By late afternoon, Andrea had managed to convince herself she could keep things professional.
Or at least, she was trying to.
She’d thrown herself into prepping dinner, surrounding herself with the noise of clattering pans, the rhythmic chop of vegetables, the smell of roasted garlic and thyme. Focus, that was her shield. As long as she was working, she didn’t have to feel anything.
But even then, he lingered in her head like a low, persistent hum.
Andrea tried to shake it off and bent over the cutting board, slicing through a row of tomatoes when her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen: Naomi, her best friend.
Andrea sighed and wiped her hands on a towel before answering. “Hey.”
“Oh, thank God. You sound alive. I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped by the
