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“And act like it.”

Chiara snorts beside me, and I reach for the next book, trying not to laugh.

This still feels surreal.

My book. My name on the cover. My recipes inside. People have actually been buying it, cooking from it, tagging me in pictures of their kitchens and sending me messages about recipes that came from me. And now there are people standing in line waiting for me to sign it.

Less than a year ago I had no clue what I was going to do with the rest of my life, and now... I think I figured some of it out.

Not all of it, but enough.

I have a career I love and a cookbook that somehow became a success beyond anything I could have imagined. I reconnected with friends I pushed away after Damiano died, and somehow they forgave me when I finally reached back out.

I see Lexy whenever work brings her to Chicago, and Grace has flown out twice for absolutely no reason other than, I missed you.

Penny and Summer call me often, and so does Lily, who somehow always knows when I need it most. I’m still in the delulu group chat, but neither Jude nor I ever write in it. The others seem to understand why, because when my book came out, they all messaged me privately.

I even take riding lessons every Tuesday and Saturday now. The first time I got on a horse without Jude standing beside me, I almost cried. It wasn’t the same, and honestly it still isn’t, but I discovered that I really love it.

I have dinner with Mamma and Papà every Sunday, Chiara annoys the shit out of me at least four times a week, and I cook all the time now.

I laugh. I make plans. I live.

And I’m happy.

I really am.

“Who do I make this out to?” I ask the next woman.

“Emily.”

“Emily.” I smile at her. “Beautiful name.”

I lower my pen to the page when something outside the bookstore catches my attention.

Someone.

Dark hair, broad shoulders, tall...

My hand stops.

Jude?

My heart slams against my ribs, and I’m on my feet before I even realise I’ve moved, my chair scraping loudly against the floor behind me as I stare through the window.

The man turns.

Not him.

Of course it’s not him.

His hair isn’t even the right color when the sunlight hits it, and his face looks nothing like Jude’s. He keeps walking, and I stand there staring after him like an idiot.

“Nora?”

I blink and turn back to find Emily and half the people in line staring at me.

“Sorry.” I laugh awkwardly as I sit back down. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”