“I can’t, Shelby’s in town.”

“How’s that kid doing? Is he a doctor yet?”

“Nope, a few more years.” Moving the phone away from her mouth, Thessaly snaps at the cabbie, “Houston.”

“Then how about dinner? I need to ask you something very important.”

“I have dinner plans tonight – can we meet for drinks?”

“If that’s all I can get, I’ll gladly accept.”

Enjoying the humbler side of Mason, Thessaly smiles. “Okay, how about Divinity? Seven o’clock?”

“Perfect. And Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“You saw me two nights ago!”

“I want to see you every day.”

“Are you high?”

“You’re so sexy.”

“Are you drunk?”

“God, I need to fuck you.”

Thessaly glances out the backseat window and spots a coffee house with the word BOLD painted on a chalkboard display. “And I told you I want to start dating,” she responds.

“Then date me,” Mason pleads.

“I’ll see you later, Mason.”

Ending the call and laughing to herself, Thessaly pulls six dollars from her bag. As the taxi stops, she thrusts the cash through the partition and jumps out the door. Houston is a wide street, and her idiot driver took the easy route by dropping her off on the northwest corner. Sandwiched between fifty other sweating New Yorkers, she shuffles across the street with a deep scowl. Today is one of those days that’s humid, hot, and stale – the trifecta of Manhattan misery.

Pushing past a few tourists unfolding maps, Thessaly arrives at the glossy blue door of Les Étoiles. She’s known the owners since her days as a vendor for King’s Market, and often provided food services for their show on The Food Network. Pete and Marta Fuchs are one of those power couples – gorgeous, smart, and incredibly talented. And last summer, when they launched their fine-dining restaurant, Thessaly was the first to offer a list of connections.

Opening the door, she’s immediately greeted by Pete, wearing a yellow apron and a Penn State baseball cap. “Hey, Tess.” Pete wipes his hands on his apron before giving her a side hug. “Sorry for the time change, but Marta is on bedrest and she demanded I come in and do the dinner prep.”

“It’s fine, really. When is she due?”

“Six more weeks,” he answers.

“That’s so exciting!”

“Um, it will be. But right now she has me prepping for dinners, washing clean laundry, and then running around TriBeCa buying random things for the nursery – here, have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

“Water would be great.” Sitting down at a table for two, Thessaly removes her iPad and scrolls through her product list.

Arriving at the table with a pitcher of blackberry-cucumber-infused water and two tall glasses, Pete sits across from Thessaly and sighs. “God, I’m tired.”

“I can only imagine.” She pours water into each glass and then says, “Hey, I read a great review about your summer brunch in New York Foodie.”

“Yeah, that was quite a surprise. That critic despises me – like vowed to destroy me three years ago when I fired him from our show.”

“That’s funny.”

“Ironic, too. That review went live online the same day we decided to eliminate brunch . . . which is why I called this meeting.”

“Oh?”

“Tess, Marta and I think of you as our friend – and I’d be lying if I said we didn’t consider the effects on your business when we made the decision to decrease table service. But with the baby coming, and my associate that handles the PR living in San Francisco, we have to take a few steps back.”

“Yikes, this is one of those firing meetings.”

“I feel awful – I should’ve bought you a steak dinner first.”

“I get it, Pete.” Thessaly takes a sip of water and clears her throat. “May I ask if you’re eliminating honey and jam from your entire menu?”

“Not completely, but comparing costs and negotiating with our produce vendor, we were able to get locally-harvested honey added to every order starting in a few weeks – practically for free.”

“Oh, well I can’t compete with free. Are you still buying your produce from New Jersey Nick?”

“Nah, we’ve been using Brooklyn Soil. Do you know it?”

Looking up from his laptop, Seth asks, “Tess, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Where’s Meg?”

He points to the kitchen door and replies, “In there prepping the jars.”

Thessaly drops her bag on the island and heads to the kitchen. Distressed, she sighs and whines, “Meg.”

“Hey – I thought you were taking a personal day.” Meg aligns a row of sterilized lids on a dishtowel and then crosses her arms.

“Pete’s dropping us in September.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re eliminating weekend brunch.”

“Well, that sucks. I’ve been trying to get reservations for weeks – the French toast is to die for!” Noticing Thessaly’s body language, she adds, “But they should still need honey.”

Thessaly scrunches her nose and groans. “Pete negotiated a free supply through his produce vendor.”

“I’m sorry, Tess. I can line up a list for new proposals this weekend,” Meg offers.

“Meg, the honey is coming from Levi’s farm.”

“Since when?”

“Since, now.”

“That sexy, sneaky bastard. Do you think he’s a mole?” Meg asks, shaking her head.

“I don’t know what to think, honestly. He’s asked me a few questions, but I just assumed it was an interest in me and not the honey business.” Slumping over and turning ashen, Thessaly adds, “Oh, shit. I’m going to be sick.”

“Tess, don’t think the worst, please. I’m just a horrible person that believes people generally suck.”

Removing her phone from her pocket, Thessaly pecks at the screen and says, “I’m going to text him. I have to know.”

Tess: Does your farm have honey?

Thessaly shows the text to Meg before hitting send. Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she waits for his reply.

Levi: Not yet. But I’ll show you the apiary tonight.

“Is he lying?”

“Why would he lie?” Meg counters.

Rubbing her temples, Thessaly mutters, “I’m so confused. And dehydrated.”

Meg grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator and opens it. “Drink up. And then go home. Are you seeing him tonight?”

Gulping back half of the water, she shakes her head. “I was invited to the rooftop’s dinner party – I’ll see how I feel.”

“You should definitely go. Corner him. Rip his clothes off and interrogate him. Interrogate him real good.”

“Are you insane?” Thessaly shudders.

“I’m sane. Tess, relax.” Pointing to the crates of peaches stacked in the corner, Meg adds, “And I think everything with Levi is peachy.”

“Your puns really suck.”

“But you’re smiling?” Meg teases.

Of course the peaches make her smile – any time she thinks of Levi she smiles. But the constant spontaneity of emotions and actions scare her. At least with Mason, things are simple.

Grabbing the bottle of water, Thessaly says, “Shit, I need to meet Shelby at my apartment. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll stop by the store tomorrow afternoon. I’d love to see Dr. Shelby and ask him about this weird bump on my leg.” Meg lifts her leg and points to a red blemish.

“He wants to be a neurosurgeon, but I’m sure Shelby would love to look at your legs.”

“Tess, will you talk to Levi sooner than later?”

“Promise,” Thessaly agrees, patting Meg’s shoulder as she leaves the kitchen.

Helping a customer at the register, Seth nods to Thessaly as she walks out the door.

Focused on her thoughts, Thessaly makes her way up Fulton in a daze. If she were to make a pro/con list for Levi, and one for Mason, the results would be the same, yet entirely opposite. Both men put their heart into their careers, although one makes work his primary focus. Both men appear to like sex, although one has yet to make the move and the other has no new moves. Both men send flowers, although one sends delicate, pink peonies, and the other brings a bouquet of wildflowers.