Chapter 31

I walk intothe kitchen just in time to see Damien douse the pasta in fake lemon juice.

"Uh, Dame, aren't you supposed to use real lemon juice?"

"What are you talking about? This is real." He holds the bottle up and examines it. "Right here, one hundred percent real juice."

Cara arches an eyebrow and shakes her head, leading me into the living room. I fill her in on the painting from Ren.

"So, he's not only running a million-dollar company, but he's an artist too?"

"Yes, but I don't understand why he didn't tell me."

"It was sweet of him to send it to you. So, what does this mean?"

"I don't know."

"Are you two going to try to make this work?" Cara asks, looking at me doubtfully.

"Between our two schedules, we can't even find time to call each other. He's so busy with harvest season."

Cara places her hand over mine and squeezes. "I'm so sorry, Summer. I know you were hoping for something more. Someday, these memories won't feel so fresh in your mind, and you can look back on them fondly as the time you let yourself be adventurous in Italy and met a dashing Italian. The pain will soften into happy memories."

I nod my head, trying to keep the tears at bay. Not only am I sick of crying, but I don't want to show Cara how her words affect me. I'm terrified of time edging the memories, blurring the lines until they're just colors in my mind. I don't want to forget one second of my time with him.

"Allen pulled me into his office today and told me to stop wearing black and then put me on a new project with Jeremy Wells as the project manager."

Cara makes a pinched face. She's heard the Jeremy stories. Her eyes flick to my all-black clothes.

"I did it again, didn't I?"

She nods, pursing her lips.

"I don't even consciously do it."

"What's the latest with Barbara?"

"I have to go visit her tomorrow for our first therapy session, which I'm sure will be her blaming me for everything."

"Oh, girl…" Cara looks at me with pity. "Things will be much better once this whole DUI is cleared up. Tony is an excellent attorney."

"Dinner is ready!" Damien shouts from the kitchen.

"Oh lord, here we go. Whatever you do, just smile and say it's good. He's been so sensitive lately about his cooking."

We sit down at the table, and Damien shreds parmesan over the pasta. "Now, I know this isn't fresh pasta like you had over in Italy…"

"I'm sure it's going to be amazing." I smile up at him.

He sits down, and we dig in. I twirl a small amount onto my fork and stab a piece of shrimp. I put it into my mouth, waiting for the explosion of flavor, but it doesn't come. What I taste is acid from the fake lemon juice, and heat. I quickly chew and swallow, but my tongue is on fire. I grab my water, dousing the hotness.

"Huh, should have used less red pepper flakes." Damien chews thoughtfully. Cara reaches for her water, her eyes watering.

"How much lemon juice did you put in?" she asks.

I laugh, unable to keep it in. Damien looks insulted at first, and then his face splits into a grin. "It's pretty bad, isn't it?"

"It's awful." Cara coughs into her napkin.

"Guess I should have used real lemon."

"I have a great cookbook you can borrow," I offer.

"I followed the recipe…kind of." His brows scrunch together as he stirs his pasta. "I don't get it."

"Yes, but you have to follow the exact measurements and use the ingredients they list, not substitute," Cara says.

"Let's order pizza." He gathers our plates.

"It was a good effort, Dame," I call out to his retreating form.

"I seriously need to enroll him in a class. I know I've been talking about it, but I keep hoping he'll get better. He's not getting better."

"I think that's a good idea." I laugh. For the first time in weeks, I feel like my old self. "Thanks, Cara."

"For what?"

"For being here for me."

She gets up and wraps her arms around me. "Always. I'm glad you're home. I know it's been hard, and you're sad, but you did the right thing."

I nod and squeeze her back. I wish I believed her.