"I think I'll just finish up in time," Evie said, with mock gravity. She reached for her water gla.s.s and took a deliberate sip. "I did quit because of something specific, but there have been all these other reasons for me to keep-abstaining, I guess is the way to put it best. Functioning is trickier, though I think my fingers have slimmed down." She flexed her wrists, knowing how she would balk if Edward tried to dodge a serious discussion with a silly joke.

"I could never do it. I use the Internet all the time for research and to communicate with my patients. Don't get me wrong-I also waste a ton of time online. ESPN.com is my nemesis."

Actually, your nemesis is in the kitchen, dicing vegetables for your soup right now, she thought.

"Oh really? Yankees or Mets?" she asked, seizing her opportunity for a detour. "I'm Orioles all the way. They have the best chili fries at Camden Yards." Her father, his face splattered with Worcestershire sauce and shouting from the bleachers, appeared before her. What would he say to his daughter if he knew how panicked she was feeling right now? Probably, "Talk to your mother."

"Yankees, of course. I think Olivia is ready for her first game next season." He went on about the Pixar movie he had taken her to the day before, tabling the Internet discussion, much to Evie's relief.

Why had she clammed up? She could have said Facebook had been too much of a time drain. That she finally saw the absurdity in Foursquaring her location. Or in Instagramming like her life was a perpetual photo booth. Even the truth about her dismissal from Baker Smith. She had multiple Jack-free versions of why she was off-line at her disposal, all of which had sizable grains of truth. But Jack was the undeniable catalyst, and lying-or sharing a partial truth with Edward-didn't feel right, especially when her ex was fewer than twenty feet away and she could barely gather her thoughts just knowing he was nearby. Because she knew that in fact it was the moment she saw something she wasn't meant to see-Jack's body, hand in hand with Zeynup's, his face just moments after saying I do-that was the moment she wasn't equipped to handle, the one that led her down this rabbit hole.

When Evie's and Edward's first courses arrived, she paused to admire the familiar preparation before sinking her teeth into the perfectly crisped macaroni and cheese. The familiar taste of the creamy mozzarella and sweet asparagus tips topped with seasoned bread crumbs exploded in her mouth. The aromatic steam made her eyes water. She had missed this dish more than she remembered and found herself savoring every morsel. Her plate was nearly licked clean when Tasha cleared it.

"Everything here to your satisfaction?"

Evie flinched when she saw a stained ap.r.o.n out of the corner of her eye. She looked up, and there he was. Looking down at her table, wearing his toque, Jack looked the same as the last time she saw him just over a year ago. Still handsome, still with his confident stance, still with his watery blue eyes that looked like they were on the verge of springing soulful tears. He did seem to have a bit less hair than she remembered. And maybe the beginnings of a gut. Never trust a skinny chef, her mother had said when she showed her Jack's picture two years ago.

"Yes, the food is wonderful. The b.u.t.ternut squash soup was sublime," Edward said. "This is my first time here but I'd heard wonderful things."

Evie wanted to shout "Stop kissing his a.s.s! You're the one who saves lives." Instead she just sat in her chair, uncomfortably twisting her fork with her fingers.

"And you?" Jack asked, turning to Evie.

"And me what?"

"Are you enjoying your dinner?" Jack asked, staring at her intently. Edward seemed unaware that the conversation before him was not taking place between strangers.

"It's good. And I'm good. Never been better, like I told Tasha," Evie said. Now Edward looked confused.

"Excuse me," Jack said, turning to Edward. "Would you mind if I borrow your date for one minute?"

Edward mumbled "of course" as his perplexed look morphed into displeasure.

"Sorry," Evie mouthed to Edward and rose to follow Jack to the back of the restaurant, toward his office.

When the door was closed behind them and they were in private, Jack spoke first.

"Evie, I have to say this: you look brilliant. I have never seen you so magnificent. You're incandescent."

"Caroline bought me this outfit." G.o.d d.a.m.n it. What hope was there for her if she could repeat the same mistake twice within an hour?

