It took everything in me not to reply to Dylan’s text. But I will. I plan to, the minute I’ve wrapped up this gig. Three weeks pass quickly, and my food is a hit with Mrs. Worthington and her party of guests tonight. So much so, that by the end of the evening, I do a quick tally have close to ten business cards tucked into my apron from attendees.

Ten potential new clients. Each one of them made inquiries about a specific date coming up. From baby showers to bar mitzvahs, art showings to small office gathering, they want to hire me. It feels fantastic that they do.

I pulled off the night so smoothly that I have to celebrate. Hopefully not alone. But with Rose out of town, and Dahlia spending all her free time with Jackson, a glass of wine before bed may be the full extent of my celebration.

But there’s Dylan.

As exhausting as the day was, I’m on such a high that my fingers are itching to send him a text. The coast should be clear now. His mother’s no longer a new client. Mrs. Worthington raved over my dishes and wants to hire me for upcoming events, but it’s different now. Right? She never raised the question of her son after she saw that text on my phone a few weeks back. It must be a non-issue for her.

After my leftovers, food containers, supplies, and other equipment are neatly packed up and loaded onto my two rolling carts, I give the kitchen a quick cleaning, even though Diane assured me that her maid will handle it.

Always leave a kitchen cleaner than you found it.

Once I’m satisfied, I take a peek through the kitchen doors that let out into the vast hallway and adjoining living area. Diane is busy, deep conversation with one of the stragglers, a female client whose name I’ve already forgotten.

It’s close to eleven at night, but I take a chance and send Dylan a text. I don’t expect him to reply, but he does within minutes of my message.

Me: Hi. Sorry for not replying in a while. Was pretty busy. Are you around?

Dylan: Hey. I meant to text you earlier. Things went well?

Me: They did! Mrs. W is pleased.

Dylan: Good to hear. Congrats.

Me: I’d celebrate if I weren’t going solo this weekend.

Dylan: Want some company? For drinks, maybe?

Me: Sure, why not. I kinda owe you. I just have to unload the work van first.

Dylan: Where?

Me: At Gauche, in Soho.

Dylan: That’s not too far. Are you in guest parking at Diane’s condo?

Me: Yes. Just heading there now.

Dylan: Okay. Will see you.

Putting my phone away, I let Diane know that I’m heading out. She hands me an envelope, and thanks me for the fifth time tonight. Once I’m back in the kitchen, I clip the rolling carts together and wheel it out to the other elevator landing through a convenient service entrance the maid showed me earlier. As I climb onto the elevator, I’m met by a smiling Dylan.

He stands there with his chiseled face, charming smile, dressed casually in a loose-fitting cotton button down shirt, blue jeans that are so form-fitting, it shows off the firm tone of his leg muscles and tan loafers.

“Hi,” I say, surprised. “You’re not like, stalking me, are you?”

“Maybe a little.”

I look down at the wheels of the front cart and give it a nudge to move it past the space between the surface of the elevator and landing floors. “That was fast.”

“Not really. I live a few floors away. Couldn’t stop Diane from getting her own place here after I bought my condo, though.”

“You live here?” I ask, and straighten the carts on one side of the large service elevator. After hitting the parking level, I move over to stand beside Dylan.

He nods. “I do. You’ll be happy to know I drew the line at showing up to Diane’s party tonight. She invited me once she found out that you and I know each other.”

“Oh?” I ask, but my voice is laden with guilt. I’m the reason she’s aware. “Sorry about that,” I admit. “It’s kind of my fault.”

“How come?”

I timidly relate back the incident about her seeing his text on my phone.

“That explains it.”

“What, she spoke to you?”

“Not to worry. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“No, I’d like to know. She definitely had a reaction when she found out.”

“Really, just let it go. It’s not a big deal, and what really matters is she followed through with her decision to hire you in spite of it all.”

“I guess.”

“But again, can we park the topic? I came to see you. We’re celebrating, right?”

“True. We are.” The elevator opens onto a higher floor. His floor. “Crap. I forgot to press the parking level.”

“No need.” He scans the two carts for a few moments. “There’s room in my pantry for this stuff. And you can refrigerate the perishables. If you don’t need to return everything to Gauche, just leave it here for now.”

“I don’t know—” I start, but again, Dylan is a step ahead of me. I follow him as he wheels the carts off the elevator and down the hall to a door situated at about the same location as Diane’s service door.

He leads me into his kitchen, which is almost the identical layout as his mother’s place, except his appliances are all stainless steel, and I swear he has the most state-of-the-art sub-zero fridge in existence.

“You can leave the cart in the corner over there,” he points. “Pass me whatever you need to put in the fridge.”

It doesn’t take long to put everything away, but all the while, I remind myself of one thing.

We’re just having drinks.

Nothing more.

But I’m an idiot for being so naïve. The effects of his kiss still linger at the corner of my brain. The butterflies, my stomach flips, the warmth deep in my belly, and the tingling between my legs. They all kick into high gear again just being near him.

Just drinks?

Not a chance.

But that doesn’t stop me.

I accept his offered hand and let him show me to his living room.