Chapter 6: A Recipe For Complication

The kiss had changed everything.

And nothing.

The next morning, Amara woke with a head full of questions and a heart full of confusion. She had kissed a man—no, a billionaire chef—in a candlelit test kitchen. Her heart had leapt. Her lips still tingled.

And yet, the world didn’t pause for romance.

Noah still needed breakfast. The bills still sat unopened on the kitchen counter. Her work uniform still smelled faintly of grease.

As she brushed her teeth, Noah wandered in, pajamas rumpled, holding his stuffed dinosaur.

“Mom,” he said sleepily, “do you like that chef guy?”

She spat into the sink. “Excuse me?”

“The one from the restaurant. Luca. Is he your boyfriend?”

She choked. “What? No. Where did you even get that idea?”

“You smiled when he brought us food last week. And you never smile for food unless it’s pizza.”

Amara crouched down to his level, tucking his curls behind his ear. “Sweetheart, Luca’s just someone I work with. He’s… complicated.”

Noah looked at her seriously. “You know what else is complicated? Fractions.”

She laughed. “That’s a fair point.”

But her heart still twisted. Because she did like Luca. And that made everything more difficult.

Later That Day – Terra e Fiamma

The restaurant was quieter than usual. The soft opening week had passed, and Luca had temporarily closed the doors to tweak the menu and finalize his permanent staff.

Amara hadn’t seen him since the kiss.

She told herself it was fine. Professional. Practical.

But when she arrived in the kitchen and saw his jacket hanging on the wall, her breath caught. A moment later, Luca walked in through the back door, sunlight outlining him like a scene from a movie.

He looked at her, then stopped walking.

For a second, everything went still.

“You came,” he said, voice lower than usual.

“I work here, remember?”

“Right,” he said with a faint smile. “Still feels like a gift every time.”

Amara

folded her arms, trying not to melt. “We kissed.”

He nodded.

“And now we’re pretending it didn’t happen?”

“I was giving you space. You looked… torn.”

“I am,” she admitted. “This isn’t simple.”

“Nothing worth anything ever is.”

He stepped closer. “I won’t push. If you want me to forget it, I will. But I don’t want to.”

She hesitated, every nerve on fire. “I don’t want to forget either.”

Relief flickered across his face.

“But,” she added quickly, “I have Noah. I can’t have people coming in and out of our lives. If this is going anywhere, it has to be real. Intentional.”

Luca stepped into her space slowly, his hands still at his sides. “Amara. I don’t want a fling. I want something I haven’t had in years—maybe ever. A life that means more than money, menus, or Michelin stars.”

She looked up at him, vulnerable but grounded. “You sure you’re ready for a kid who puts ketchup on eggs and a woman who panics when the electricity bill hits thirty days overdue?”

He smiled, soft and unguarded. “I’m ready for you. All of it.”

Amara felt something loosen in her chest. Something that had been clenched tight since the day her ex walked out the door.

“You’re serious,” she whispered.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said. “In Bellwood Falls. Not Paris. Not Tokyo. Here. Because I found something I wasn’t expecting.”

She laughed nervously. “Me?”

“No. The world’s best zucchini fritters. But you’re a close second.”

She shoved his shoulder, laughing, and he caught her hand.

They stood there in the quiet kitchen, fingertips touching, hearts thudding in a shared rhythm of hope.

That Weekend

Luca met Noah.

It wasn’t formal. Just a sunny Saturday picnic behind the restaurant, where Luca brought homemade pizza dough and let Noah throw flour like confetti.

Amara watched from the shade of an old maple tree, arms crossed, eyes squinting against the sun. Her heart swelled as she saw Luca kneeling beside Noah, showing him how to fold dough.

“Like this,” Luca said. “Gentle. Pizza doesn’t like to be bullied.”

Noah laughed. “Like me at school!”

Luca smiled. “Exactly. Be kind, and you rise better.”

Later, over slices of charred pizza and lemonade, Noah leaned toward Amara and whispered loudly, “Mom, I think he’s pretty cool.”

She smiled, blink

ing back sudden tears. “Yeah, buddy. I think so too.”