"So she and moneybags are still going strong then?" Jack asked, and Evie felt wistful hearing Jack's familiarity with her friends. It took so long to build history with someone-to get to the point where you could exchange a glance and know exactly what the other was thinking. Or even just to know the foibles of the people in each other's network of friends and family. There was so much effort involved in bringing a new person up to speed, Evie felt lethargic at just the thought of it. Maybe that was part of why she hadn't told Edward about Jack yet-pure exhaustion.

Evie faintly nodded at Jack.

"Well, she may have bought the dress for you, but you're the one wearing it so well."

"Thanks," Evie said, looking down at her peep-toe pumps. For some reason, Jack's compliments were making her feel smaller, each kind word from him taking a quarter inch off of her heels. If he kept going, she'd shrink into a pile of nothingness. Just a designer dress lying bodiless on the ground.

"So Tasha's still here," Evie said to fill the silence.

"Yeah, I feel bad. I think she's got a thing for me."

Evie didn't respond. She was accustomed to his c.o.c.kiness. Shamefully, she found it was still a bit appealing.

"So why are you here, Evie? You weren't missing my mac 'n' cheese that much, were you?" Jack asked with an eyebrow raise.

a.s.shole. He probably thinks I got all dolled up to show him what he's missing. Evie tried to turn the humiliation around on him.

"No, definitely not. My date chose the restaurant, not me." She pictured Edward sitting at the table, abandoned and confused. He was her future-her ticket to a happy new year-so why was she in Jack's office, trapped in her past? "How do you even know what I ordered anyway? Checking up on me with Tasha, I see." She returned his barb with a haughty eyebrow raise of her own.

"No, I didn't check with Tasha," he said, then lifted his pointer finger toward her face. "You have asparagus in between your two front teeth."

Evie ran her tongue over her teeth, feeling the stringy bit with the tip. It wouldn't dislodge.

"Don't worry, I have toothpicks in my drawer," Jack said, and then surprised her by pulling her arm toward his desk. It was their first physical contact in a year. She felt the texture of the burn on his index finger. She wondered if he felt her goose b.u.mps. In a movie, this was the moment that he would throw her down on top of the scattered papers and extract the asparagus with his own tongue. She thought he might actually do it. But instead he guided her by the wrist over to the desk where in fact he did have a stash of toothpicks. She reached for one, her hand unmistakably shaky.

She sneaked a glance at the framed photographs arranged on his desk. Next to a picture of Jack standing with his father in front of his first restaurant, a now-shuttered American nouveau cafe in Chelsea, was a picture of him with his wife in Turkey at what could have been their rehearsal dinner. It was a more professional version of a shot Evie had seen on Facebook.

"That's Zeynup," he said, taking note of Evie's prolonged stare.

Evie avoided looking back at Jack. He didn't know she knew he was married and she didn't want her face to give away her lack of surprise.

"It's kind of funny you're here, actually," Jack said. Unless it was "opposite day," the game she used to play as a grade-schooler, there was nothing remotely comical about this situation. It was proving to be the third New Year's Eve in a row that Jack had ruined for her-and this one when she had been poised to be so happy. "I've been thinking about you a lot in the last year. Well, since I got married." When she still didn't spin around or collapse on the floor, he added, "I'm married now. Can you believe it?"

"Good for you," was the most she could utter. She didn't expect it to hurt so much-hearing what she already knew. Her better instincts told her to walk straight out of his office and get back to Edward, preserving as much dignity as a girl with food in her teeth could possess. But curiosity was a stronger impulse for her than hubris had ever been.

"You certainly changed your tune on that one," she said, finally looking at him. "How's it going so far?"

Jack focused his eyes on something in the distance, avoiding Evie's face. Whether it was out of guilt or shame or pity, she wasn't sure.

"It's interesting, I suppose. Good, bad, fun, tiring, all that stuff." If he was gunning for a prize in cryptic answers, Evie was ready to hand him a trophy.

