ignored Angela’s little half-shrug and kept going. “I mean, she just, she came out of nowhere, and she built an entire brand. She’s an award-winning chef. She’s opened up an entire restaurant, and—and she’s published four cookbooks in four years. It’s amazing.”
She didn’t mean to speak so emphatically, but surely Angela didn’t get it. Holly Hanson was phenomenal. They didn’t just hand out awards for cooking if recipes were bad.
“Nikki, you’re amazing,” Angela said. “You have all the skills to achieve the same success.” She watched Nikki, who simply stared at her. She and Holly Hanson weren’t even in the same league. How could Angela not see that? “I’m just saying…”
Nikki appreciated the vote of confidence, deciding to take it for what it was. “Thanks, Ang.” Her friend had always believed in her, and Nikki seized on to that knowledge, needing to use it as ammunition for the day’s events. “Well, I’ll just be happy if I can get a job.” She smiled like she was thrilled to be out there, dressed like she was heading to the symphony, practically begging someone to let her cook for them. “Two more interviews to go.”
“Good luck,” Angela said.
Nikki picked up her mug as she stood. “Thanks.”
She couldn’t go to an interview—especially this first one at Finique—with only coffee in her stomach. The very idea was laughable. All women everywhere knew that a job interview, whether it was at a restaurant where a very bad breakup had happened or not, required carbs. And in Lakeside, the best place to get properly carbo-loaded was Delucci’s Bakery.
Nikki entered the doors to a charming chime from the bell and approached the counter. The smell of freshly baked rolls and breads made her stomach roar. And the espresso—Nikki needed one, stat.
Trish, the owner of the bakery, was one of Nikki’s favorite people on the planet. Though she probably got up in the middle of the night to come to work, she greeted everyone like they were old friends.
“Hi, good morning,” Nikki said.
Trish, who was more Nikki’s mother’s age, beamed at her. “Good morning.” Her emerald-colored sweater made her eyes seem more green than blue today. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.” Nikki felt like she had someone she could confide in here in the city. Her own mother lived so far away, and she hadn’t wanted Nikki to come to Lakeside in the first place. So Nikki only told her the good things about her life, reasoning that there was no sense in burdening her parents with the negative. After all, she was sure one of these two upcoming interviews would net her a job.
Trish gave her a conspiratorial look. “Double whip?”
“You know it.” Nikki laughed with Trish, the weight of her interview flying away, at least for the moment.
Trish returned a minute later with a mocha latte and reached for the can of whipping cream. She squirted more than a healthy amount on top and handed the to-go cup to Nikki. “So, how’s the job search going? Any luck yet?”
“No, no luck.” Nikki ignored the twist in her chest. “But I’m trying to stay optimistic. I’m not gonna lie, though. It’s pretty hard.” She ducked her head and tucked her hair. She was wearing the right clothes today. She’d studied Finique’s menu, their hours, and their history listed on their website. She knew everything about the establishment. She’d cooked at five restaurants.
“Well, I have no doubt you’ll find a job soon. This is a big city with a lot of hungry people.”
Nikki sipped her latte and licked the cream from her top lip. “I hope so. Because if I don’t find something soon, I’m going to be one of those hungry people.” She wanted to believe Trish with all her heart—so she did.
Trish’s husband, Marty, emerged from the kitchen in the back, a tray of chocolate-drizzled biscotti in front of him. The smell made Nikki close her eyes and take a deep breath, instantly transporting her straight back to her childhood. Her grandmother had made biscotti for Christmas every year when Nikki was a little girl. Since she didn’t drink, she’d taught Nikki to dip the Italian cookies in hot apple cider.
She let the memory play out as Marty set down the tray and reached for a pair of tongs. “Did I hear someone say they were hungry?” He picked up a bag.
“Ooh, fresh biscotti. You know I can’t resist that.” She couldn’t, even if her pocketbook would take a three-dollar hit.
“My father opened these doors with this very recipe.” Marty put a fresh cookie in the bag. Nikki started to pull out her wallet, a cute pink thing she’d bought for herself after her Valentine’s Day fiasco two years ago.
There was that thought again. Probably because in only a few short weeks, she’d have to experience that day all over again.
Though she could stuff reminders of Valentine’s Day away, she couldn’t quite do the same with her memories of Finique. Her heart rate picked up, and she couldn’t believe she was even considering stepping foot back inside the restaurant where her heart had been broken. But desperate times called for her to shelve her pride and hope her memories didn’t suffocate her when she went to her job interview later that morning.
“No, no, put your money away,” Marty said.
Nikki stared at him.
“When you get a job, then we’ll let you pay,” Trish said, glancing at her husband.
Their generosity touched Nikki’s heart. “But—”
“You heard the missus,” he said. “And trust me, you don’t want to argue with her.”
Trish giggled and playfully swatted his arm. “Marty.”
Nikki accepted the bag with the biscotti and put her wallet away. “All right. Well, thanks.” With both Trish and Marty looking at her with such affection, she inhaled. They believed in her. Angela’s words from that morning replayed in Nikki’s head.
She could ace this interview. She squared her shoulders and lifted her latte. “Well, I’m off to another job interview. Wish me luck!”
Chapter Two
That afternoon, Nikki stood outside of Finique, her heart swimming around in her chest. Here she was again, face-to-face with the very place where the most humiliating breakup of her life had happened.
She remembered the exact table where Ryan had said those horrible words. The precise meal they’d shared. The walk she’d taken back to her apartment, alone.
Gotta go inside, she told herself. She didn’t have to dine here, but she did need a job. Badly.
She breathed, strengthened her resolve, and told herself it was going to be fine. Just fine. She stepped down the sidewalk and through the doors. The restaurant wasn’t open yet because it was one of those fancy ones that only served dinner.
Everything in front of her was white. White walls. Stark white tables with white chairs. The shelves held glasses and shiny silverware.
A man with dark hair and
