"My kitchen table, actually. The living room was already serving as my bedroom since I'd converted the bedroom to Mia's nursery."
"Impressive."
"Necessary," she corrects. "I was a single mother with student loans and no safety net."
"No desire to return to Vermont?"
"Sometimes I miss the seasons," she admits. "But New York is where the business is."
She hugs the thermal blanket closer as another shiver works through her.
"You're cold," I observe.
"I'm fine."
I unzip my fleece jacket—still mostly dry thanks to my poncho—and hold it out to her. "Here. This is dry."
After a moment's hesitation, she accepts, slipping it on over her thermal blanket. The sleeves hang past her fingertips, and the effect is both amusing and oddly endearing.
"Better?" I ask.
She nods, zipping it up to her chin. "Thank you."
"For the record," I say, "you're handling this admirably well. Most executives I know would be having a complete meltdown about missed calls and rescheduled meetings."
"I've learned to adapt when necessary." She sits slightly closer than before. "Though I admit, being disconnected makes me uneasy."
"Most people feel that way nowadays. Personally, I think occasional disconnection is healthy."
"Says the man who voluntarily lives on a mountain with spotty cell service."
"Exactly. Gives me the perfect excuse when suppliers call with price increases."
She laughs softly, the sound warming the small space. It's her real laugh, not the polite one she uses with colleagues.
"So what does the great Chef Callahan do when he's not creating culinary masterpieces?" she asks.
"Fishing. Hiking. Preserving summer produce for winter. Mostly normal mountain man activities."
"No wife? Children?" Her tone aims for casual, but there's curiosity beneath it.
"Not yet. Came close once, but it didn’t work out."
"Would you ever consider leaving?"
I consider the question seriously. "For the right person? I might. But they'd have to be pretty extraordinary to pull me away from all this."
Our eyes meet, and for a breath, neither of us looks away. Something electric passes between us.
Jules breaks the connection first, adjusting the too-long sleeves of my jacket. "It must be nice," she says softly, "having such a clear sense of where you belong."
"You don't feel that way about New York?"
"New York is convenient for business. It's where my office is, where Mia's school is."
"But not home?"
She looks genuinely perplexed. "I don't know that I've ever really thought about 'home' in that sense."
