One minute I'm offering to make Nicole bacon and eggs, and the next she's running out of the restaurant as if her feet are on fire. She couldn't get out of here fast enough. She didn't so much as give me an explanation, or even a look.

I've never seen her act that way before.

Things were going so well … maybe even perfect. At least more perfect than I've ever known a relationship with another person to be.

My mind replays all of the moments we shared this week, to see if anything was amiss. Was there something I didn't pay attention to? But the more I think about it, the more I think that all of the moments were perfect. Like the other day—sharing one of the best steak recipes with her.

I stirred the chocolate sauce on the stove. The kitchen smelled amazing, and we were still standing there in an after-sex glow. I was shirtless and she couldn't keep her eyes off of my body. I couldn't keep mine off hers either.

I mixed in heavy cream, dark chocolate, and chili pepper. To give it some kick, I said with a wink.

"And you're serving this on a steak?"

It's going to be mind blowing—just wait and see," I promised her with a smile.

"When I think of chocolate, I think of ice cream, or sundaes, or strawberries, or cake, or even truffles … but steak?" she said.

"Trust me."

"I do," she said.

The way she said that with the depth of her eyes more than her words, made me know she meant it. And it also made me melt faster than the chocolate in that saucepan.

I continued to whisk the chocolate until it was thick and glossy like a silk robe. I added a splash more cream, and a sprig of rosemary to top it off.

"Perfect," I smiled. "Could you grab me that filet?"

She nodded, and brought me the perfectly caramelized steak.

"How did you get so good at cooking steaks?" she asked.

"That's a secret," I smiled.

She watched me as I drizzled the chocolate sauce over the filet and carefully sliced off a piece.

"Here," I said. "Taste this."

She leaned in and carefully parted her lips. I brought the fork to her mouth, carefully placing it on her tongue with my free hand underneath it.

"Oh. My. God. That's good. Sinfully good, Palmer," she said, her face flushing—either from the heat of the chili pepper, or from me hand feeding her the amazing steak.

I smiled at her reaction. "There's a hint of coffee in there too," I told her. "Can you taste it? It brings out the chocolate."

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she chewed.

"You are a culinary god," she said. "I'm dead serious."

My thoughts come back to the present.

That was one moment of many perfect moments. She called me a god. Everything was going so well.

But now? Now Nicole's colder than a freezer-burned drumstick.

I pick up my cell phone and dial her.

The phone rings and goes to voicemail.

Fuck. Now she's ignoring me.

What the fuck is going on?

I call her restaurant and Kate picks up.

"You've reached The Old Tale, how can I help you?"

"Hi, Kate—it's me, Palmer."

"What do you want?"

"I need to talk to Nicole and she isn't answering her phone," I say. "Is she there?"

There's a moment of silence.

"Please—I just need a quick word with her."

"Sorry, she isn't here," Kate says. "She left me running the restaurant today."

"Is she OK? I mean, she isn't answering her phone," I say. "She isn't returning my calls. I left countless messages, and it's driving me crazy because I have no idea what's wrong."

"Look, I'm going to be blunt with you," she says. "Nicole is through with you."

"What?" I say, unable to comprehend what she's saying.

But instead of clarifying, or saying anything further, Kate hangs up and the line goes dead.

Well, that wasn't helpful.

That gave me more questions than answers.

I look around the kitchen and pace back and forth. What is it, what is it … why is she so upset? Then I look down at my recipe notes. They're in an open notebook on the counter.

Did she see these notes when she was here?

I shake my head. No, I'm sure she didn't.

I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. I look across the kitchen, and then walk out into the dining room. To think—in no time, this place will be turned into god knows what. It will no longer be the culmination of all my hopes and dreams.

All of my goals will be gone down the drain.

I pour a second drink and feel my body start to relax.

At least I gave it everything I got, right? I can look myself in the mirror every morning and say I tried … and I guess that's more than most people can say.

I pour a third drink and gulp it down. Now the liquor is really starting to take affect and I feel a slow blurring of my thoughts at the edges of my mind. My body is completely relaxed at this point, and my mind doesn't have a filter.

With Nicole deserting me … and the restaurant closing … what do I have left in New York City? Maybe it's best if I leave this place … this city completely.

As soon as this thought enters my mind, it takes hold and solidifies itself as a real solution. It feels like the right thing to do.

Yes, I should leave.

There's nothing left for me here.