“Is it working?”
“Yes. What’s the dress code?”
Thursday arrived faster than I expected. I left work early to prepare, changing into a black dress that was elegant without being flashy. Julian picked me up at seven, looking devastatingly handsome in a dark suit. The restaurant was upscale, the kind of place where the menu doesn’t list prices and the wine list requires a sommelier to navigate. Julian’s client was already there, a middle-aged woman named Patricia, whom I recognized from Victoria’s wedding. She had been at our table, one of Gregory’s colleagues from Bennett Health Solutions. Her eyes widened with recognition when she saw me.
“Elizabeth, what a lovely surprise. I didn’t realize you and Julian were still together.”
“Still together and going strong,”
Julian said smoothly, his hand warm on my back.
“Elizabeth has been patient with my crazy work schedule.”
We sat, and I tried to fade into the background as Julian and Patricia discussed the sustainability project, but Patricia kept pulling me into the conversation, asking about my work, expressing genuine interest in the bakery where I worked.
“That sounds fascinating. I have such respect for people who work with their hands, who create tangible things. My job is all spreadsheets and conference calls. Sometimes I miss making something real.”
The dinner progressed pleasantly, and when dessert arrived, a deconstructed lemon tart with lavender cream, I couldn’t help offering my professional opinion.
“The components are technically excellent, but they’re fighting each other rather than creating harmony. The lavender is too strong, overwhelming the lemon instead of complementing it.”
Patricia leaned forward with interest.
“Could you fix it? If you were making this, what would you change?”
I found myself explaining the balance of flavors, the importance of letting each element shine without dominating. Julian watched me with something like pride, and Patricia listened intently, asking follow-up questions that showed she was genuinely engaged.
“You know, we’re planning a major corporate event in August,”
Patricia said as coffee was served.
“A celebration for the successful completion of our sustainability project, assuming Julian’s team delivers everything they’ve promised, of course.”
She smiled at him.
“We haven’t settled on a caterer yet. Would your bakery be interested in handling the desserts?”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“We’re a small operation. I’m not sure we’d have the capacity for a large corporate event.”
“Let me rephrase. Would you personally be interested in creating desserts for the event? We could work around your schedule, and I’m authorized to offer very competitive compensation.”
Julian squeezed my hand under the table, a silent show of support.
“Elizabeth’s work is exceptional. You’d be lucky to have her.”
“I’d need to talk to my boss, make sure it wouldn’t conflict with bakery commitments, but yes, I’d be interested in discussing it further.”
Patricia smiled warmly.
“Excellent. I’ll have my assistant reach out to you next week with details. And Julian, excellent choice in girlfriend. She’s delightful.”
After dinner, Julian drove me home. I was quiet, processing what had just happened. At my apartment building, he parked and turned to face me.
“That was quite an evening.”
“Did you plan that? The dessert conversation? Patricia offering me that job?”
“I didn’t plan anything. I told Patricia we were having dinner with her, and I mentioned you were a pastry chef. The rest was all her genuine interest and your talent speaking for itself.”
“But you knew she might offer me something.”
“I hoped she might see what I see, that you’re incredibly skilled at what you do and deserve opportunities to showcase that talent. Is that so wrong?”
I studied his face in the dim light from the streetlamp.
“I can’t tell if you’re genuinely trying to help me or if this is all part of some elaborate revenge plot.”
“Can’t it be both? I care about you, Elizabeth. That’s real. But I also think the people who’ve dismissed you should be forced to reckon with your worth. Not through sabotage or cruelty, just through reality. Through them having to acknowledge your talent and value because it affects things they care about.”
“This is complicated.”
“The best things usually are.”
He reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“For what it’s worth, I’m falling for you. That complicates things too. But I’m not sorry about it.”
My breath caught.
“Julian—”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know where I stand. Now go inside before I do something impulsive like kiss you senseless in front of your building.”
I got out of the car, but leaned back through the window.
“I’m falling for you too, just so you know.”
His smile could have lit up the entire city.
“Good. That makes what comes next easier.”
“What comes next?”
“Patience. You’ll see.”
The following week, Patricia’s assistant called with details about the corporate event. It would be in mid-August, celebrating the completion of Bennett Health Solutions’ transition to sustainable practices. They wanted an elaborate dessert spread for two hundred guests, and they were offering three times my usual rate. I discussed it with my boss, who was thrilled at the prospect of the exposure and the money. We worked out an arrangement where I’d use the bakery kitchen during off hours, and the bakery would get credited as a partner while I’d receive the bulk of the payment. Julian and I fell into a pattern over the next few weeks. Dinners, movies, long conversations that stretched late into the night. He was easy to be with, making me laugh and challenging me to think differently about things. The physical attraction was undeniable, but what surprised me was how much I enjoyed simply being around him. We didn’t talk much about Victoria or my family during those weeks. It was like we’d created a bubble where that drama didn’t exist, where I could just be myself without the weight of family expectations. Then, six weeks after the wedding, Victoria called.
“Elizabeth, hi. Sorry I haven’t been in touch since the honeymoon. Things have been crazy with settling into married life.”
“No worries. How was the trip?”
“Incredible. The Maldives were everything we hoped for. Listen, I wanted to see if you were free for lunch this Saturday. I feel like we haven’t really talked in forever, and I want to catch up properly.”
I almost said no out of habit, but then I thought about Julian’s words about visibility and respect.
“Sure, I can do lunch. Where did you have in mind?”
We met at an upscale bistro near her new house, the kind of place where Victoria felt comfortable. She looked tanned and relaxed, the picture of newlywed bliss. We ordered salads and made small talk about the honeymoon, about her new neighborhood, about Gregory’s work.
“So,”
she said finally,
“tell me about Julian. You two seemed quite close at the wedding, but you never mentioned you were seeing anyone.”
“It’s relatively new. We met a few months ago through work connections.”
“He seems very successful. Gregory’s colleagues were all impressed by him. Apparently his company is handling a massive project for Bennett Health.”
There it was. The real reason for this lunch. Not sisterly bonding, but fishing for information about someone who mattered to her husband’s career.
“Julian’s very good at what he does,”
I said neutrally.
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