Poppy guides me to a bench; we’re still wandering along the edge of Central Park. Not too far from Pastiche, actually. “That sounds lonely.”
There’s a bit of mustard on the corner of her mouth. I wipe it away with my thumb. “Lonely, but effective. Poppy, I want to keep telling you these things. I don’t want to hold everything in anymore.”
Her hand covers mine. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’ll really come back to Fable?”
“If you’re in, I’m in.” She smiles, a little impish, and leans toward me like she’s sharing a secret. “I have lots of ideas.”
“I figured you would.”
“Here’s one: how about we close down the restaurant for a month every year.”
“And do what?”
“Travel.” Before I can reply, she goes on, “Think about it. We can travel the world. Gather inspiration for the restaurant. Take that trip to Sardinia or go to Japan or wherever else you want to explore. I want Diamond Bay to be our home, but that doesn’t mean we’re stuck there. I want it to be the place you’re always happy to return to after a long”—her eyes dance—“flavorful trip.”
She might have kept going, but I muffle whatever she would have said with a kiss. She smiles against my lips. Her mouth is cold, and a little salty-sweet. I had no idea it was possible to feel love like this. Exhilarating, pure, uninhibited. It’s terrifying. It’s remarkable. It’s as though she reached into my chest and scooped out my heart, and now it’s hers for safekeeping. I’ve never been so glad to give something up.
“We’re in a city of millions of people,” she murmurs, fingers plucking at the ends of my scarf. “No more desert island.”
“Eight million, give or take.”
“Would you still choose me?” She pulls away slightly, clearly nervous to hear my answer despite everything that has happened between us. “I mean, over everyone else?”
“Of course.” I gather her into my lap, arms wrapped around her tightly. “I love you, Poppy. You’re brilliant and clever and mine. On and off the desert island.”
“We’re doing this then, Chef?”
“It’s happening.”
“We might kill each other.”
“Then we’ll end up in hell together.”
“As long as that’s a promise.” Her thumb strokes over my beard, eyes alight. “I just have one request.”
“Anything.”
“We find somewhere else to live. The houseboat can’t handle me.”
I crack a grin. “We’re definitely getting an apartment.”
“As long as there aren’t cockroaches.”
“Definitely no cockroaches,” I agree.
With her heartbeat fluttering against mine, I kiss her.
The first of a lifetime to come.
Epilogue
Pickle Ice Cream
Poppy
Three Years Later