"You know what I mean, right?" he asked.

No, I don't, she thought. Thanks to you. "Totally," she said. "Any kids on the way?" she asked, a nervous laugh escaping.

"No, no, no," he said quickly, which relieved Evie until he followed it up with, "not yet, anyway."

"Well, congratulations." She would have loved to share news that would rival Jack's announcement. An engagement. A pregnancy. A promotion. Nothing came to mind. "I'm not at Baker Smith anymore," she said, pursuing at least a topic change.

Jack seemed surprised, genuinely so. All the times she daydreamed Jack was thinking about her, looking for photos of her with a new boyfriend or checking on her law firm's site to see if she'd make partner yet, those had all been illusions.

"I quit a while ago," she said. "I'm pursuing a totally different career now."

"Good for you, Evie," he said, in a way that made her feel like he was a politician trained to use people's first names. "What are you doing now?"

She could, with some modic.u.m of honesty, tell Jack she was the new CEO of Couch Potatoes, a very, very small company based out of her apartment. But surprising even herself, she responded, "I'm a decorator. My business is called Manhattan Maison." Where the h.e.l.l was this coming from? She gave herself an invisible pat on the back for inventing such a good name with no forethought.

"That's wonderful. I definitely recall you rearranging my pitiful flat over and over. I could never find anything. You should redesign JAK, actually. It could use a facelift."

"It certainly could."

"Oh, really?" Jack said, like he didn't actually think his restaurant needed any help. "What refurbishments do you have in mind?"

"Well, the carpet is dated, the light fixtures are casting a fluorescent glow, and the dining chair fabric feels synthetic," Evie said, her voice gaining bravado with each criticism.

"Then it's settled. You'll help me. I'll e-mail you tomorrow to set up a meeting."

Evie scrambled for a response. "Well, I don't really do, food, I mean, commercial s.p.a.ces yet. I will do them soon. Of course."

"Well, if you're interested, you know where to find me." He winked, or at least Evie thought he did. She had been looking at her toes.

"You should be getting back to your date now, shouldn't you? We've been in here for at least ten minutes," he asked, with a glance at his watch. It was shiny and looked to be solid gold, maybe part of Zeynup's dowry.

"Yes, yes. Of course. Edward hates to be kept waiting." She wanted to make sure Jack didn't think she was on a first date, that in fact she knew Edward very well. But all she had done was make her date sound like a p.r.i.c.k, when she should have said that she was missing him and wanting to get back to the table.

"Well, then you better go. Happy New Year."

Jack held the door open for her. She paused when she caught sight of a book on his shelf.

"You still have this?" she said, running her finger along the spine: "Secrets of a Jewish Mother: Recipes for the Soul and the Digestive Tract." A gift from Bette to Evie. Three-quarters of the recipes included prunes. Jack insisted he had to have it when he found it stashed in her closet. Said it was the funniest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

"It makes me think of you. We had some great times together." Jack squeezed her elbow gently and said, "I'll e-mail you tomorrow," as though it was obvious to both of them that they needed to finish an important conversation. She was about to say "No, call me instead," but Jack had already disappeared back into his office before she could formulate the response.

"Everything okay?" Edward asked when she returned. "I was getting worried about you."

"Yes. I'm so sorry about that," she said, draining her gla.s.s of Merlot and then winding her neck around to signal Tasha, who ambled over much too slowly.

"Tash, I need a refill," she said, pointing to her drained gla.s.s. "Fast."

"You got it, girl," she said, and dashed off to the bar.

"So what in the world was that about?" Edward asked.

Here goes.

Chapter 18.

"Jack Kipling, the chef and owner of this restaurant," Evie said, eyes fixed steadily on Edward's face, "is my ex-boyfriend. We broke up last December. He's married now." She leaned in closer to him, so none of the busboys or the slippery sommelier could report to Jack what she was saying. "He's the reason I disconnected myself from the Internet. I found his wedding photos on Facebook. He always told me he didn't believe in marriage. It's why we broke up. And then six months after our relationship ended, he was somebody else's husband. I took it really hard. As you can see."

