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“No?”
“No. That’s how best friends roll. They don’t give up information that they know is private, especially when it involves the person they’re dating.”
“Yeah?” I thought about the private information Julian had taken upon himself to offer to Lia. “I have a friend you could probably teach that lesson to.”
“He can’t afford me. What other questions do you have?”
“You know what I’m going to ask. Where is she?”
“Working. She’s making tons and tons of beautiful truffles as we speak.”
“Do you know which kitchen she rented?”
Sara took a sip of her tea. “Yes.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
“Does Elise Allen know?”
Sara squinted and made a face at me. “Who?”
“The investor.”
Sara snorted. “Elaine Gardner,” Sara corrected, compelling me to grin. “And no, I doubt she knows because Lia changed her mind last minute about where to rent. So… sorry.” Her hands still cupped around her tea, she shrugged. “Any more questions? Or are we done here?”
“We’re done,” I smirked. “Thanks, Sara. You helped a lot,” I added as she narrowed suspicious eyes at me, joining the rest of her colleagues in staring me down as I turned around and got the hell out of that place.
33
LIA
I was running on fumes. The worst part was I couldn’t even sleep during the one-and-a-half hour train ride here. My brain was still in lockdown mode, refusing to rest until it knew everything I needed done was finally done.
Technically, it was.
In the past week, I’d rented a commercial kitchen for cheap from a friend of Sara’s, I’d scoured a stack of resumes to hire three other sets of hands and I
’d spent a minimum of twelve hours a day tempering, pouring, piping, painting and cooling my chocolate. I’d produced literally thousands of glassy, shiny perfect little truffles and bon bons. I practically sleepwalked my way out of the kitchen every night, got on the train and floated up to Sara’s apartment to crash on her couch for four hours tops. Then I was up again, ready to rinse and repeat.
Exhaustion was such an understatement I would slap the word if I could.
Of course, a part of me was grateful for it because it helped me forget everything else – as much as I could at least.
“Hey there, I’m here to run a sample station today,” I greeted the first employee I saw upon walking into the Long Island location of Gotham Grocer. “Would it be possible to speak to Chris? That’s who I’ve been emailing about this.”
“Oh. Absolutely!” the girl smiled. “Please feel free to wait by the café while I go get Chris.”
“Thank you,” I said, hoping the smile I returned was a passing human smile. I was just so damned tired that I couldn’t even tell. In fact, I couldn’t even muster up the excitement to be here, despite the fact that I’d fantasized for more than five years about having a distributor carry my chocolate. It had been a more feasible dream to me than opening up my own store, so back in Ritchie and Gail’s kitchen, I used to always fantasize that the corner deli would one day give me some tiny display.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that a beautiful store like Gotham Grocer would be the first to really do it.
It was a gourmet market I’d only become acquainted with upon moving to Manhattan – and even then, I rarely went in because as just a grocery store, it felt completely out of my league with its big windows, fancy coffee bar and ornate displays. It was my aspirational store to merely shop at, so selling my product at a place like this easily my oldest dream come true.
Yet here I was, too mentally and physically drained to even care.
I’d actually convinced myself I could leave Lukas and dive right back into the focus I had before he waltzed into my life, but I couldn’t.
