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moaned.
    “What happened? Did you sleep with him?”
    “No, but I wanted to. Jesus. I don’t know what would have happened if we weren’t interrupted.” But she had enough of an inkling to be a tangle of emotions—regret, gratitude, fear.
    “By what?”
    “Our agent calling, which is one reason I’m calling you. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Can you check on my place and the plants and everything? We’re off to Mexico in the morning for Chef’s funeral,” she said, her voice cracking. She hadn’t had a moment to really process it. Paul was gone.
    “Yes, yes, sure,” Jennifer said. “But what happened with Jackson ?”
    “Well, he rubbed my feet,” she said, grimacing, realizing how strange it sounded.
    “What? Rubbed your . . .” Jennifer said and laughed.
    “And there was the kiss. And more. He was at my thigh. And I’m not thinking clearly at all,” Maeve said. “I’m a mess. Chef. Jackson. The wine. The saffron, maybe. I dunno. I’ve had saffron before, but not this pure form of it.”
    “He’s hot,” Jennifer said. “Why not give him a go?”
    “We work together. We might be traveling together. It could get really awkward. And then there’s Mark.”
    “Mark? You two aren’t exclusive. Why would he even matter?”
    Maeve sighed. Jennifer would never get it. She didn’t like Mark and really didn’t understand their relationship. She was still stuck in the “exclusive relationship” paradigm that Maeve abhorred. She’d seen that fail over and over again when her friends were involved in “exclusive” relationships and most of the time it ended in cheating. Or because one partner was too controlling—like with her and Michael, who she lived with right after college and intended to marry. When she was offered a job in New York City, he made it very clear it was him or the job. She chose him, of course, later to find out he was cheating on her—with a man.
    Maeve opened the dishwasher and started loading. “Damn, that saffron is some yellow nasty shit.”
    “Saffron?”
    “Oh. We were able to get some of the good stuff and try it here. But we’re also going to try it in India and Morocco. If the project rides. They’ve put a hold on it until we find a chef.”
    “Jesus. You don’t need a chef. You’ve worked so closely with Paul.”
    When Jennifer said his name, it hit Maeve in the gut. Paul was gone. She’d never be in the kitchen with him again, listening to him chide her about the way she handled knives, or her spicing the curry too heavily, or overworking the pie crust. Her stomach twisted.
    “Yes,” she said weakly into the phone.
    “Poor guy,” Jennifer’s voice lowered. “I don’t know anybody who disliked him.”
    “I know. But Alice said something that I’ve been thinking about. She said he was more complicated than we knew. He had a life outside of work.”
    “Hmm. I wonder what she meant by that. I know he and his wife liked to travel and eat. I’m sure he had friends, but he really had a packed schedule. So, of course, he had a family and personal life, but I’m not sure how much time there was for a hobby or just downtime. You know?”
    Maeve poured the powdered detergent in the dishwasher and shut the door, clicked the button to “on,” and listened as the sound of rushing water filled the kitchen.
    She recognized the clicking noises over the phone. “Are you on the computer?”
    “Oops. You caught me. Just checking Twitter.”
    “You’re so rude,” she said. “I’m getting off the phone. I need to pack and try to get some sleep before the flight in the morning.”
    “Sorry I’m a bit addicted to my social media,” Jennifer said and laughed. “But I will check on your place while you’re gone.”
    Maeve took a deep breath as she reached under the bed to get her suitcase. It’s a good thing she had that suit cleaned and picked it up this morning. It was the only suit she owned. Along with getting a kitchen table, she should