Page 78 of The Write Midlife

"And?" Carmen slid closer.

"And I thought I was being strong. Thought I was being a fighter. Doing what my mom encouraged me to do..but there’s nothing weaker than this.” Melody shook her head. "He put everything on the line," she continued, the words tumbling out now. "His career, his family relationships, everything. And I just... walked away. Like I always do."

"Well," Zoe said practically, "unlike this sauce, that situation can still be saved. Unless..." She glanced at Carmen. "Has he accepted any of those offers from rival publishing houses?"

"Zoe!" Hannah hissed.

But Carmen was smiling. "Actually, he's turned down six offers in the past three days. Told every one of them he's committed to building something with an author who challenges him to be better."

Melody's head snapped up. "He what?"

"Oh yes," Carmen continued, casually chopping basil. "Apparently, he'd rather risk everything on a woman who writes about brave love than take the safe route. Sound like anyone else we know?"

Fresh tears spilled as Melody remembered her mother's last coherent words:"Don't let my leaving become your excuse for never staying, baby. Some chances are worth the risk."

"I have to go," Melody said suddenly, untying her apron. "I have to?—"

"First," Marco interrupted, holding up his wooden spoon like a scepter, "you finish this sauce. Love stories, like proper ragù, cannot be rushed. And you—" he pointed the spoon at Melody's tear-streaked face, "—need time to think about what you will say. No more running away mid-recipe."

Melody laughed wetly, retying her apron. "Since when did you become a love guru, Marco?"

"Forty-three years of marriage, seven grandchildren, and a lifetime of teaching stubborn students that recipes, like hearts, must be followed with both passion and patience." He tasted her sauce. "Now, we begin again. This time, with less fear and more attention, yes?"

For the next hour, Melody cooked with a focus that surprised even herself. Each ingredient became a memory: the fresh basil reminding her of Nate's criticism of her overuse of nature metaphors, the garlic recalling their first heated debate over character motivation. The wine…

Well, that reminded her of several things she probably shouldn't mention in public.

"You're smiling," Hannah observed. "First time in four days."

"I'm plotting," Melody corrected.

"Good plotting or 'how to hide a body' plotting?" Zoe asked. "'Cause I've got some great recipes for both scenarios."

Carmen checked her phone. "If you're planning what I think you're planning, he's still at his office. Something about reviewing contracts for the new imprint."

"The imprint he created for you," Hannah added pointedly. "You know, the one he announced right before declaring his love for you in front of half the publishing industry?"

"The one I walked away from," Melody acknowledged. "God, I sure know how to screw up, don't I?"

"Yes," all three women chorused.

Carmen appeared at her elbow. "Car's waiting outside. I had my assistant track down his schedule. He's reviewing contracts in the main conference room."

"How did you?—"

"Please," Carmen scoffed. "I'm your agent. Knowing everything is literally my job."

Zoe thrust a container at her. "Take the sauce. Nothing says 'I'm sorry I ran away from your declaration of love' like homemade ragù. Plus, if things go well..." She winked. "Carbs are great for refueling."

As Melody stepped into the cool evening air, her container of sauce warm against her chest, she felt lighter than she had in days. Years, maybe. The Lie that had governed her life—that love would only hurt her, that career was safer than connection—seemed to dissolve in the face of such fierce support.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Melody clutched her sauce, and her newfound courage. "Carlisle Publishing, please.”

This time, she wasn't running away. This time, she was running toward something. Toward someone.

Toward love.