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She’s right. She’s always right.

“We’re gonna need cleaning supplies.” I place the apron behind me. “And probably tetanus shots.”

“I’m sure we can manage.”

“I fucking love you.” I don’t give her time to answer, crushing my lips to hers, and everything beyond her vanishes.

Dad’s letter, the weight of his absence, the dishes he’ll never taste. There’s just Naomi, warm and real, in my arms, tasting like coffee and the sweetest cupcake.

I break the kiss. “You know this is gonna be hell, right? Months of work. Late nights. Me being a complete asshole when things go wrong.”

“So, business as usual then?” Her fingers trace patterns on my chest.

“I’m serious.” I catch her hand, holding it still. “This place… it’s not just a restaurant. It’s everything I’ve wanted since I was a kid. Everything I fought against because of him. If I fuck this up?—”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Actually, I do.” She pulls back, meeting my eyes. “And yeah, it’ll be hard. You’ll probably want to throw things?—”

“Already did.” I nod toward the broken bottle.

“—and there will be days when nothing goes right. But you’ve got this. You’ll create something that would have made both your parents proud.” Her thumb brushes my jaw. “They’ll both be here, in every dish you serve. And you’ve got me.”

The certainty in her voice hits something deep in my chest. She believes in me. Not because she has to, not because wehave some deal, but because she sees something in me worth believing in.

Because I’m enough.

“You really want to help clean this place?”

“Well,” she glances down at her stockinged feet, now grey with dust, “I’m already committed.”

“Alright, cupcake.” I glance around, exhaling slowly. “Let’s create something out of this mess.”

Something worthy of their memory. Something uniquely mine.

FORTY-ONE

NAOMI

The scent of pancakes tickles my nose, and I reach for Brandon, finding only cool sheets. He must’ve been up for a while. Will I get breakfast in bed again?

I hope he bought strawberries.

I drag myself out of the warm sheets, his t-shirt hanging off one shoulder as I follow that mouthwatering smell.

“Brandon?”

Silence. Just a stack of golden pancakes taunting me from the counter. I grab one, rolling it up like I used to do as a kid. One bite and—goddamn. The fluffy sweetness melts on my tongue.

“Brandon?” My voice echoes through the apartment.

Another bite. Down the hallway. Past the bedroom.

He wouldn’t leave to the restaurant without me, right?

A glimpse of movement through the office door makes me pause.

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