Chapter 3

I could see the sign my mother had painted with her own two hands from a distance, tossed out onto the muddy street.

Dennis Collin stood under Rachel's umbrella, covering his nose, watching with obvious disgust as pots and pans were carried out of the shop.

"Rachel, this place is so dirty. Are you sure you can turn it into a dessert shop?"

"Don't worry, Dennis. I'll have it sanitized. They're tearing out every last floor tile and relaying it, so there won't be a trace of that smoke smell left."

Rachel's voice was gentle, nothing like the way she'd screamed at me the night before.

I pushed through the crowd and my eyes landed immediately on the old wooden box sitting on top of a pile thrown out for the trash.

That box was everything to me. Inside it wasn't just my mother's secret stew recipe, the one thing she'd never shared with anyone else, but also the wooden spatula Rachel had carved for me with her own hands when she was fifteen.

She'd cut her fingers doing it, and laughed as she told me, "Adrian, once you're a big chef, I'll be your assistant."

I didn't think. I just lunged for the box, trying to pull it free.

"Adrian! What are you doing!"

Rachel grabbed my arm and hauled me back. My feet slipped, and I fell straight into a puddle of greasy water. My knee slammed against a broken tile, and pain shot through it.

Dennis let out a startled yelp and shrank back against Rachel.

"Rachel, he's filthy. Don't let him touch me."

Rachel immediately stepped in front of Dennis, shielding him, and looked down at me from above.

"Adrian, have you lost your mind? I warned you last night. This place has to close. No exceptions."

I ignored her and scrambled toward the box on my hands and knees.

But it was already too late.

A garbage truck was backing up right at that moment, and its massive mechanical arm closed around the pile without mercy.

"No! Stop! My mother's things are in there!"

I was screaming so hard my voice cracked, trying to push past and stop the arm.

Rachel threw her arms around my waist and held me in place.

"Enough, Adrian! It's a pile of junk. Is it really worth making a fool of yourself over?"

There was a sharp crack.

I watched, helpless, as the wooden box was crushed in the mechanical arm. The spatula that carried the memory of our childhood together snapped in two and dropped into the reeking garbage truck, along with my mother's yellowed recipe notebook, both pressed flat into scrap.

For a moment, my whole world went quiet.

No screaming, no struggling. I stood frozen, letting Rachel drag me to the side of the street.

Even Rachel looked shaken by how lifeless I'd suddenly gone. She let go of me, and a note of unease crept into her voice.

"Adrian, don't be like this. It was just a recipe notebook. If it matters that much, I'll find you a good chef to write you a new one.

"And that broken piece of wood, I'll get you a solid gold one from the mall tomorrow, all right?"

I slowly raised my head and looked at the woman I'd loved for twenty years.

She had no idea that notebook had a letter tucked inside it, one her mother had written to her on her deathbed.

I'd kept that letter safe for ten years, planning to give it to her next month on her thirtieth birthday, as a gift that would finally untangle the knot she'd been carrying for years.

Now, none of it existed anymore.

I started laughing.

"Sure. Solid gold. Don't you forget."

Rachel flinched at the sight of my smile, an inexplicable chill running through her. She reached out to touch my face, but I turned my head away before she could.