Would it be possible to let me look around the restaurant? I would like to…”

“You didn’t let me finish,” she says with sarcasm.

“I’m… sorry.”

“He said you can go back. He’s just finishing up.”

“Oh! Thank you.”

“You got it.” The way she purses her lips gave me a red flag but I didn’t heed it. “Down the hallway, second door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy.”

I’m hesitant but I feel my legs carry me in that direction, my eyes still on her. Why is she so bitter, so angry? What did I do that was so bad? Not all New Yorkers can be so cold, can they?

I walk down the narrow hallway to the second door with a nameplate that reads Rocco Santoro. I stand in front of it, straighten my blouse and put on a nice smile. Lightly knocking on the door, I step back and wait. Someone mumbles from behind the door. Did he tell me to come in?

I hesitate with my hand on the door knob. Oh, God. Should I go in? Should I knock again? I quietly turn the knob and open the door. I’ll just apologize if he is busy and wait in the hall.

Opening the door, I freeze at the sight before me. They don’t notice me there. Yes, I said they. A man and a woman, half-naked and having sex on the chair behind the desk.

Turn around and walk away, Maddie. Why am I not moving? Something stirs within me. I am entranced by him, the way he touches her, his fingers grabbing her, her head falling back as he pleasures her. I like watching him. I want to watch him. They don’t notice me. But I notice myself, me. I’m breathing a little heavier. My lip is between my teeth. My body tenses and my toes curl. I hold on to the doorway and press my body against it.

He looks up at me, his eyes directly penetrating mine. My breathing stops. Turn around! Leave! What am I doing?

He smiles and keeps going.