“It was nice to meet you.” Noodle holds out her hand.

Spencer opens up his arms. “The pleasure was mine. Todd never brings girls around me.”

“He must be afraid you’d steal them from him.”

“I like you.” He winks. “You are welcome anytime you want.” He looks over to me. “She’s a keeper.”

“Oh. I’m just his—”

Spencer waves and runs to the front counter.

“Neighbor,” she mumbles and turns to me. “He’s nice.”

“Is that all I am? Your neighbor?” The question leaves my mouth before I can filter it through.

“Nope. You’re my friend.” She shrugs and shoots me a wide smile, showing her perfect teeth.

“That I am. Let’s go eat this food before it gets cold.”

We meander over to Fort Greene Park and sit down on a grassy hill. Her strawberry scent wafts around with the breeze. That scent will always remind me of her now. Smells have always had the capacity to transport me to a different time in my life. The smell of spring rain reminds me of standing outside the fire station, watching my mom drive away. The smell of cigars remind me of my first foster family where I hid in the corner from Hank. The smell of chocolate cookies reminds me of the first time Carol asked me to bake with her. Now, the smell of strawberries will be sectioned off for Noodle and leave me with a smile every time.

I open the box then watch her reaction as she takes a bite of Spencer’s egg roll.

“Oh, my God, this is seriously amazing.” She places it back down and picks up a napkin to wipe her hands and mouth.

“I know. He made this in one of our competitions back at school.”

“Did he win?” She bites her lip, and the act draws my eyes to how full her lips are.

She catches me, so she releases it. I twist forward and stare out at a mother chasing her kid down the sidewalk.

“Yeah.”

Her hand on my shoulder pulls me to her again. “I bet you beat him plenty of times. You’re a talented chef, Todd.”

We share a smile, and her kindness warms me to her again. She’s so giving and encouraging.

“Well, what can I say?” I toss out a reply just to keep this conversation going somewhere, other than where it shouldn’t. Regardless of these newfound things coming to light about Noodle, I can’t corrupt her.

“Your ego is seriously inflated.” She gulps down another bite.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I don’t really want to answer it. It goes off immediately again, so I pull it out to see who it is. Carol’s name blinks at me, and I hesitate a moment before knowing I have no choice.

“Give me a sec,” I tell Noodle.

She nods with a mouthful of food.

“Hey, Carol.” I take a few steps down the hill to space myself.

“Hey, sweetie. Listen, I got a call today. Jim is in the hospital. He passed out at work.”

I thread my fingers through my hair and rub the back of my neck. “Which one?”

I don’t need the specifics. Anyone can figure out what happened. Now, I just need to fix it.

“He’s at Memorial. Have you been going over to the house?”

I’m thrown by her question. What does she care?

“I went over there the other night. Made him dinner. He’s drinking again.” I distance myself a little more from Noodle.

“I know. That’s why I left him. He started sneaking it at the first of the year, and it’s gotten worse.”

The reason for her leaving starts to align.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with it, but could you please go over and see what needs to be done?”

If I were less of a person, I’d tell Carol to screw off, that I’m not about to help a man who never helped me, who has minimized my career path up until the other night. But then I remember Jim’s sad face when I was over at the house that night and how defeated and exhausted he seemed.

“Yeah.”

“You’re great. You know that? Thank you so much.”

Questions want to spill out of my mouth. Carol’s never poked her nose into my life, though, so I won’t do that to hers.

“You’re welcome.”

We hang up, and I watch Noodle staring out into the park. She smiles at a dad swinging his kid in a circle. Her face rests on her hands that are interlocked across her propped-up knees. She has no idea how gorgeous she is. A few seconds pass before she catches me and straightens out her position. Her legs cross, and she waits for me to return.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“Not really. Do you mind if we cut this short?” I don’t sit back down. Here I had her for the whole day, and my life had to intervene.

“No.” She stands up and brushes off her ass.

Jesus, those jeans hug it right.

“Can I ask what’s the matter?” she says.

“Just my foster dad,” I slip. I’m usually a vault with my personal information.

“I didn’t know you were adopted.” She tosses the box into the garbage on the way out of the park.

“I wasn’t. I was in foster care until I turned eighteen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t have a horrid story of the people who took care of me. Some were nice, and some weren’t. It’s over now.” I tuck my hands into my pockets.

“Do you want me to go with you, wherever it is you need to go?” She loops her arm through mine and nuzzles closer.

“Um . . .”

“I get it if you don’t. I don’t want to impose. You just looked so sad on the phone.”

She was watching me on the phone?

“He’s an alcoholic, and he’s in the hospital.” I don’t look down at her. Her sad eyes will kill me.

“Lucky for you . . . I have no experience with that.” She knocks her hip with mine.

I get what she’s doing. She’s lightening the mood.

“But I’d love to help you out anyway,” she says.

In the months that have passed, how did I not notice how caring and considerate she is?

We stop at the light, and I glance down to her. “I’d love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

People file around us, and I notice the walk sign is flickering. I grab her hand and guide us to Memorial Hospital.

“Was it rough?”

Her question triggers memories of screaming, being locked in my room. That happened until I went to Carol and Jim’s. It wasn’t Disney World, but it wasn’t what I imagined Hell to be like, either.

“The early years weren’t easy. My mom left me on the step of a fire station when I was six. I bounced around from home to home until Carol and Jim took me in when I was twelve.” I haven’t told anyone my story for years.

“How were Carol and Jim?”

She appears content, walking down the street, allowing me to lead her wherever. Her trust amazes me.

“They’re okay. Carol was sweet. At first, I was so mean to her, but she kept trying, and eventually, I came around. She’s where my love of cooking came from. We started bonding because she’d ask me to help her in the kitchen.”

Those memories bring a smile to my lips—the hours after school when we would make dinner and the long days of baking around Christmas time. If it weren’t for her, I wonder if I’d even love food like I do now.

“There are a lot of cooks who aren’t so welcoming to others in their kitchens.”

“Especially with someone who just called her a bitch the day before. I’m ashamed at how horrible I was to her.” I swallow the lump lodged in my throat as the mean things I said to Carol those first few months ring in my head. No wonder Jim hates me.

“And Jim?”

“We butted heads. He felt I was blessed for what they did. I was their first and last foster child. I constantly made sure he knew I wasn’t his kid. One day, he told me he didn’t want me anyway. He couldn’t handle how mean I was . . . especially to Carol. Now that I’m older, I get it.”

“You were just a kid.” She squeezes my arm tighter.

Noodle’s right. I was just a kid, but it’s no excuse.

“I was just so angry. I couldn’t control it.”

“It sounds like Carol could.” She bumps my arm with her shoulder.