"Wow," Edward said, shifting in his chair. "I didn't see that coming." He absentmindedly returned the sourdough roll that he'd already b.u.t.tered to the breadbasket.

"There's more, actually," Evie said. "That is, if you want to know."

"Go on," Edward said, reaching for his drink. The ice cubes clanked sharply against the gla.s.s as he lifted it, and Evie felt the sound was symbolic of her life cracking open before him-finally.

"I lost my job because of how much time I was spending online. My BlackBerry was basically stapled to my hand because of work-and then I got fired for sending too many e-mails. It was very hypocritical." Even as she said it, she was barely convincing herself. Baker Smith wasn't to blame for her addiction. The compulsion to stay connected, the fear of missing out, that was all her own. "Anyway, that was yet another sign I should go off-line."

Edward nodded but didn't say a word. She took that as a sign she should keep going and not hold back. The Baker Smith portion she believed Edward would be able to understand. The Jack part of the story-that worried her, so she treaded lightly.

"Anyway, I thought I knew Jack. We had two pretty wonderful years together. Frankly, I still don't understand what made him come around on marriage, but it doesn't matter. Maybe Zeynup's some kind of s.e.xual G.o.ddess or something." Evie attempted a mood-lightening grin. "She looked quite limber in the photograph."

"Zeynup?"

"Jack's wife. She's Turkish."

"Listen, Evie, we've all got exes. You know I do. The only question is whether you still have feelings for him."

At that moment, Tasha returned to refill their waters. Evie took advantage of the extra few seconds to collect her thoughts.

"I don't," Evie said with as much conviction as she could muster. She reached across the table for Edward's hand. "Since our first date, I've been walking on cloud nine. You can't even imagine how much I've been looking forward to tonight."

"That's all I need to hear," Edward said, squeezing her hand. He started playfully twisting her c.o.c.ktail ring around her finger, and Evie noticed that the contours of his frame had relaxed back into their natural posture.

"Of all restaurants for me to choose," he went on, with a defeated chuckle. "There has to be-I don't know-ten thousand to pick from in the city and we end up here."

"Eighteen thousand actually," sounded a voice from above their huddled faces.

"I hope you don't mind but I've taken the liberty of serving you myself," Jack said, setting a piping hot plate of roasted chicken with braised leeks in front of Edward. "Your branzino will be right out, Evie. I've prepared a special sauce for it that is still reducing. My sous-chef will bring it out in a moment."

"Thank you," Evie muttered, refusing eye contact. She couldn't believe he was intruding like this. It seemed beneath the Jack she knew.

"I'm sorry about before, stealing your date like I did. Let me properly introduce myself," Jack said, extending his hand to Edward. "Jack Kipling. And I understand you are Evie's lucky companion for the evening."

Companion? Evie bristled. Jack's phrasing made Edward sound like a paid escort.

"Edward Gold," he said, returning the handshake. "Evie was just telling me about you."

"Don't believe a word," Jack said, with a wicked smile. It was more a movie line than genuine dialogue, and it made Evie uncomfortable-the slickness of it all.

"So, Edward Gold, how do you pay the bills?" Jack asked, in a tone that suggested whatever he responded could not measure up to restaurateur.

"He's a surgeon," Evie intervened. "He cured Grandma Bette of cancer this year."

"Well, I'm not sure I 'cured' her, but yes-I did remove her tumor," Edward interjected, with infuriating modesty.

"Well done, chap," Jack said, gingerly patting Edward on the back. A sinewy chef with a long, blond ponytail appeared and placed Evie's plate in front of her. "Thanks, Arianna," Jack said, addressing her in the tone he used with all his female staff: one-part condescending and two-parts flirtatious.

"Evie here has just agreed to redesign JAK. We're going to discuss it further soon, I hope," Jack said, gaze securely set on Evie as though Edward was not even at the table.