I'm more nervous than I've ever been in my life. The restaurant is packed.

The invitations were a success by the sheer number of people who have showed up so far—friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and what seems to be nearly every restaurant critic in the city … even Percy Whitman.

It's exactly what I hoped for.

I shake hands. I smile. And I make my rounds.

As I walk around the restaurant, I pick up pieces of conversation. I get a personal peek into the lives of all these people.

I hear one man say, "It's been weeks, but I think I've made up my mind. I want her back."

The other man considers this, chewing the last bites of his crostini. "Did she get a haircut?" he asks.

"I think so, yes. Why?"

"Forget about her then," the man says. "I hate to break it to you, but you're out of luck. She doesn't want you back."

I continue walking, unable to hear the rest of that conversation, but it gives me some comfort to hear that not everyone's life I perfect.

I walk past a group of women holding wine flutes filled with champagne. They are all wearing short, pearl necklaces, and I wonder if it's in honor of The Pearl on Park. I overhear their conversation as well.

One woman says, "Can you believe the bouncer at the door asked for my ID?"

"You didn't bring it?" another woman responds.

"I totally forgot it, so I look the bouncer in the eyes and I tell him I'm 30. But he just stares back at me and insists that he still needs my ID. So I turn to him and say that I've just told him I'm 30. What woman lies about that?"

The women laugh at this, but one remains fairly quiet.

The woman telling the story turns to her and says, "Why are you so quiet, Heather?"

And in a nonchalant sort of way, Heather turns to them and says, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm just saving my personality for when everyone else gets here."

They all have a good laugh at that, and I have to admit, despite my nerves about the whole evening, even I'm amused.

I hear another group of women talking. They're eating the blue cheese and pear tartlets that I've prepared especially for this evening … and they're not just eating one, they seem to be eating them by the handful.

I love seeing that. People enjoying the food, and relaxing enough to have a good time.

One woman says, "Every psycho I've ever dated was an Aries."

The other woman replies, "Every psycho I've ever dated believed in astrology. But my new boyfriend Tom, well, whenever he travels internationally, he texts me the minute he gets WiFi."

The first woman puts one hand over her chest. "That's so sweet. That's all I want … to be someone's first thought when they WiFi."

I move on, and smile. But my smile fades when I see Nicole's table.

It's still empty.

What is she doesn't show up?

If she doesn't show up, this will all have been for nothing.

Just then, I feel a strong hand clap me on the shoulder. "I must tell you," the man says, "These Prosciutto-wrapped asparagus might be some of the best I've ever eaten. And that's saying something because I've eaten my way around the world."

"That means a lot," I say. "Thank you."

But as much as it does make me feel good to see people enjoying my cuisine, it doesn't fix the fact that Nicole isn't here.

Brit walks out from the kitchen and whispers into my ear, "We need to get started," she says. "It's time for the main course."

"Let's give it a few minutes," I say, hoping to buy a little more time. I don't want to start without Natalie.

"Fine, a few more minutes," Brit says. "But that's it. We can't keep stalling."

As she walks off, my heart's on fire. Maybe this was a stupid idea. I mean, if Nicole has refused to take any of my calls or even text me back, what makes me think she'll show up to this dinner?

I can feel my optimism fading faster than a phone battery on 20 percent.

Yes, this was definitely stupid. I never should've—

But then my thoughts are interrupted when I see who just walked through the front door.

And she's gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous with her hair framing her face like a halo.

Everyone seems to turn in their seats when she enters.

It's Nicole.

She came.