Page 33 of The Sweet Chef and the Corporate Queen

"Almost ready," I say, glancing at my watch. The airport shuttle leaves at noon. Our flight at three. Back to New York. Back to normal.

Normal suddenly feels like a weight pressing against my chest.

I tuck Mia's drawing—the crayon figures of her, Declan, and me in the kitchen—back into my planner and zip the suitcase closed. "Let's head down for breakfast."

The dining room buzzes with activity as we enter. Mia immediately scans for Declan, bouncing on her toes impatiently.

"Looking for someone?" Andrea murmurs with a raised eyebrow.

Before I can respond, Declan emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray. My heart does an unwelcome flip as he approaches our table.

"Special delivery for Chef Mia," he announces, setting a plate of blueberry pancakes arranged in a smiling face before her. His eyes are shadowed with fatigue, but his smile for Mia is genuine.

He places another plate before me without meeting my eyes. Unlike Mia's whimsical creation, mine is an elegant, impersonal stack.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"Enjoy your breakfast. Safe travels back to New York." The finality in his tone makes my throat tighten unexpectedly.

As he returns to the kitchen, Mia digs into her pancakes while I pick at mine, surrounded by my team's enthusiastic discussion of the retreat's success. I should feel satisfied. Instead, I feel hollow.

"Wait! I forgot to say goodbye to Declan!" Mia's voice rises in panic as we prepare to leave. "Mom, I have to say goodbye!"

I check my watch. "Alright. Let’s go look for him."

We find him sitting on a bench near a small fountain. He stands just in time to catch Mia as she flings herself at him.

"I made you this," she says, producing a misshapen ceramic mug with "DECLANS MUG" scratched into the side. "For your special tea from the wildlife blind."

Something in his expression cracks as he accepts it. "This is perfect. Thank you."

"You have to use it every day so you don't forget me."

"As if I could ever forget my best sous chef." His voice roughens with emotion as he crouches to her level. "Promise me you'll keep creating?"

She nods solemnly. "I promise. And I'll practice pancake flipping for when we come back to visit."

His eyes flick up to meet mine, a question in them I don't know how to answer.

"You've got a permanent spot in my kitchen whenever you want it," he tells her, gently tapping her nose. "Both of you do."

Mia throws her arms around his neck one more time, and something inside me fractures at the sight of their genuine connection.

"Mia," I say gently, "we need to finish packing. Can you go ask Jameson if we can have a late checkout?"

Once she's out of earshot, silence stretches between us.

"You have a remarkable daughter," he finally says.

"So I've been told." I take a step closer. "She's... she's really going to miss you."

"Just her?" The question is soft, his eyes searching mine.

I look away, unable to bear the hope I see there. "Declan, I?—"

"It's okay," he interrupts gently. "You don't have to say anything. I understand."

But does he? Do I, even?

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